Wolf Rain (Psy-Changeling Trinity #3)(86)

“That’s the only order of yours I’ll ever follow,” she’d told him with a scowl and gotten kissed for her trouble.

If that kiss had been hard and fast, this one was deep and voracious. Her wolf’s possessiveness might as well have been a fluorescent flag. Mine, it said. Try to court her and die.

Another woman might’ve bristled. To Memory, the primal claim was welcome. Alexei might never mate with her—it still hurt to think that—but she’d heard enough from the other changelings to know that it wasn’t usual for him to treat a woman with such open possessiveness.

Riaz, the golden-eyed lieutenant who’d rejected her blueberry cake, had smiled one day and said, “Never seen Lexie court a woman before. Man’s apparently been hoarding his determination for you.”

A redheaded leopard sentinel named Mercy had added another tidbit a couple of days later. “Entire wolf pack’s finding it highly amusing to hassle Lexie over his attempts to feed you.” She’d reached back to tighten her ponytail, her body sleek and tough and pure feline grace in jeans and a fitted forest-green sweater. “You know what they say about wolves and food.”

Memory had thrown up her hands. “Actually I don’t know! No one ever explains what they mean by that!”

A laughing Mercy’d had to leave to continue her patrol route, but that evening, Memory had received a message with a forwarded copy of the October 2078 issue of Wild Woman magazine. Mercy had written: My demon brothers made me a “Wolf Survival Encyclopedia” when I mated my wolf. They printed out the Aunt Rita column from this issue. Check it out.

The column had been eye-opening. Beware of wolves bearing food, indeed.

Smiling, she bit at Alexei’s lower lip. He made a rumbling sound in his chest while stroking her spine all the way down to the lower curves of her body.

Her smile deepened. “You’re in a good mood, Mr. Wolfy.”

“Don’t tell anyone.” A mock scowl before he stepped away, a strong and intelligent male dressed in black cargo pants, an olive green T-shirt, and scuffed black boots. His belt was obviously well loved, the buckle marked by scratches. And his hair, it was gilt under the sunlight.

Afterward, she watched him move about the compound and thought of the scars no one could see inside her golden wolf, the hurt he hid under the grumbles and the scowls. She had to force herself to pay attention when Sascha arrived to continue their work, but she did—nothing in her life could move forward until Renault was neutralized.

At the end, she clenched her abdomen and asked about Jaya’s Arrow.

“Judd was able to help there,” Sascha said. “Medics think Abbot will make a full recovery. Jaya’s putting up a good front, but she’s badly shaken—Ivy’s with her. They’re close.”

Memory blew out a shaky breath, the nagging question of how a Tk could help heal someone shoved aside by her relief. “I’m so glad for Jaya—she loves Abbot so much.” Then, fingers digging into her thighs, she said, “Yuri?”

Face soft, Sascha shook her head. “No news. Aden hasn’t made the call yet.”

What must it cost an alpha to decide on life or death for one of his own? Aden, Memory knew, would wear Yuri’s name on his soul forever. As Hawke must wear Brodie’s.

“He never really spoke to me,” Sascha murmured, and when Memory looked up, said, “Yuri. He liked you, felt comfortable with you.”

“It’s because of the darkness in me.” At that instant, Memory was grateful to that darkness; without it, she might’ve never come to know the intensely private Arrow. “I wish we’d had longer—I think he’s the kind of friend who would’ve been there all my life, become an uncle to any children I might one day have.”

Memory swallowed hard. “Another Arrow invited him to join her for dinner that day . . . the day he got hurt. She made it a point to mention that she wasn’t inviting him as a squadmate, but as a man who intrigued her—I think he was surprised, but in a good way.” Always difficult to read, Yuri had nonetheless felt quietly happy to her empathic senses. “He asked me about the ‘protocol’ of whether he was expected to take a gift.”

Sorrow drenched Sascha’s expression. Closing her hand over Memory’s she said, “What did you tell him?”

“I was going to say to take flowers—I read about romantic gifts in Wild Woman.” Her chest ached. “But then I wondered if an experienced Arrow would like that, and said he should take a small thing that related to her, so she’d know he paid attention to her.”

Memory’s mouth curved, her lower lip trembling. “He said he’d noticed her uniform jacket was getting worn, but that she liked the fit too much to order a replacement. He was going to take a repair kit and offer to seal up any thin patches so she could continue to stay safe while wearing it.”

Sascha’s eyes shone wet. “Sounds perfect.”

“I thought so, too.” Despite everything, Memory kept hoping for a miracle, for Yuri to get a chance to go on that dinner date and fix his date’s jacket. It wasn’t fair that he’d spent his entire life in darkness only to die when he’d just experienced sunlight. “I’m going to hope for him until his heart stops beating.”

She expected Sascha to advise that it was foolish to do that, that false hope would only make it hurt more in the end, but the cardinal blinked rapidly before saying, “Me, too,” in a husky voice. “I was like Yuri once, closed inside myself, given no choices.”