Page 60 of A Wolf for Winter

But the familiar feel of the cologne bottle, so much like the ones she used for her potions, brought her world into a sharper focus. Trembling again, she set the bottle aside. She had come to Hawthorne Hall for her future as a potions master, though fate or destiny had deigned to throw a green spark and Allen Sharpe into the mix.

‘Two paths can become one, though the road narrows. For the strong of heart, the love outweighs all sorrow.’

By the Green Mother, she was feeling sorrow right now. Was it worth it?

Strangely, it was Grandmother’s teachings that gave her solace. The composure to swallow her grief, exit the bathroom, and perch herself on a chair she dragged beside Allen’s bed. She would listen to his explanation, then she would decide.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

He was dry and warm and bundled in bed, but he wasn’t safe. Not yet.

In the dregs of sleep, Allen had heard one set of footsteps coming and going and a muted conversation, something about pajamas and hot toddies. There’d been the occasional creak of the desk chair, except it wasn’t by the desk anymore. It was beside his bed, its occupant shifting during their vigil.

He smelled her before he fully roused. Sunlit water and flowers. Lilac.

Allen opened his eyes.

It was morning. She’d stayed beside him all night.

Lilac perched on the chair, feet propped on the bed frame so her thighs could act as a pedestal for the little book she was reading. She’s wearing my clothes.

In a surprisingly juvenile maneuver, his wolf sprang upright with a delighted yap, ears pricked and bushy tail wagging.

Down, boy, Allen chastised. She’d not ours yet, and . . .. And from what they’d done, they might’ve lost her forever. She was a Hawthorne, after all.

“Lilac.”

Her ivy-green eyes flew from the pages to his face, worry and anguish swirling there with too much betrayal.

“Are you alright?” He kept his voice quiet, didn’t reach for her even though every fiber of his being and his wolf demanded he lurch upright and drag her into his arms. His training ruled him now, because it was what she needed.

She dropped her feet, creating more distance between them without scooting back her chair. The maelstrom of emotions lasted for only a second longer before he watched the ice queen take control. Cool and aloof, she regarded him with thinly veiled contempt.

It hurt more than that missile he’d taken to the chest.

From the little leather-bound book, Lilac retrieved something from where she’d secreted it between the front cover and the first page. Her photograph. The one he hadn’t burned.

Oh no.

“Explain. This,” she said crisply.

“I will, but please,” he pleaded, “answer this first. Are you three safe?”

She wet her lips and searched his face with that cutting look of hers, gauging his sincerity. Then her eyes shifted to the morning light glowing in the frost-covered windows. “We’re fine. Prue’s still unconscious and locked up in Zofia’s old suite in the cellar. Talia’s at home.”

“Did you call your elders?”

The corner of Lilac’s left eye twitched. “That’s two questions. And no. With Prue in custody, Boar did not see the need. And you? You slept like the dead.”

The snappish inquiry after his health gave him hope that he hadn’t lost her completely.

Allen sat up, realizing as the bed sheets slid down from his chin that he was naked. He kept them pooled around his lap as he reached up and touched his unmarred chest.

“You’re not even wounded, or even scarred,” she breathed in wonder.

“Shifter awesomeness,” he explained. “I’m perfectly fine.”

Apparently she was not in the mood for a teasing remark—he should’ve known—and she flicked the photograph onto the comforter like it was a hideous insect she was glad to be rid of. “Now this?”