PLAY OF PASSION

Hawke’s eyes gleamed with unexpected humor. “So, feel anything out with a certain lieutenant?”


Andrew didn’t even bother to swear. He just got up and stabbed a finger in his alpha’s direction. “No interference.” He’d court, seduce, and tangle with Indigo his own way.

Hawke held up his hands, palms out, but the glint in his eye didn’t disappear. “Is she playing with you?”

Andrew thought of the silence that had been her response to the note he’d slipped under her door. “Not yet. But she will.” He wouldn’t accept any other outcome.

Coming in to change for a session with the novice soldiers, Indigo couldn’t keep from staring at the piece of paper sitting on her bedside table. It wasn’t as if the words would’ve changed from this morning, but she picked it up, bringing it close to her face—as if that would make her understand it better.

Have dinner with me tonight. —Drew

P.S. Don’t you want to know?

It was the last thing she’d have expected him to do after the bitterness of their fight. Because, all charm aside, Drew was a dominant predatory changeling male. He’d been in charge of the volatile San Diego sector until Hawke assigned him to his new position as a roaming liaison/spy across SnowDancer territory. And he was their tracker.

Men like that had tempers. They brooded and simmered. They did not extend olive branches … if that was what this was. Her eyes narrowed. Cunning, she thought; Drew wasn’t only smart and strong, he had a whole streak of sneaky running right through him.

As to the P.S., she could’ve told herself she didn’t understand, but that would’ve been disingenuous when the truth was beating her over the head with the subtlety of a hundred-pound hammer. A hammer wielded by an obstinate male with a wicked, wicked smile and a way of moving that made her want to sit back and simply admire.

It would be so easy to say yes, far easier than she could’ve ever imagined.

“But then what?” she whispered out loud, knowing that the disparity in their ages and—more crucially—positions in the hierarchy meant that any relationship would be a fleeting thing. It already tore her to shreds that they’d lost some of what had always been between them. No matter what, she’d never be able to touch Drew with the joyful familiarity of Pack again, never be able to sleep with her body tangled in his.

Frustrated and angry at him for doing this, for changing a relationship she hadn’t known she relied on until it was yanked out from under her feet, she scrunched the piece of paper into a ball and threw it into the corner. But though it was out of sight, it refused to leave her mind.

Having just had an interesting discussion with Judd about Pure Psy, as well as about another matter his brother-in-law wanted him to pursue, Andrew stopped by Brenna’s, knowing she had the day off. “So,” he said, giving her his most winning smile, “what’s for lunch?”

She laughed. “I got immune to that look around about when I turned five.” But she hugged him before supplying him with a large piece of leftover lasagna, fruit, and even a slice of almond-orange cake.

He ate fast, kissing her on the forehead in thanks before using the privacy of her apartment to make a call to Nikita’s security chief. Max was tied up all day today and tomorrow, so they set up a meeting for the morning of the day after.

“About the rumors Judd’s heard?” Brenna asked after he hung up. “Possible dead Psy in the city?”

“Yep.” Reviewing everything he had on his to-do list, Andrew realized he’d cleared it. Now it was time to pursue his personal prey—in a most unusual location. “See you later, baby sis.”

“Hey,” Brenna called out as he put his hand on the door-knob, “how’s the charm offensive going?”

Andrew thought of how furious Indy was with him, thought, too, of her silence in response to his note. “I’m working on it.” Leaving, he made his way through the corridors and to the White Zone. His target, the outdoor nursery, was tucked in one well-guarded corner of the designated safe area, and he wasn’t more than a foot inside when he was accosted by a determined two-year-old.

“Up,” she said, raising her arms imperiously.

Being the sucker that he was, he obliged, throwing her into the air. “Again!” she ordered when he caught her, the morning light blazing off the thick brown of her curls.

He obeyed. Four more times—to her squealing delight—before her chubby little arms hugged his neck. “Down.” As he bent to put her on the ground, she smacked his lips with her own in a silent thank-you.

“So the charm works on two-year-olds, too?” A gentle comment from the woman who stood watch over the littlies as they played in the secure playground area—fenced off with stone walls to ensure no harm could come to the smallest of SnowDancers.