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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The wolf plowed through the snow with great stomping steps. He wanted to howl, wanted to release his rage at the starry sky, but he couldn’t risk discovery. So he marched his patrol with a snarl on his jaws, blasting the powdery snow at his feet into a chaotic flurry with each exhale.

Allen Chase had been a fool.

He’d overreacted earlier that day, misinterpreting the Hall’s alarm for an attack. He’d jumped to a conclusion, already on edge from what had happened to Landen, all because of her .

Or rather, his feelings for Lilac.

It was unprecedented. The moment he’d sensed— assumed —she was in danger, he’d seen red. Forget everyone else; his only need had been to protect her, to spirit her to safety. And then to discover that ill-wish had been for her, to lodge in her throat with all those barbs pumping venom into her veins? He’d nearly wolfed out right then and there.

Since when did he let his emotions govern him? Hadn’t he learned that lesson already, and the hard way too, since he’d been forced to give up his brothers and leave the service? If he didn’t get ahold of himself, he would ruin his second chance with the Coalition. Then he would be doomed to wander for the rest of his days alone. Not even his older brother Lewellyn would take him in, at least, not for long. He was a retrieval specialist, a job that took him all over the world and sometimes put him in bed with unsavory characters. The same individuals Allen had vowed to protect against when he’d joined the military.

The golden-white wolf put on a burst of speed in an attempt to outrun his waspish thoughts. The storm had moved on, leaving a frigid chillness and a flawlessly clear sky behind. He could smell another one rolling in on its heels, though. It would be here in a day or two, dampening everything in white.

There were no unusual prints in the forest, nor in the lawns surrounding Hawthorne Hall, but the wolf couldn’t shake the feeling of the alarm. Of the eerie prickling of his skin, as if a colony of invisible ants had mistaken him for a succulent leaf and were gnawing on him. He couldn’t shake how it had made his hair stand straight on end.

He returned to the grove, finding the symmetrical nature of it just as unsettling as before. There had been power here once, long ago, and maybe a remnant of it still lingered.

There were some scratches on the trees, probably by the local herd of deer or from a bird searching for hibernating insects, but no scents or footprints, so the wolf swung around to return to the Hall.

Whoever had set off the alarm was holed up in the village, and without another clue or scent to act upon, there was no use in pursuing them. Though, they all had their suspicions.

The hedge witches were the most likely culprits, Prue Stonewell in particular, but the Hawthornes had all agreed that they couldn’t outright accuse her without hard evidence. She’d vanished shortly before Landen’s poisoning, but then again, so had a lot of people. Allen had left the punch bowl unattended, and while Boar blamed Rose, it was no one else’s weight to bear but his.

“No more mistakes,” Allen growled aloud as he pulled his clothes out of the plastic trash bag. “Your head stays in the game, Chase. Your heart, and that girl, have no say in this.”

Lilac couldn’t be the home he was desperate for. She was a Hawthorne, for one, his kind forbidden to her, and secondly, she didn’t trust him. Occasionally she seemed to forget that fact, allowing him to glimpse her true self, and those were the times he questioned everything.

“No,” he reminded himself, and his wolf, who got this stupid happy grin on his muzzle anytime he thought of her. “ No .” He had to stay away from her, as much as his mission would allow, so he could remain impartial. It was the only way to get the job done. It was the only way he could leave when Zofia reclaimed her role as caregiver and the Coalition welcomed him into their ranks.

The Hall’s barrier recognized him and his opal ring, washing over him as he passed through before tightening back down for the rest of the night. Allen locked the cellar door behind him, stopped to raid the fridge for a leg of leftover chicken, and trudged up the stairs to the first floor. He needed to add some more wood to the fire before turning in for the night. The Hall’s hearth was a magical thing indeed, consuming wood at a fraction of the speed a normal fireplace would, and the logs he’d place would easily last until the morning.

As he shouldered open the door to the first floor, he heard a squeak that definitely didn’t come from the hinges.

“Lilac?” he exclaimed around a mouthful of chicken. He hastily swallowed.

The witch was, yet again, in just her nightgown and slippers as she knelt before the fire. Her unbound hair undulated down her back, the edges flashing golden in the firelight. The same teasing light penetrated the thin cotton of her nightgown and left little of her curves and swells to the imagination. He ripped his eyes away even as a painfully hard pulse throbbed deep in his abdomen. Spirits above, this woman needed to invest in a robe.

Lilac plucked her drawstring purse from the floor at her knees and snatched the mug from the nearby coals. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m the caretaker. It’s my right to wander these halls like a ghost if I so choose.” He tore his gaze from where it had landed on the woodpile and shifted it to her face. And only her face. Which was still a mistake.

The witch was a little disheveled, as if she’d just come from bed, and her cheeks were rosy from the fire. Embers from the hearth reflected like sparks of gold in her ivy-green eyes. Her full lips were slightly parted, like she was on the verge of saying something, but she only wet them quickly with her tongue. Nervously. Expectantly?

Stop it , Allen reminded himself roughly. She doesn’t want you, plus she’ll hate you if she ever figures out what you are, and she is not the mission .

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“Who are you, my brother?”

“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.

“O-oh,” Lilac stammered, glancing down at the mug clutched tightly against her chest. Her skin suddenly flushed crimson, the heat releasing pheromones like perfume. “I, um, already have some.”

He gave it a dubious look and an even more dubious sniff. Allen instantly regretted it, his wolf yipping with delight at the smell of her that seemed to drown out everything else. And not just that fresh waterfall scent, but her response to him. “N-never seen pink hot chocolate before,” he said, trying to concentrate.

“That’s because it’s ruby chocolate,” she said hastily.

It most certainly wasn’t. “Uh-huh. Is it supposed to be runny like that?”

“I like what I like! I’m entitled to my preferences, just as you are. Though I’ll never understand how you can call that oatmeal raw egg sludge you served us this morning breakfast .”

He grinned inwardly, enjoying her sass. “Ah, that’s right. No carbs. You’ll just get the raw eggs, spinach, and blueberries tomorrow. That suit your preferences ?”

The witch actually stuck her tongue out at him. He just grinned, and his wolf yapped with happiness that the witch smiled back.

“I’ll have a cooked spinach omelet with blueberries on the side tomorrow, thank you very much,” she informed him airily. “But the rest of them will want something like biscuits and gravy. Something heavy.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s Family Ice Skating Day. We traditionally test out the pond to make sure it’s safe for the villagers who come up for the Hanging of the Green, but it’s mostly so we can laugh and throw snowballs at each other all day.” Lilac glanced over her shoulder at the second-floor balcony, at the rooms where her siblings presumably slept. Allen found his attention drifting to the way her hair cascaded down her shoulder. He fought the urge to reach out and run his fingers through the locks he knew had to feel like silk .

“Though, probably not,” she muttered. “We’re not feeling very familial right now.”

After the Craft Faire had ended, Boar had ripped down all the booths by himself, clearly needing a physical outlet for his anger and frustration—and a little fear—and the sisters had sequestered themselves in their rooms. Allen had heard Rose crying and Lilac’s shower running for an inordinate amount of time, probably drowning out her own expressions of grief and anger. None of them had shown for their dinner of roasted chicken and crispy-fried potatoes with garlic butter, about the fanciest fare Allen knew how to cook. He’d even made a salad for Lilac, the vegetables all hacked up like they’d seen the business end of a weed whacker, but he’d hoped it was the thought that counted.

“Do it anyway,” he urged. “You’ll get through this spat with Boar.”

She looked down at her mug of definitely not hot chocolate. “Will I?”

“Sure, because you all love each other.” There it was again, his toxic trait of eternal optimism talking again, but he couldn’t help it.

“Good intentions can be more damning than the bad ones,” she replied, hardening.

His wolf urged him to reach out and pull her into his arms. Not to take away her worries or smooth over her concerns, but to reassure her that she wasn’t alone. That he would be there in whatever capacity she needed him to be. “Setting boundaries is tough,” he said instead. “You need to stick with it or you’ll never become the person you are meant to be.”

Spirits above, how he wanted to touch her. To impress upon her the seriousness of his words, of his intentions. He kept his hands at his sides and insisted, “Don’t deny yourself, or them, of knowing that person. ”

“What if they don’t accept me?” she whispered. “You saw how Boar reacted. How the villagers began to doubt me even after Landen was healed.”

“They might not accept you,” he agreed, turning away from the memories of that night in the desert cave. For a moment, he almost removed the contacts from his eyes so she could see the true color of them beneath. See him. “But more importantly, can you accept what you see in the mirror if you don’t try?”

She stilled as if she had been slapped, eyes large and glassy, her bottom lip trembling.

“Good night, sweet girl,” he murmured, tearing himself away and heading for the cellar.