Page 98 of Impossible

I watch Indigo—she’s already anxious, and this is what Risk does? Invites her over and then gets high? Her eyes are wide as Risk presses his entire body to Joshua’s, peeking over his shoulder and planting a kiss on his cheek before whipping around and ducking under my arm stirring the sauce. He bends over the pot and takes a deep whiff, pressing his ass into my crotch. I step away, barely holding my anger back, but before I can snap at him, he’s danced over to the table, dragging the chair next to Indigo’s closer and then plopping down, pressing the length of his leg to hers. “Smells amazing,” he sighs, not specifying whether he means Indigo or the sauce.

Indigo is smiling. Beaming, really.

“Sorry about him,” I grunt, waving the skunky scent away. I won’t pick this fight, not now, not with that smile on her face and this glowy warmth permeating my chest in response.

She grins. “It’ll probably tasteextragood now.”

“It’s stilluncouth.” I glare at Risk, fending him off before he can invite her upstairs to partake. He just leans back and grins. The dopeyness of his high permeates the bond, the lowered inhibitions and giggle-worthy silence and truly intoxicating smell of the spaghetti sauce beckoning to him.

Joshua bristles as Risk’s attention turns his way, a battering ram of adoration. It’s the kind of thing he knows better than to direct at me. Of course, when it comes to Joshua, he never holds back.

“Stop it, we have a guest,” Joshua scolds. “Use your words.”

“Fine. Your ass isfantasticin those jeans.”

Joshua’s neck goes splotchy, his alabaster skin strawberry pink.

Indigo bursts out laughing.

Leon’s reaction is immediate and impossible to ignore—just like Risk a moment ago. A tidal wave of pleasure so powerful I have to stop my stirring and grip the stove to stay upright, nearly burning myself in the process. Risk is smirking, and Joshua’s grimace is sliding off his face, overtaken by his lopsided smile.

Something seizes my heart at the scene. Leon’s eyes glued on Indigo, her head tossed back mid-laugh, Risk adhered to her side and Joshua pretending not to enjoy the compliment. I want to freeze everything, force it to stay still, to stay righthere, but I know I can’t. It’s slipping away already, Indigo’s chin tucking back down, Joshua schooling his expression to stillness, Leon looking away so Indigo doesn’t catch him staring.

The loss is almost more painful than the pleasure was good.

See? We need her.Leon’s thoughts are so close to my own I can barely tell them apart. I’d be a fool to argue.

The table is a marvel when it’s filled—the big pot of spaghetti sauce, the basket of crusty garlic bread dripping with butter, the giant bowl of salad, sprinkled with croutons and parmesan. I fight the urge to preen at nourishing my pack. The tomato oregano paprika heat still doesn’t come close to comparing to the combination of our scents though. All of us. Together. I breathe in deep, the story in the air so good it hurts.

Risk dives in and serves himself first. I’m about to scold him before realizing it was deliberate—Indigo didn’t want to go first, even though she’s the guest. He didn’t need to think about it—he just took care of her. In a way only he would know how to.

“This looks amazing,” she says as she fills her plate. Leon watches her a little too intently, and I mentally tsk at him. The amount of food she takes is perfectly acceptable. I ignore my own urge, to pull her onto my lap and feed her bite by bite from my hand. That would be obscene. I try to hold the thought back from the bond entirely, but of course, everybody picks up on it. They do me the kindness of letting it float away—Leon and Joshua are thinking something similar, and Risk is thinking something entirely different but somehow far more obscene.

Indigo just seems…aboveinstinct. Which is a problem. Her heat is going to hit her like a brick wall, and there’s nothing we can do to help her. We could be her guides, but if she knew about us, if she knew we’re fated mates, I wonder if she’d be able to see us as anything other than a threat. She’s just so young. She isn’t ready to hold all the parts of herself, not yet.

We finish serving and then we’re all waiting for Indigo to finish dusting her pasta with parmesan. She feels our eyes and freezes. “Did I do something?”

Leon nods at Risk. “Hand him the cheese when you’re done.”

She immediately hands it to Risk, wanting our eyes off her. He up-ends the bowl, relishing Indie’s horror as she takes in the now 1:1 ratio of cheese to everything-else-on-plate. He stirs the muck all together—salad, noodles, bread, cheese, sauce, all of it. One of my least favorite habits of his, if only fortexture.

“He gets mad if I don’t grate enough cheese,” Joshua grumbles to Indigo, who is still aghast.

“Yum,” Risk says through an over-stuffed mouthful.

Indigo shudders. She takes a bite that I do my best not to watch, then hums in pleasure and turns to me. “This isamazing. How did you learn to cook like this?”

I try to ignore the twist in my low belly at the humming sound, focusing on her words instead. “My mom taught me. She was the best cook.”

Joshua and Leon nod their agreement.

“Did you grow up here?” Indigo asks. “Joshua said the house passed through your family.”

I nod. “My birth pack lived here until my mom died.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s ok. She got sick, and the pack wasn’t very good at keeping things together once she was gone. The place had been empty for a few years by the time we got here. Had to put in a little work to fix it up again.”

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