Page 67

Winter

“Wear what?” she breathed.

Amalli removed a large box from the satchel and handed it over.

Sterling bit her lip as she removed the lid. Deep ruby red caught her gaze, and her hands trembled as she lifted the fabric. A crimson cloak. But nothing like the cheap one she’d owned that had been ruined during the prince’s first game. This fabric was lush, thick, soft to her fingertips, delicate and strong all at once, something made for a queen. Curiosity and a warm feeling embraced her while wondering what Winter intended her to wear it for. He’d chosen Sterling and was allowing her to decide her fate, and that made her heart nearly rip at the seams. She loved Winter. A man who had taken everything from her. A man who had given her everything in return.

The front door to the cottage burst open, and Cyan’s face beamed as he threw his arms around Amalli. “You’re here!”

“I told you I’d see you again.” She grinned and ruffled his hair.

As he stepped back, his stare drifted from Amalli to the red cloak, then to the letter in Sterling’s hand. “What’s going on?”

Sterling folded the letter and tucked it back into the envelope. “King Winter is giving me—us—a choice.”

EPILOGUE

WINTER

The manor hummed with energy as the pack enjoyed the festivities. It was Winter’s first full moon as king, so he’d used the excuse to arrange a lavish gathering. Some tried to convince him to host it in the castle, but he’d insisted on coming home. Red flowers blossomed in vases all around the interior, filling the rooms with a sweet floral scent, and most of the furniture had been removed to accommodate the number of wolves in attendance. Many of the pack members had ventured outside to shift and linger in the woods, but more than enough still partook in the copious amounts of alcohol their king had supplied.

Of course, it was all a ruse. If Sterling didn’t return to him tonight, then he could pretend this was nothing more than a celebration of their new monarch. But if she did come, he was prepared for her. Prepared to love her.

Once he understood how the chips would fall in regards to his father’s death, he’d started planning her grand re-entrance to Bloodstorm.

Winter lingered before the fireplace and attempted to quiet his roaring nerves. Someone was speaking to him—he hadn’t looked at the man’s face or listened to a single word. He kept glancing from the fire to the entrance of the manor as he spun the tankard of mead in his hand.

Amalli said she’d taken the cloak to Sterling and allowed her to think it over. But the full moon was high in the sky now, and the pack had arrived two hours ago. Perhaps Sterling still feared for her brother—it was where he’d been held hostage, after all. Comfortably held, but a captive, nonetheless.

“Your Majesty?” the man asked.

Winter set his tankard down on the fireplace mantel and strode away without answering. What if Sterling had come but ran into trouble with some of the pack? Or maybe she was looking for him out in the woods.

“Have you seen her?” he asked General Rawling when he hit the cool night air.

Rawling guarded outside the main entrance to the manor, too stoic to join the entertainment, too wary not to come. Winter knew he was still suspicious of everything that had happened in Valco’s room, so it was better to keep him close. Watch him. Earn his loyalty. Winter already treated the general more fairly than his father ever had.

“Not yet,” he answered.

Winter’s fingers flexed. Had he ever felt this insecure before? Is this what love does to people? Open yourself up, confess your feelings, and suffer for it. Sterling was his mate—that wouldn’t change, regardless if she came or didn’t. He’d never take another. King Winter would remain a foolish sap in love, whether she returned his feelings or not.

A flash of red drew his attention in the distance, and he snapped his gaze toward the bend in the gravel road. Sterling. She’d come. The first easy breath of the night filled his lungs.

He stepped forward, planning to storm toward her, but then warned himself. He was the king now—a new king who hadn’t earned the respect of the entire pack yet.

Instead, Winter sauntered down the path to the road, a hand in his pocket, toying with Sterling’s gift. The red cloak billowed around her, its hood concealing her face, but still, he knew it was her. Knew it in the way she carried herself. Lijah walked beside her, but once he spotted Winter, he abandoned the road and disappeared into the tree line. He’d likely circle back to greet the carriage that followed secretly with Cyan, Nareth, and Jasira.

Sterling’s pace quickened, and when she finally reached him, she pulled back her hood and peered up at him with eager eyes that shone like emeralds beneath the moonlight. “I received your letter, Your Majesty.”

He lifted her chin with a forefinger and buried his face into her neck to inhale her apple scent. “And you’re wearing my gift.” He itched to remove it now, to bury his canines into her flesh, to taste her everywhere.

“I wish you had called for me sooner.” She smiled as she grasped his face and pressed her lips to his before whispering in his ear, “Now tell me what you have planned.”

“A celebration.” He smirked and rested his forehead against hers, his thumb tracing her scar. It seemed like a lifetime since he’d seen her, touched her, pleasured her.

“Wolves are milling about, and you had me wear a red reminder. Are you certain my cloak won’t bring out ire?”

“I don’t give a fuck.” Winter caught her mouth with his, slipping his tongue between her lips, kissing her for not nearly enough moments. “You are Red Riding Hood and their queen. If they see we’ve forgiven one another, then they’ll have to accept or die by my claws.” If anyone ever attempted to assassinate her, they would pay dearly for it—piece by bloody piece. He grasped her hand and drew her toward the manor. “I have something planned for you. A good thing.”