Page 62 of A Wolf for Winter

“Protect us from what?”

“It was suspected that with the coven’s prolonged absence in Redbud, someone might try to take advantage. A coup, for example.”

“A coven war,” she murmured, mostly to herself. She pursed her lips. “Prue Stonewell.” Then she shook her head, brown hair swishing across her shoulders. “But why would the Coalition concern itself with the likes of us? It’s a conglomerate of shifters. Hawthornes don’t—” She cut herself off. “We can take care of ourselves. Why would they feel the need to help us?”

“From what I’ve gathered, it has to do with your cousin, Meadow.”

“It usually does,” she muttered.

“Does it matter?” he ventured. “They sent me here to help you. To guard you. Lilac, I was never meant to truly meet you, or Rose, or Boar. I was never supposed to be the caretaker. To befriend you. You three were never to know I was even here, shifter or not. But fate”—he glanced down at his hand, the one he’d used to truly touch Lilac for the first time and elicit that green spark—“decided otherwise.”

He lifted the photograph. “I was trained to memorize a dossier and destroy it. I burned everything but this.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“Because I knew her. Knew her pain, how trapped she was. How desperate she was to be her true self and be accepted for it, not rebuked. For the longest time, I didn’t think that would ever be my destiny, but my toxic trait is my eternal optimism.” He chuckled once, a wry bark. “I wondered that if I could help her, even from afar, then at least one of us could be free. Free to leave the shadows and live in the light.” His throat seized. “A-and I understand if that life doesn’t include me. I don’t regret any of it, Lilac. You are worth it to me.”

She stiffened, her eyes glassy and bright. Her shoulders were so straight, her chin lifted like she was wearing armor. “What am I to you, Allen Chase? A mission? Validation?”

He blinked, taken aback by the insensitive words. Could she really doubt his commitment after all he’d said?

She’s hurting, his wolf said. Reassure her.

“You’re mine, Lilac,” he said gravely. “My mate, if you’ll have me back.”

She didn’t move. “Tell me like I’m someone who doesn’t know what that means.”

Allen softened, understanding. “I love you, Lilac Hawthorne. From this day until I draw my last breath, I am yours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

“I love you, Lilac Hawthorne.”

The declaration repeated in her mind until it became a deafening crescendo. It was all she’d ever wanted to hear from his lips, and yet she couldn’t embrace it. Not yet.

Soundless, Lilac rose fluidly from her chair, set her book down, and crossed the bedroom to the door. While her stride was long and graceful as she had been trained, it hid a heart that beat like a war drum and anxious jitters that raced up and down her spine.

“Lilac?” Allen asked after her, his voice wavering with panic. But he didn’t beg her to stay. Didn’t beg her to keep his secret from her siblings. He was giving her the freedom to make her own choices, even if those choices were at odds with his own survival.

She closed the door, locked it, and flattened her back against it. “Show me the wolf.”

For a moment, Allen looked like he might protest, then he nodded once. He pushed the covers back at the same time he twisted to the side, preserving his modesty. As he reached for the floor, his eyes flashed with a golden light. Between one thundering heartbeat and the next, a wolf with golden-white fur stood on the rug beside the bed.

Well, he was nothing like the little animal friends she often sought out in the woods, that’s for sure.

He was taller than a Great Dane, larger than any canine she’d ever seen. Bigger than even that Irish wolfhound who guarded the grimoire cabinet at Hawthorne Manor. His muzzle was as long as her forearm and hid teeth she had no doubt could snap that forearm in half. Paws the size of dinner plates sported sharp white nails, and a bushy tail wrapped around his hind legs so much like a cat’s that she almost laughed. The wolf was trying to look as unassuming and friendly as a ferocious beast could, short of lying down and showing her his belly.

“Can I . . . touch you?”

The wolf lowered his head.

Still, it took more than a few deep breaths to pluck up her courage to leave the door. Fear and resentment of shifters had been so engrained in her upbringing that it was hard to take the steps needed to cross the bedroom.

“This is Allen,” she whispered to herself. Allen, the man with the teasing smile and the kind eyes. The caretaker that had made Rose’s favorite breakfast and offered himself up to Boar as a punching bag just so they could heal. Selfless, generous, compassionate. Though he had come to the valley for selfish reasons, he’d stayed for all the right ones.

The wolf closed his beautiful golden eyes and leaned forward as Lilac stretched her hand out. Her breath pooled in her throat, shreds of doubt still lingering, but they were burned away when her fingers sank into his fur.

“It’s so soft,” she breathed. She’d been expecting it to be coarse, shaggy even, but it was that of a Brittany spaniel. Silky, yet very thick.