Psy & Changelings 09 - Play of Passion

Martin’s hand. Then he walked over . . . and Andrew found himself being taken outside for a “little chat.”
    “I’ll be blunt,” Abel said as they stood in the crisp night air, drinks in hand, “Indigo’s a grown woman who knows what she wants. She’ll choose who she’ll choose.”
    Since Abel paused for a response, Andrew said, “Yes, sir.” Where his wolf had handled Adria fine, it was wary of Abel.
    It wasn’t a question of dominance, as Andrew outranked him, but of family.
    Abel took a sip of his whiskey. “I’ve been asking about you.”
    Andrew waited.
    “Women like you.” A gleam in those deep gray eyes he’d bequeathed his younger daughter.
    “You don’t need to worry about my loyalty,” Andrew said, wanting no mistakes or misunderstandings on that point. “Indigo’s the only woman I want.”
    “I know that,” Abel said to his surprise. “When we first met, I looked at Tarah the way you look at Indigo.” A chuckle. “Still do, as a matter of fact.”
    Andrew relaxed.
    Too soon.
    “Just so you know,” Abel said in that same warm tone, “you hurt her and I’ll break every bone in your body. Twice.”
     
     
    Having survived both Abel and dinner, Andrew walked into the kitchen and went to stand at Tarah’s shoulder while she cut the dessert cake into slices. “Tarah?”
    Instead of answering, Tarah picked up a sliver of cake and turned to feed it to him. “So?”
    He chewed, savored the burst of brandy and chocolate, swallowed. “Will you marry me?”
    That got him a twinkling smile. “What is it you want to know, sweetheart?”
    Utterly melted by her, he didn’t bother to pretend he hadn’t followed her in here with an ulterior motive. “Your sister is much younger than you.”
    “Our parents were very happily surprised when I was almost twenty.”
    Drew took a moment to think about that. Changelings were less fertile than humans or Psy, so while this kind of thing did happen, it was rare. “It must have been some celebration.”
    Having placed the cake on the tray, Tarah motioned for him to lift down the cups and saucers from an upper cupboard. “Oh, it was,” she said as he obeyed. “Everyone thought I’d be jealous, but I thought she was the cutest, most adorable thing I’d ever seen.” A laugh husky with memory. “I used to steal her from my mother all the time and show her off like she was my own.”
    He chuckled, thinking back to how Riley had treated him and Brenna when they’d been younger. “Adria can’t be much older than Indigo.”
    “I found my mate early”—a dazzling echo of memory—“and we had our beautiful Indigo soon afterward. Adria was only four at the time, so they grew up more as sisters than anything else.”
    Encouraged by her openness, he asked a question on a subject many would have said was none of his business. “How long has Adria been with Martin?”
    “Ten years, on and off.” Having arranged everything on the tray, Tarah went to pick it up.
    He slid his hands past hers. “I’ll get that.”
    Looking up, she stopped him with a hand on his upper arm. “You were a wonderful boy, Andrew. I’m so glad to know the man you’ve become.”
    Feeling the love in that touch, in those words, he asked the final, most important question. “How long has it been like that between them?”
    “Since the start.” Pain pinched her expression. “They love each other, but Martin’s never quite been able to handle Adria’s strength . . . and it breaks her heart each time he makes that clear.”
     
     
    As Andrew lay naked in bed and watched Indigo get ready to join him, he thought over the implications of what he’d learned tonight. He didn’t have to be a shrink to see that Indigo’s views on relationships had to have been shaped by the two closest to her.
    Her parents’ mating, while unsuitable to her own situation, fit the accepted parameters and was very, very successful. Adria, by contrast, had broken the mold, thrown in her lot with a less dominant man—and the results weren’t exactly inspiring.
    “Deep thoughts?” Indigo asked, brushing her hair in front of the vanity across from the bed.
    He ran his eyes over the silky little boxers in a color that echoed her eyes that she’d paired with a thin black camisole, her hair a waterfall of shining ebony over her shoulders. “You’re so beautiful, you make my heart stop.”
    Her hand froze in its smooth strokes and she stared at him across the length of the room.