Page 18 of A Wolf for Winter

“I’d be happy to prove it to you,” Allen said calmly, “but then Sam might have to throw me out of here for indecent exposure.”

Rose choked on her beer, slapping a hand over her mouth before she sprayed the table. Smirking, Boar handed her a napkin. Lilac’s ivy-green eyes glittered like chips of emerald.

“I meant human,” she clarified sourly. “We all know who Nan believes him to be—worthy of being her successor—but obviously this transfer of power was made in haste. Who’s to say he wasn’t the one who facilitated these circumstances?”

Boar and Rose shared a glance, then her brother shifted in his seat and sucked in a deep, nearing-the-end-of-his-patience breath.

“That’s a very astute theory,” Allen said, cutting Boar off. “All I have is my word and Zofia’s. How else would you like me to prove it to you?”

“Touch this.” She thrust out her arm, offering her wrist. And the iron cuff that encircled it.

“Okaaay.” He reached over and placed only the pad of his index finger on the iron cuff. Nothing happened, and Lilac couldn’t hide her disappointment. She was a dog with a bone about him, determined to find fault in him. Determined not to trust him. Well, he didn’t need her trust to protect her, but it sure went a long way.

And, he wanted it. Craved it, and his need had nothing to do with his years as a Green Beret or with his current mission with the Coalition.

“Anything else?” he asked sincerely.

“Lilac, c’mon,” Boar said. “He’s not Fair Folk, he’s not a witch or a practitioner, otherwise we would’ve already sensed his magic, and—”

“And he’s not a warlock,” Rose added. “His eyes aren’t ringed in red and angry looking. You have really beautiful eyes, Allen.”

“Thank you.” He clinked his stein against hers.

“He could be a shifter,” Lilac fired back.

Allen snorted, the first time he’d met her with derision. As much as he hated to treat her that way, he had to keep his cover intact. “In this town? Not a chance. Your reputation is legendary.”

His words seemed to spear her right in the heart, and her ivy-green eyes flew so wide they resembled patina pennies. Then she lurched upright, fleeing in the direction of the restroom sign before Allen could rise or even protest.

He looked back at the other Hawthornes in bewilderment. “What did I say? Your family’s reputation for hating shifters is legendary, isn’t it?”

“It’s not you.” Rose slid Allen’s beer closer to his hand. “Finish that so my brother can order more.”

“I should go after her.”

“No,” Boar said, “you should do as my sister says and drink that beer. Lilac’s been strangely volatile lately. If you go after her, you might not come back.”

“She’ll be fine,” Rose assured him. “She always is.”

CHAPTER NINE

Despite the serene smile plastered on her face, Lilac was screaming inside. It wouldn’t do for the pub patrons to see a Hawthorne display any emotion other than cool politeness, especially her, but this Hawthorne wanted to throw something. If she didn’t get into the bathroom quick so she could hide in a stall and just beat her fists against the tile wall right this minute, she was going to pop.

“Your reputation is legendary.”

How dare that simple human judge her? Allen Sharpe had no idea what he was talking about, what she had gone through to have that reputation foisted upon her.

“Oh, Mistress Lilac, don’t leave!” a panicked voice called out.

Lilac turned, still scowling at Allen’s words, and discovered Talia hurrying towards her.

The young woman was pretty, a touch simple, and a perpetual temp. You were guaranteed to find her all over the village all of the time. Either she had the flightiness of a sparrow or just preferred a varied working experience.

It was probably that lack of skill one gains after working consistently at the same job for any considerable amount of time that made the tray with their lunch wobble precariously on her shoulder. The pea soup threatened to slop over the rim of the serving cauldron, the bread boules had already begun to roll like snowballs down a hill, and her salmon was sliding inevitably toward the edge of its plate as if it would suddenly grow fins again and leap off the tray for another chance at life.

“I’m sorry the food took so long! I dropped the first tray and then the cook cut his hand filleting another whole salmon and—” In her haste, Talia bumped into a bar stool and launched the tray into the air.

The food never hit the ground.