security/ search patrols in the mountains today—he surrendered to the wild hunger within and headed out for a run in wolf form. Several early risers among his pack saw him but none broke into his solitude. They all understood that, sometimes, a wolf needed to roam on its own.
However, he’d barely cleared the doorway when he caught a scent that instantly ruffled his fur the wrong way. She smelled like autumn fire and some rich, exotic spice. Far too potent a scent for someone so young, someone from whom he should keep his distance. Instead, he drew the spice-laced air into his lungs and ran at a ground-devouring lope that brought him to a small rise from where he could watch his prey.
Wearing a small pack and carrying what looked like a sleek holographic camera, she walked down the track that would eventually bring her to one of the midway areas in den territory, where he knew she’d parked the car she’d signed out of the garage for her trips to and from DarkRiver land. But it would still take her a couple of hours to reach that spot at her current pace.
When she stopped and raised her face to the dewy morning sunlight, releasing her breath in a long, slow exhale, he went motionless. Her unhidden joy at being in the stark, stunning beauty of the Sierra Nevada sang to him, and it was a dangerous pull. He should step back, should move in the opposite direction.
He should.
He turned and angled down through the trees until he appeared on the path beside her instead. Jerking back in surprise, Sienna stared at him with wide eyes. When he did nothing but wait for her, she continued on the trail, shooting him small looks filled with suspicion until it became clear he was intent only on keeping her company.
Then her stride relaxed, and they walked.
In silence.
It had been over a week since the day Andrew had ambushed Indigo in her bath, and he was feeling cautiously optimistic. The lieutenant wore his scent in her skin and, from what he could tell, wasn’t worried about it. Aware how long it had taken his brother to gain the same concession from Mercy, Andrew allowed himself a little swagger—because that acceptance meant Indy’s wolf was starting to get over its uncertainty when it came to him.
Of course, part of it likely had to do with the fact that the lieutenant was turning out to be as possessive as any male changeling. He wore her scent in his skin, too—along with more than a few marks. And he was very, very happy—no,
Their packmates, of course, found the whole situation highly entertaining, a welcome break from the constant vigilance of the security patrols in the mountains. The techs had found only three more transmitters after the main sweep, and it was looking like they might have unearthed most if not all of them, but SnowDancer wasn’t about to lower its guard when the Council had dared invade the very heart of the pack’s territory.
Of course, that didn’t mean wolves stopped being wolves.
Andrew dealt with the ribbing with a grin and a shrug, while Indigo scowled. Neither response had any effect on the gossip—or the good-natured advice Andrew began receiving from the women in the pack.
“Give her her space,” a dominant female advised him, “but not too much.”
“Whatever you do, for God’s sake don’t treat her like a girl. She’s a woman.”
“Andrew, I love you, but you’re the most sneaky, cunning wolf I’ve ever known—use it.”
After several days of this, Andrew cornered one of the ladies. “Not that I’m not grateful,” he said, “but why are you all being so helpful?”
That got him a chuckle, the touch of warm, capable hands on his face, and a smacking kiss. “Silly boy. She’s ours and we love her—and we’ve all worried at how hard she rides herself on behalf of the pack. You make her happy.”
The simple words were a revelation.
So he was ready to handle the next stage in their courtship when Indigo invited him to an official family event.
“Dinner with my parents at their place,” she said casually, as if it wasn’t a major deal. “Evie isn’t back yet, but my aunt, Adria, and her lover, Martin, will also be there. They’re flying in from near the Oregon border.”
Having a vague memory of Tarah’s sibling being much younger, he asked, “Are you close to Adria?”
“Yes.” A smile. “She’s nearer to my age than my mother’s.”
Instinct whispered that there was more at play here than a simple familial relationship, but he kept his silence. It would be far easier to get Indy to talk once he’d met her aunt, gained an idea of what it was that had caused Indigo’s wolf to . . . almost shy away at the mention of her name.
As it was, he found himself surprised by the reality of Adria. The physical resemblance between the three women was startling; standing side by side, Tarah, Indigo, and Adria were almost mirror images of each other at different stages of life. But where Tarah was submissive, Adria was dominant. Where Tarah kissed him on the cheek in maternal affection, Adria gave him a narrow-eyed, assessing glare. And where he knew Tarah relied with open contentment on her mate, there was a real push-pull vibe going on between Adria and her lover, Martin.
Indigo, he realized at once, was far more like her aunt than her mother.
“So,” Adria said after they shook hands, “you’re the one.”
He liked her—but then, he had a thing for cool-eyed, stubborn women. “I am.”
Lines formed on her forehead, her eyebrows drawing together. “You’re not what I expected.”
He knew that wasn’t a compliment. “I have a way of surprising people.”
“Hmm.” The wolf prowled behind eyes a shade lighter than Indigo’s. “I’ve seen you in our sector, but we haven’t spoken. Tell me about yourself.”
As he obeyed the brusque order, his wolf more amused by her bristling protectiveness than anything else, he noticed something. Martin, while standing beside Adria, didn’t join in the conversation. That, on its own, meant nothing—Riley had a way of standing silent as a sphinx beside Mercy. There was, however, never any doubt in people’s minds that Riley was a hundred percent tuned in, not only to the conversation but to every tiny aspect of his mate’s presence.
Something was disturbingly different here.
The stiffness of Adria’s spine when her lover’s shoulder brushed her own, the white lines around Martin’s mouth, the way neither of them made eye contact with the other—the two were pissed at one another. Andrew took that in his stride. Being with a strong woman occasionally meant some fire-works. He couldn’t imagine Indigo without her sass.
His wolf growling in agreement, he continued to talk with Adria until Tarah came over to catch up with her sister. Moving to where Indigo was standing against the wall finishing off an apple, he tugged on her ponytail. “What’s with abandoning me to your aunt the inquisitor?”
She bumped her hip to his. “Don’t say your smile didn’t work?”
“Smart-ass.” Reaching behind her, he patted that ass.
“Watch it.”
“I intend to—later tonight.”
Indigo threw him a quelling glance, but he caught the laughter behind it. “What did you think of my aunt?”
“She’s like an older version of you,” he said with complete honesty. “She’s got her ‘death stare’ honed to perfection.”
Holding her apple core in one hand, Indigo put her other one on his shoulder. “Give me a few years.”
Deeply content at the thought of watching her grow further into her skin, he stood beside her as the others spoke. It took him a little while to realize that in spite of his skill at reading the undercurrents in any given situation, he’d missed something here. Martin and Adria weren’t pissed at each other—only one of them was angry.
Adria put her hand on Martin’s arm . . . only to have it shaken off. Adria’s face betrayed a stark heart pain in the terrible moment before she brought up her shields, cool and controlled once more.
Fighting the urge to punch Martin for putting that expression on the face of such a strong woman, Andrew thought back to the other little things he’d noticed, the way Martin had almost pointedly walked into the room first, saying, “Strongest should bring up the rear, right?”
At the time, Andrew had taken it as a joke between lovers, but now . . . “Who’s more dominant?” he asked, feeling a chill whisper through his veins. “It’s Adria, isn’t it?”
