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

Heading to the elevator, he made it downstairs just in time to catch sight of a laughing Pavel tugging Arwen into the trees in the distance. Canto’s cousin wasn’t exactly fighting, and the fact he was wearing a suit in the early-morning fog told Canto he must’ve kept Pavel company overnight.

Tell your bear thanks, Canto telepathed.

He’s not my bear, Arwen replied utterly unconvincingly. But he says you’re welcome. Does Grandmother know about Payal?

Canto didn’t answer to anyone but Ena, but he couldn’t ignore the open concern in Arwen’s tone. Empath. Always caring so much, always trying to make sure the family was happy. Yes. So you can stop worrying, little old man. A childhood nickname given in affection.

Payal … you’ll be careful? She’s ruthless.

So is Grandmother.

That made Arwen go quiet for several long seconds. When he did reply, he sounded peeved. I made the mistake of telling Pasha what you said, and he’s rolling around on the forest floor laughing so hard he can’t talk.

Canto understood the bear’s amusement. The men in our family don’t go for weak, Arwen. Have you not figured that out? Especially since he was tangled up with a bear lieutenant.

But she’s like a razor-sharp knife at the throat. A bit extreme.

Go ask Valentin about Silver Fucking Mercant. Those were the exact words the bear alpha had been known to yell in pride about his mate.

You’re grumpy when you wake up, Arwen muttered. I’m going to go find some cold water to throw on Pasha.

Meanwhile, Canto sat there and realized he’d just talked about Mercant men and the lovers they fell for; yeah, he’d gone well past friendship based on his and Payal’s shared past. But as with Arwen and his laughing bear, this would not be a fast courtship.

Courtship.

More bear influence.

Psy didn’t court each other.

But Valentin had courted Silver and won her. Pavel was courting Arwen with what appeared to be slow but joyous success. Psy could be courted. The question was, Did Canto know how to do it?

“I’m very good at research,” he muttered to himself, and went back upstairs to get cleaned up.

After drying off following his shower, he put on a pair of gray sweatpants and a faded olive green tee that hugged his biceps—he’d seen Payal’s eyes go to his arms more than once, and the first rule of Mercant life was to use every advantage. His jaw was stubbled, but Payal didn’t seem to mind that, so he left it, and his hair was short enough to require nothing but a quick comb with his fingers.

He didn’t bother with socks or shoes.

Ready, he hit the kitchen and made himself a sandwich. He was just finishing it off when he heard stirring in the lounge. “Payal,” he said out loud as he wheeled himself to her.

She was sitting with her hair tumbled around her face, her black pants and silky green top mussed. Her eyes were hazy, her lips plump and relaxed. “Canto?”

“Hello, sleepy.” He fought the urge to go over, cuddle her warm, sleep-dazed body against his.

A flare of her eyes, her body leaning toward his … then she took a deep breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Her muscles lost their softness, her features no longer open.

Canto shoved aside his frustration, killed his anger dead. No fucking way would he ever lash out at Payal for doing what she needed to do to survive. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” she admitted, one hand on her stomach. “And I need to fix my hair.”

“Guest bathroom’s that way. There’s stuff in there you can use. Brushes and things.”

PAYAL was still a little drugged from her deep sleep, so it took her a few minutes to notice that all of the makeup in the basket of “stuff” for guests was designed for her skin tone. Not her preferred brands, as there was no way Canto could’ve known those—but he’d done the research to find the things she needed to feel whole.

Feel as if her armor weren’t cracked.

She opened a new brush and used it to comb out her hair, then pulled it back into a tight ponytail. Next, she fixed her face and rearranged her clothing so it didn’t look so much like she’d slept in it.

When she glanced in the mirror again, she looked like the Payal Rao people saw in the media. Except for one thing. She hadn’t been wearing shoes when she teleported in, and now her feet felt naked.

Canto was just coming in from the deck. “I put the food out on the deck table.”

His feet were bare, too, his toenails squared and his skin tanned enough to tell her he sat in the sun without shoes. “Thank you,” she said, her voice husky.

“Hey, you’ll get frozen feet. Let me grab you a pair of socks.”

Her chest felt as if it were compressing on itself. “What about you?” she managed to say as he disappeared into the bedroom.

“I’m used to the colder temps here—and, after all these years, I’ve got a good handle on how to regulate my lower body temperature. You’re at hothouse heat in Delhi right now.” He emerged with a pair of black socks.

They were too big for her feet and warm, and she was going to steal them so she’d have a piece of Canto with her in Vara. Her stomach clenched. She should go there now, away from this man who made the mad girl inside her agitate to be free. But she took her socked feet out into the pale gray of early morning and onto the wooden boards of the deck.