Page 39 of A Wolf for Winter

“Definitely not.”

They both flushed at the vehemence of his rebuttal. Allen swallowed, hating that he was already reneging on the vow he’d made not five minutes ago. She just . . . did something to him. Best get her upstairs and away from him.

“I only mean it’s safer for you to be in your room,” he tried again. “Especially after what happened this afternoon.”

“You and Boar can’t lock me away like a princess in a tower.”

“Stop being so difficult!” he finally burst. “Can’t you see I only want the best for you? To keep you safe? I’m not ‘locking you away’ anywhere. It’s late, and I only want you to get a good night’s sleep so you are prepared for anything tomorrow. I can’t be everywhere at once, so I need you to help me by being alert!”

She would’ve crossed her arms over her chest had she not been afraid of spilling whatever liquid was in her mug. “I told you before, I don’t need your protection.”

Spirits above, she was infuriating. Stubborn. Unable to let her challenge go, he closed the space between them in two large strides, getting right into her personal space like a wolf would do to a rival he was intimidating to submit. She looked up at him boldly, green magic flashing a warning in her eyes. He didn’t heed it.

“Is that what you told yourself this afternoon, when you were clinging to me?” he demanded, voice low.

The bold defiance vanished from her eyes, replaced by fear. Fear that he had discovered something she had thought she’d hidden from everyone else. Including herself.

He wanted to push, push her into admitting something, but the snapping of the pine wood in the fire reminded him too strongly of gunfire, of that night in the desert cave when he’d pushed his brothers too far.

So he backed off before he could go down that road again and destroy something else precious to him. “You might not need my protection, Lilac, powerful Hawthorne that you are, but I’ll give it to you anyway,” he said with a resigned sigh. He moved out of her space and turned to the woodpile to heave more logs onto the fire. “As long as I’m caretaker here, you will have my care. You all will.”

“Who are you, Allen Sharpe?” she demanded. She wasn’t angry, though she had every right to be, but she was firm. “You’re no delivery boy.”

“I’m a man with a past, same as everybody.” He straightened from feeding the fire and found her unhappy with his response. “I came here for a fresh start. You and your family have nothing to fear from me. And I’d like to leave it at that.”

“I could command you to tell me.”

Allen wondered if she really could, if that was something the Hall’s magic would force him to do. Was that what Prue Stonewell had meant when she said he was cursed—that by becoming the caregiver, he’d given up all aspects of control over his own life? “You could, but you won’t,” he hedged.

“Oh?” She gave that imperious arch to her eyebrow, a facial expression he was becoming quite familiar with.

“You won’t,” he repeated, truly convinced now, “because you’re nice.” And bold and confident and fearless in chasing after your dreams.

She snorted, rolling her eyes. “I’m an ice queen, haven’t you heard? Aloof and beautiful and unattainable. And alluring because of it.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You’re a sweet girl. Otherwise, why take the fall for me? Why tell Boar it was you who went back for your potions? Why give that little kid a whole sack of cookies when he hit you with his soccer ball? You could’ve reprimanded him like any other adult would’ve, but you didn’t. You chose to assuage his fears because that’s who you truly are under all this”—he gestured broadly in her direction—“a sweet, compassionate girl.”

And that sweet, compassionate girl looked like she might cry. Like she was shocked, and maybe even frightened, that he had seen something she’d hidden away. Then she composed herself with frightening, practiced efficiency, embodying that serene persona once more. Or so he thought.

“Woman,” she corrected quietly, not looking at him.

He suppressed a smile. “My mistake.”

She chanced a glance at him and held his gaze, searching his face for a hidden motive. He had none, and she found none. They stood there for a moment, like they had hours before when she’d clutched that sprig of lily-of-the-valley against her chest, nothing but the fire crackling away and the gentle wind caressing the windows outside. Allen wondered—hoped—that they understood each other a little better now.

For the sake of the mission, of course, he reminded himself. It was hard to take that reminder seriously when Lilac stood with her weight shifted forward, like she was contemplating closing the distance between them. And the knowledge that he would welcome her into his arms without a second thought.

He swallowed thickly as the seconds ticked by, the anticipation nearly unbearable. She didn’t move, but that earnestness didn’t leave her face. Perhaps she needed an invitation? He wasn’t sure he should give her one, not when he couldn’t tell her he was a shifter. Not when that would kill whatever was happening between them stone dead.

“Well, uh, I’m gonna finish this”—he gave the chicken leg he was still holding a little wave—“and, um, make myself some hot chocolate and call it a night.”

Manners, his wolf snarled at him.

“Would you, uh, like some hot chocolate too?” he said quickly. Then he kicked himself, snarling back at his wolf, I’m supposed to be putting some distance between us. Keep it professional. Remember? How does having hot chocolate with her help that?

It doesn’t. But it helps me, his wolf replied smugly. She’s nice, remember? And she smells . . .. His wolf made a show of inhaling deeply, a ripple of pleasure shimmering down his golden-white fur. Amazing.

He couldn’t have argued with his wolf even if he wanted to. It was the truth.