Psy & Changelings 09 - Play of Passion

of Nikita Duncan’s—she tends to like to keep her profits separate from her politics.”
    Indigo agreed with that assessment, but made a note to have the den’s resident hackers dig deeper into the factory’s files nonetheless. “Tomás, how’s your patch?”
    “No change.”
    Jem went next. “We’ve had a spike in the murder rate, but it looks to be human-on-human gang violence.”
    “You on it?” Hawke tapped a finger restlessly on the arm of his chair.
    “We’ve already had a talk with the gangs. They want to make trouble, they don’t do it in our territory.” What was left unsaid was that if they continued, they’d soon find themselves hunted down like so much prey. The pack didn’t hold the largest territory in the country because it played nice. One warning was all you got.
    Matthias spoke for the first time, and his deep voice was a pleasure to listen to, resonant and with an almost impossible clarity. “I sent you that note about some weird ship movements. We haven’t been able to pin anything down yet, but I’ll keep you updated.”
    Indigo looked at Cooper. “Anything new?”
    “I’ve got two female novices who’re showing signs of skill at sharpshooting.”
    “Send me their details,” Judd said. “I’ll evaluate them and set up a training schedule.”
    “Hey, Coop,” Tomás called out, the devil in his eye. “How’s it going with your pretty little wolf?”
    Cooper glanced over, unruffled. “You’ll be the last to know. But the next time you send her flowers, I’m going to come over for a nice friendly visit and shove them where the sun don’t shine.”
    Ignoring the suspicious cough that seemed to have affected everyone in the meeting, Indigo pointed at Alexei.
    “This sector’s stable,” the young lieutenant said, making a valiant effort to fight a laugh, “though I think we need to organize one of the packwide parties again. I’ve got too many unmated adults in my area and they’re starting to irritate each other.”
    The last thing Indigo needed to be thinking about was the sexual hunger of their animals, but she set her jaw and got to it—because fact was, touch-hungry changelings, especially wolves as aggressive as those in SnowDancer, needed an outlet—and if they couldn’t have sex, they’d choose violence. Add in the lack of choice in Alexei’s comparatively small sector and you had a recipe for trouble.
    “May,” she said, checking her calendar. “We can have a week-long event in den territory. That’ll give us the flexibility to ensure security doesn’t slip.”
    No one had any issues with that, so they moved on.
    “The falcons are making use of the flight treaty,” Matthias said toward the end, his thickly lashed eyes dark and intense. “I’ve seen them flying over my sector.”
    “Me, too.” Alexei leaned forward, bracing his arms on a glowing cherrywood desk. “Where are we on a possible alliance?”
    “I think it’s a real possibility,” Hawke said. “I sent Drew to spend some time with them on the ground a month ago, and his report backs up my instincts.”
    “He in the den?” Cooper asked. “It’d be good to hear what he has to say.”
    When Hawke nodded, Indigo said, “Ten-minute break,” in a tone she hoped sounded practical and nothing else, “then we reconvene. I’ll hunt down Drew.”
    That proved to be child’s play. He opened the door to his room with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet. “Indy.” Blinking water from his eyes, he stepped back and angled his head. “Come in. I was just about to throw some clothes on.”
    Heat uncurled in her abdomen—because no matter how pissed she was at him, Andrew Kincaid made her fingers itch to touch. Smooth, gleaming skin, toned muscle, and those eyes that never lost the edge of wickedness. “You’re needed in the main conference room, five minutes.”
    Heading back inside when she remained on the doorstep, he disappeared behind the door. “What about?”
    “Falcons.” Her mind insisted on providing her with all sorts of salacious images as she heard the soft rasp of the towel leaving his body to pool on the floor, the rougher sound of him pulling on jeans—“Don’t be late,” she bit out and swiveled on her heel.
     
     
    Andrew’s fingers clenched convulsively on the T-shirt in his grasp. She was still mad; that much was clear. And no matter that keeping her angry was part of his ultimate strategy, he had the violent urge to tug her close and