Play of Passion (30 page)

 

 

Andrew managed to
keep himself under control only by sheer force of will as he walked away.

“Dominance challenge, my ass,” he muttered under his breath as he stalked to his room. He had no desire to fight for a higher rank in the hierarchy. He was
exactly
where he needed to be. So he’d lost his temper—everybody lost their temper now and then. The situation had been highly stressful. Was it any wonder he’d spoken before he’d thought?

He was so involved in his internal monologue that it took a packmate three tries to get his attention. When Andrew finally looked up, the woman said, “Er, Drew? You can’t go to the nursery looking like you want to shred someone with your claws and then eat the bloody, dismembered pieces.”

“Nursery?” Shaking his head, he looked around. “Shit.” He turned on his heel, throwing a “thanks” over his shoulder.

But the interruption had reset his mind. Getting angry, he realized, would achieve nothing. Yes, Indigo was being stubborn in refusing to talk this through with him, but what he’d done . . . yeah, okay, she was right to be pissed.

And hurt, his conscience whispered, remembering the pain he’d glimpsed in the shadowed violet of her gaze. He’d hurt her, and it made him feel like shit. He wanted to stalk to her apartment, bully his way in, and argue with her until the ice cracked enough that he could hold her close and convince her to listen. But of course, he thought with another flare of temper, she wouldn’t fight with him like every other dominant female he knew did with her man when she was mad or hurting. No, Indigo had to go all dignified and silent, her emotions rigidly contained.

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing through his door, “then I’ll just make it so fucking difficult for her to ignore me that she’ll
have
to fight with me.”

 

 

Indigo found the
first rose the next morning—in the locker she used to store her gear when training indoors. It was a deep, deep red. Scarlet, she thought, that was the right word. And it smelled like heaven. But beneath the lush floral bouquet lay the scent of male—wild and playful.

Heat uncurled in her abdomen, but she doused it with cold reason. This wasn’t some lover’s tiff that could be smoothed over with a rose and an apology. This went to the heart of who they were, the choices they had to make.

Dropping the rose back inside the locker, she closed the door and went out to whip her current group of eighteen-year-olds into some kind of fighting shape. “All right, boys and girls, I want two reps of the set we practiced last time. Go!”

By the time the session was over, more than one student was close to crawling, yet Indigo’s own energy level remained high, her senses on alert for any hint of Drew’s presence. But he didn’t come to her. Which, she thought, ignoring the growling of her wolf, was exactly right. Maybe the rose had been nothing but a good-bye.

A chill slithered through her veins, and when she wrenched open her locker again, she was well on the way to hating roses. Stupid, she thought, she was being stupid, acting like one of those ninnies who didn’t know her own mind. The decision was made. End of stor—

Blooms tumbled out all over her. Soft and fragrant and exquisite.

“What the—” Staring, startled, she realized her locker was stuffed to the brim with roses.

Red, red roses.

Behind her, Sing-Liu whistled as she closed up her own locker. “Now that’s what I call an apology. Man’s got style.”

“You can have them.” Indigo scowled, scooping out the roses and putting them on the bench between the lockers. “Here.”

Sing-Liu took one perfect bloom and stuck it behind her ear, the color shockingly bright against the shimmering jet of her hair. “Hey, come on,” the soldier said with a small smile, “I know he was an ass, but he should get some credit for creativity. Most men just snarl and growl and try to sex their lovers into a good mood.” A sensual smile. “Not that I mind being sexed until my toes curl. You should try it.”

Indigo snarled at the soldier. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“I guess I do.” Lips still curved in that provocative smile, the small, lean human woman who was more lethal than a large number of the wolves in the den, disappeared around the corner.

Locker cleared, Indigo shut the door and turned to leave.

Her feet hesitated.

She stared at the dark red spill of roses, felt the vulnerable heart of her soften. But she built fences around that softening as soon as it occurred. If she accepted this apology, if she allowed their relationship to progress again, then what she’d said would come to pass. Drew
would
attempt to dominate her wolf in unacceptable ways again,
would
force her to the point where her wolf would strike out. Over and over and over again.

Such a relationship would destroy them both, until the love that bound them was twisted and broken. Adria and Martin almost hated each other now. Not enough to separate, but any remaining love was tainted and pitted. Indigo didn’t know why they continued to stay together—they never laughed with each other, and there was so much dead air between them that Indigo’s wolf was hurt by the piercing silence.

She wouldn’t allow that to happen to her and Drew.

Her hand reached out, touched the petals of a rose. Snapping it back before the velvety softness could seduce her into dropping her guard, she stalked down the corridor. No one stopped her, though there were a few interested glances thrown her way. In no mood to gossip, she slammed into her room . . . and came to a complete halt.

The damn wolf had drowned the room in silver-foiled chocolate kisses.

Thousands of them.

She growled.

And then she opened the closet door.

 

 

The treats started
showing up the next day. A bowl of decadent champagne-soaked berries on the desk of her small office, passion fruit cheesecake with white chocolate swirls mysteriously in her fridge, crystallized fruit in the pocket of her jacket. And always, always kisses. Chocolate kisses. Everywhere she turned.

By contrast, she never saw Drew, though she caught his scent every place she went. His shadowy presence served to ratchet up her frustration, even as it fed her ever-growing hunger for him. She’d thought distance would lessen the need. Instead, it only seemed to be making it stronger—until the ache was a constant pulse in her body, and she was starting to look for those damn chocolate kisses.

“I swear,” she muttered under her breath as another packmate grinned at her as she strode to a meeting with Hawke, “I’m going to wring his neck.” Because the demon had gotten the pack on his side now.

“He just lost his temper, Indigo,” Yuki had said to her a couple of nights ago. “Can happen to anyone.”

“If you don’t give him a chance,” Jem had offered, all the way from Los Angeles—knowing everything, thanks to the pack rumor mill—“how will he ever learn?”

“
Mi amigo
is hurting,” Tomás had said not much later, all long face and soulful dark eyes that she didn’t trust an inch. “How can you be so cruel to someone who adores you so much?”

“Cut him a break,” Lara had said only yesterday. “He looks so depressed it’s breaking my heart.”

“Depressed, my foot,” Indigo muttered. She knew him far too well. He was using that charm of his to fool everyo—“Damn.” Realizing she’d forgotten the little notepad on which she’d jotted down a few things she needed to discuss with Hawke, she turned on her heel and headed back to her room.

The grins should’ve warned her, but she just figured on another rose. And maybe her heart skipped a beat at the thought, but she was determined not to give in to this relentless pursuit. Andrew Liam Kincaid was not going to wear her down.

Then she came within sight of her door. And froze.

It was a soft toy. A wolf, to be precise. A wolf with lush silver fur and blue, blue eyes. It was carrying an envelope in its mouth.

Glancing around the suspiciously empty corridor—hah!—her packmates were likely stacked up five deep around the corner—she stared down at the furry thing. She should ignore it.

Opening her door, she walked inside and picked up the notepad, sticking it in a pocket. But as she went to walk back out, the wolf looked so adorably sweet that she couldn’t leave it abandoned in the corridor. Growling, she picked up the toy and brought it inside, shutting the door behind her.

Now that she had the cuddly thing in her hand, she couldn’t stop from reaching for the envelope. Holding the toy by her side, she slit open the flap and withdrew a card embossed with a rose that someone had embellished with hand-drawn thorns—big ones. “Cute,” she said, her wolf flexing its claws inside her mind.

Opening the flap, she found herself looking at fine handwriting that couldn’t be Drew’s. Written in gold ink, it was an invitation to dinner that night at one of San Francisco’s swankiest restaurants, for the occasion of . . . Indigo blinked, read the line again.

. . .
for the occasion of Andrew Kincaid’s good-bye party.
Indigo narrowed her eyes, her wolf motionless with suspicion. What was he up to now? Because no way did she believe that he was giving up. Predatory changeling men didn’t have the word “surrender” in their vocabularies.

Or maybe, part of her whispered, she just didn’t want to believe that. Because if he gave up, then this was it. Over and done with. Forever. Her wolf would never in a million years accept a quitter.

“Argh!” she said, shaking her head. He’d done it again, got her thinking as if they were still courting. When, in spite of his persistence, they were
not
. But, she thought, glaring at the thorny rose, she would be accepting the invitation.

It was time she and Drew had this out face-to-face.

Andrew gave
a sigh of relief when the pack rumor mill informed him that Indigo had taken the toy inside, and not only that, she’d looked pissed. “Good,” he said to Brenna as he sat bothering her while she tried to work. Putting his feet up on the table opposite him, he leaned his back against the console next to his sister’s.

She glanced up from where she was doing something on the touch screen. “Good? You’re happy because the strongest, most lethal woman in the den wants to turn you into a shish kebab?”

“She does the ice thing,” he said to his sister, his wolf growling at the mere thought of it. “I hate the ice thing.”

Brenna paused, threw him a startled glance. “Yeah, me, too.” Stopping in her task for a second, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Judd can’t get away with the ice thing anymore.”

Andrew remembered how cold the Psy male had been before his mating to Brenna. “How’d you manage that?” Maybe he could learn something.

“Nothing I’d like to share with my brother,” Brenna said with a saucy smile.

“Brat.”

“Thank you.”

Her smirk made his wolf laugh. “How’re you doing with Judd still away?”

“He came back a few nights ago.” She scowled. “I swore I’d strip his hide if he did it again. Teleporting that far really wipes him out, even if he does it in stages. He was all but unconscious for hours.”

Andrew knew without asking that Judd had left as quietly as he’d arrived. The Psy male had sent them dispatches from various South American countries where he was following the scent of a Pure Psy operation. He was now certain that the group, with Henry’s backing, was behind the transmitters on SnowDancer land.

“You know,” Andrew said, turning his mind away from that situation for now, “that you can come to me for anything while he’s away, right?”

“As if I’d have to,” she muttered, “when somebody in the pack would rat me out to you the instant I even vaguely looked like I might be in trouble.” But she leaned over and brushed a kiss on his jaw before beginning to work on the screen again, erasing and redrawing points of what appeared to be parts of a complex computronic design.

“Is that your teleportation machine?” The FAST project was, he knew, her most important long-term undertaking. If she could one day invent a way to send anyone—not just Tks—place to place with such speed, it would change the world.

“Uh-huh.” Tiny frown lines between her brows. “Now that you’ve got the lieutenant’s attention,” she said, returning to their earlier subject, “what’re you planning on doing next?”

“Never you mind.” Shooting her a smug look when she gave a disgruntled scowl, he swung his legs off the table. “I need to go have a comm-conference with my team, make sure there’s nothing that needs to be brought to Hawke’s attention around the territory.”

“You can use the room through there,” Brenna said, pointing to her right. “No one’s booked it for now.” A pause, laughing eyes looking up at him. “And it’ll let you hide from Indigo until you’re ready to spring the ambush.”

Leaning down, Andrew kissed the top of his sister’s head. “I love you.” It was a smiling statement, but no less true for it.

“I love you, too,” Brenna said, “even if you are driving Indigo so insane, she’s starting to snap at everyone in the den. Did you really steal her phone and record your voice howling her name as the ringtone?”

“Maybe.” Deeply satisfied by the current state of affairs, Andrew strolled into the conference room, shut the door, and initiated the calls. He trusted Bren, but other techs could come in at any moment, and the information his team gathered was quite often sensitive. Having brought them all into the call, he sat back and listened, making notes as necessary.

Thankfully, things were very steady at present, partly as a result of Riley and Mercy’s mating. A strong mated couple wasn’t essential at the top of the hierarchy, but it did help steady the pack as a whole. “What about that group of old ones?” he asked one of the women on his team. “The ones you were worried were stewing over something?”