Page 83 of Poet & Protector

“You’re worried about her.”

“I want my sister to be happy,” Ansel said plaintively. “I don’t know if Ren will be good for her.”

“I hear you, Ansel.” I sighed. “I want Calla to be happy, too. And I have no idea what her relationship with Ren will be like. Hopefully it will be good. If not, she’ll find other ways to be happy. We’ll always be there for her.”

“I guess.” He sat up. “I wish she would tell me what she really wants. I could help her.”

“Help her how?” I tried to muffle my sudden alarm.

“I don’t know,” he replied, but he was being evasive. “Like give her an escape hatch if she needs one. Or we could convince my dad and Lumine to delay the union if she’s not sure about it.”

This conversation was flirting with mutiny. Ansel’s sunny idealism could be one of his greatest strengths, but in this case it was his Achilles’ heel.

As Ansel’s best friend, it fell to me to steer him well away from any reckless plots he might be dreaming up on his sister’s behalf. His intentions were noble, and incredibly sweet, but he couldn’t see past his love for Calla. He shouldn’t be thinking, much less talking, about interfering with the union in any way.

“You’re a good brother,” I said. “But you need to give Calla more credit. She’s a fighter. If Ren gives her trouble, she’ll give it right back.”

“No doubt.” Ansel laughed.

“She wouldn’t want you to worry.” Seeking a distraction, I spotted Bryn’s drink of choice and pushed the highball toward Ansel. “Here. Try this one.”

He studied me through narrowed eyes, which was fair. I was just as likely to prank him with a drink I knew he’d hate as give him one he’d enjoy.

Lifting the glass, he took a sniff, then a sip. “This is good.”

“Bryn’s drink,” I told him with a smile. “It’s called a Bay Breeze.”

Ansel went dreamy-eyed. “Of course she has perfect taste in drinks.”

“Perfect for her and you,” I corrected, taking care not to laugh at his expression. “Calla would hate that drink.”

“Calla drinks her coffee black,” Ansel said. “Her taste buds are dysfunctional.”

I grabbed a beer and settled into the cushions. “You seem to be making progress on the Bryn front.”

He sat back, turning the glass in his hands. “We’ve been dancing a lot tonight, which is incredible. Being able to touch her like that⁠—”

“I get the picture,” I said, elbowing him. “You don’t need to fill in all the details. Bryn wouldn’t appreciate you oversharing.”

Ansel shook his head, abashed. “Sorry. This is all new to me. The feelings are…intense.”

“They are.” I took a swig of beer, trying not to dwell on my own intense feelings.

“Anyway, I didn’t bring you over here to talk about Bryn,” Ansel told me. “I have an idea I want to run by you.”

“And it’s not about Bryn?” I teased.

Most of Ansel’s ideas and strategies involved his infatuation with our packmate.

He scooted a little closer to me. “So it sucks you can’t, you know, be with Nev here.”

I appreciated that he was keeping his voice low. “Yeah, it sucks. But it is what it is.”

“I get that,” Ansel said. “But I think I could help.”

Uh oh. More helping? Ansel was really hunting trouble these days.

“Ansel, we shouldn’t⁠—”