Last Guard (Psy-Changeling Trinity #5) by Nalini Singh

“Valya,” Canto had muttered, “Silver adores your pack. I went to see her in her office yesterday and found a naked cub in human form trying to hang upside down from a curtain rod.” Silver had worked on unperturbed, simply saying “No” when the cub tried to do a dangerous maneuver.

The cub had stopped at once.

And Canto had seen once again why Ena had chosen Silver as her future successor.

“Emergency babysitting when a packmate went into early labor while shopping with her boy,” Valentin had explained, eyes of dark brown aglow with a power usually hidden beneath the force of his warm presence.

“Canto, I know from Silver that the Mercants are as much a pack as StoneWater. I never want to cut my Starlight off from her pack—and I want our two packs to become family.” A smug bearish smile as he sat back, arms folded. “I’m charming your grandmother, you know.”

Canto had snorted. “You wish.” But he’d accepted the offer because he understood that it had been made out of love for Silver.

It had taken the bear clan and Canto’s family a short two weeks to put up the house according to his specifications. He’d managed the project and done all the computronic hookups, while the bears had provided manual labor, transport of materials, and engineering. Arwen had done the architectural drawings, with Magdalene sourcing the furniture, rugs, and other items to outfit the place.

As it was, he had as many bearish visitors as Mercants.

Such as the dark-skinned man who hauled himself up over the balcony railing just now, a small boy clinging to his back like a barnacle. Bears seemed to find using Canto’s front door optional.

“Chaos,” Canto said. “Did you know you picked up a butt-naked hitchhiker?” His Russian was passable despite his relatively short period of study—he had a theory it had to do with being an A. The Net was a constant river in his head, and parts of that psychic river spoke Russian.

Reaching back, Chaos pulled off his son with the casual strength bear parents used with their cubs, and threw the giggling boy up into the air. “Dima and I needed fresh air,” he said after catching his son in his arms. “He had on clothes until he decided to shift without taking them off.”

Dima shrugged, his face mischievous. “I’m a bear. Grr.” Then he jumped toward Canto, having learned that Canto was strong enough to take his rambunctious ways. The first time they’d met, the cub had come up to him and very seriously examined his chair, then asked if they could go “zoom.”

Canto was pretty sure Dima was his favorite bear.

Today, he hugged the boy and said, “Hungry?” because bear cubs were always hungry. Possibly because they never stayed still.

“Yeah!”

Canto put him on the wooden floor of the balcony. “You know where the snacks are.” He kept a stash suitable for small bears in a lower cupboard—the assortment courtesy of Arwen. “Chaos, how many things can he choose?” He’d learned that lesson when he hadn’t set any restrictions the first time—Chaos had had to deal with one moaning and stuffed-full cub.

“Two.” Chaos’s voice was the one Canto had labeled the “bear parent” tone. No argument. No playing. Do as you’re told.

Dima ran inside with a big whoop.

Grinning, Chaos hauled over a chair to sit next to Canto and held out a fist for him to bump. The bears, notwithstanding their reputation as rough and tough troublemakers, were highly intelligent and conscious of the Psy aversion to touch. They took “skin privileges” dead seriously.

Even the drunk bear who’d ended up in his lap had asked permission. He’d said yes because he’d been worried she’d otherwise face-plant right onto the asphalt.

Canto liked the changeling idea of skin privileges, of physical contact being considered a gift.

Payal’s face flashed in his mind, her skin so smooth and soft looking, her lips lush.

His abdomen tightened, his nerve endings afire. Not ready for the raw physical surge, he almost missed Chaos’s question.

Having leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the deck railing, Chaos said, “You sure you don’t get lonely out here?”

It was a quintessentially bear question. They lived in a sprawling den that Canto had been sure would drive Silver insane—yet his cousin was thriving in the midst of a nosy, loving, and occasionally insane pack that loved to throw parties.

“Arwen and Pavel dropped by yesterday for lunch, day before that it was my grandmother, and now you two,” he growled as he stripped off the gloves he wore to increase his grip during manual use of his chair; they also protected his palms from constant friction. Now he flexed his fingers and said, “How the hell is a man supposed to get peace and quiet?”

Chaos laughed, big and booming. “You do a good grumble. Almost like a bear.”

Small feet running back.

When Dima came around to Canto’s side, he saw that the boy held four snacks, not his permitted two. Surprised the small bear had disobeyed his father, he waited for Chaos to discipline him. But then Dima took a pack of dried apple slices from his stash and held it out to Canto. “You like apple.”

“Yeah.” Heart stretching inside his chest, Canto took the pack, then rubbed his hand over the boy’s tight curls.

Smiling, Dima ran over to give his father a pack of something called licorice allsorts that—to Canto—looked like tiny multihued bricks. “Look, Papa, your favorite.”