Page 51 of A Wolf for Winter

She sucked in her breath and held it as his golden-brown eyes scanned the letter. The weariness drained from the lines in his face, a smile breaking free like the first rays of dawn. She found herself straining forward after the light of that smile like a sunflower.

“Lilac, this is incredible,” he exclaimed.

“You made it happen, Allen.”

He looked up from the letter, his smile vanishing. “Don’t say that. You did the work. I just gave you a helping hand.”

“You saw me when others didn’t,” she said softly. “How did you do that? You must know about me. It’s no secret what service I provide for my family.”

Allen wet his lips, considering. Then: “You’re the honeytrap. Your grandmother uses your beauty as a weapon, whether it’s to sway business deals in her favor or allude to alliances through marriage. Or dig out secrets via pillow talk.”

Lilac snorted lightly. “They wish they’d heard my pillow talk.” Then she sobered. “I’m a femme fatale, but I don’t want to be that anymore. I never chose that for myself. I . . . I—”

“You don’t need to explain yourself to me,” he said gently, returning her letter.

She plucked it out of his hand. “But I do, Allen, because you see me. And I feel like I need to tell you—”

In a rare show of external frustration, she clawed her hands through her wavy brown hair. By the Green Mother, this wasn’t going at all like she’d planned. This was supposed to be a simple exchange of gratitude, not her pouring her soul out to him.

“Lilac,” he soothed, reaching for her.

She didn’t deserve his comfort, not until he knew what he saw in her wasn’t a lie. Lilac stepped back, shoring up against the reading seat of the bay window. “You know us Hawthornes, the whole extended family, live in the manor, right? That’s forty-something people. We do everything together from growing our own food to homeschooling to combat training. I love my family, but it can be suffocating. We’re all fighting for our individuality, but we’re all cogs in the same clock. We each have a purpose, something we’re good at. And I’m good at looking beautiful.”

Lilac wrung her hands. “When I was sixteen, I was ordered to use that beauty against my own cousin. Meadow. She was—is—as close to me as my own sister. But then Grandmother . . .” She sucked in a deep breath, unable to look at Allen any longer. “I heard whispers of a prophecy about the fae. About Meadow. It’s why we’re forbidden from socializing with shifters—they are half beast, and Grandmother’s convinced they’re more easily swayed by the fae, who are the commanders of the natural world.

“Meadow was never to fall in love until after the prophecy expired. Grandmother was afraid she would be seduced by a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and that seduction would inevitably doom us all. She learned that Meadow had a crush on a human boy—Jeremy Rook. And she sent me to lead him astray.”

“To steal him.”

Lilac winced. “To prove to Meadow that I could take any boy I wished, that no boy would ever prefer her to me, to make her give up on the idea that she could find love outside what the family could provide for her. And . . . I did it.” Her throat constricted as tears flooded her eyes, but she held them back.

“What could I do?” she whispered. “I was sixteen, still very much a child, and of course I was a little jealous of Meadow. Everyone saw her talents; she’s Grandmother’s own protégé. But mine? No one looked past my face. And my coven matriarch is the Iris Hawthorne, so there was no way I could disobey. I trusted her when she said this was for the good of the family. But . . . it crushed Meadow. You must know what it’s like, your first heartbreak? Except it’s a hundred times worse when your own cousin steals away your boyfriend to turn into her plaything and then throw him away when she tires of him.”

“If he was so easily stolen, he never was hers to begin with,” Allen observed gently.

“We can say that as adults, sure, but as children, that kind of act leaves a mark. It nearly destroyed us, our relationship. I’ve been fighting for the last twelve years to make it right, but I don’t know if I ever will.”

Lilac lifted the letter. “It’s why I seized this chance. With Grandmother and the coven away, I had a chance to choose the life I wanted for myself, to prove to Meadow that I’d never do such a thing again. That I never want to do that again. That I just . . . want to be me.”

“And you can, Lilac. You’re already doing it.” Allen stepped close enough that she could smell his cologne. It was a wild scent that reminded her of wide-open spaces and the sensation of wind blowing through her hair. “You don’t need me to give validation to your life.”

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, finally daring a look at his face.

By the Green Mother, he was so handsome. Golden hair, flushed skin, those golden-brown eyes that looked into the heart of her and didn’t run away. The waffle knit of his Henley lay snug against the firm muscles of his chest and shoulders, and all Lilac wanted was to feel those strong arms enveloping her, feel those wide hands splaying over her body. She wanted to be accepted. Reassured. Cherished.

And Allen Sharpe was as genuine and loyal as he was handsome. Whoever won his devotion would be the luckiest person on Earth.

“Because,” she tried again, “because if you do, maybe s-someone like you could accept me and . . . fall for me. L-like I’m falling for him.”

The caretaker went rigid. “What?” he asked, his voice oddly strangled.

Her breath rushed out of her chest as if her lungs had just collapsed, her heart shriveling. Oh Green Mother, had she read him wrong? Had she—

“I’m sorry,” she stammered, a crimson flush flooding from the roots of her hair all the way down to her toes. “I-I misjudged— Please, excuse me.”

As she rushed by him, Allen’s hand shot out. His fingers closed around her hand for only an instant before a green spark flashed between them with a startling bloom of heat. They flew apart, Lilac cradling her hand to her chest.

“It can’t be,” she whispered, her mortification replaced by awe.