“Right. Having multiple partners also raised the population rate many millennia ago. There has always been a smaller woman-to-man ratio, and not everyone can have children. More partners meant more chances to reproduce. Now, it’s simply an accepted practice for those who wish to participate. Not everyone does.”
“All of that is understandable, but you still didn’t answer my question.”
He grins. “Why you?”
I nod.
“There were five of us at first, and we knew we wouldn’t let anyone split us apart. We’d been through too much together. In a way, we were dependent on each other. That bond grew stronger when we lost Joldwin.”
“Rin’s brother?”
Imryll smiles sadly. “Yes.”
“I can see the co-dependency,” I tease. “I’m assuming this idea isn’t new.”
“No. We joked about it at first until slowly that became what we really wanted. We’ve courted other women, as Rin would put it. But we never agreed on any of them, and they weren’t happy with all of us.”
“And you suddenly agree with each other about me?”
He bounces his head as if I’m both right and wrong. “I wouldn’t say suddenly. It happened at different times and for different reasons.”
“But why?” I’m not sure what exactly I’m trying to ask, but he nods in understanding.
“We have a dynamic, a way that we act together as well as apart.”
“I know.”
“I don’t fall, Ada.” He frowns as he amends his statement. “Or I haven’t in the past. I’m the hardest to get to know, yet I freely share with you. I don’t feel the need to cover my truths in pretty lies.”
I sigh. “Spiran started that. We were drawn to each other, and she amplified the feeling.”
“I’ve been drawn to women before and not explained anything about my past to them. Spiran doesn’t force me to open up to you. I do that because I feel comfortable with you. You didn’t know what we were like before you came into our lives, but I can assure you, we’ve changed because of you.
“Connak wasn’t serious with anyone but us, and now he shows you all of him. Talodus isn’t gentle with anyone except you. Ecaeris.” He blows out a breath. “I haven’t seen him care about someone being mad at him until you. I’ve also not seen him smile as much as he does with you.
“Spiran may have pulled us together, but that didn’t happen on day one. Do you know what did happen?”
My brows furrow as his grin returns. “No.”
“You walked into my clinic and yelled at me, called Ecaeris an asshole, showed Talodus a feisty side that he didn’t expect, and bewildered Connak when you turned him down without a backward glance. Spiran’s interference didn’t start the moment you dropped into our world, Ada. It started when you caught our undivided attention.”
He backs up as I hop off the table and pace, trying to make sense of all that he’s said. Everything has been a whirlwind of change since I washed up on the Mongrel’s shore. And I’ve adapted, taking the punches as I steamroll downhill. I didn’t even look up from my path until now.
When did they gather my undivided attention?
There was some immediate attraction… And then there was this.
“I had this science teacher in college,” I begin, and he gives me a confused look. “She explained how you can put a frog in a pot of cold water. And it will stay as long as the water heats slowly enough for its body temperature to adjust. The frog doesn’t notice it’s cooking itself, too consumed in boiling water to worry about being devoured.”
“That’s morbid.”
“That’s life.” I roll my eyes but continue pacing. “I may have added the devoured part, but I just can’t see why it was a valid experiment if they weren’t going to eat it. Otherwise, it’s just torture.”
“Why did you tell me about that lesson?”
I stop with my back to him. “Because I don’t know when the four of you caught my undivided attention. First there was attraction and annoyance, depending on who we’re talking about, and then there was this consuming need to—”
“Be devoured?”