Psy & Changelings 09 - Play of Passion

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,