Page 17 of Winning the Wolf

The snap in my voice made him narrow his eyes on me. I wasn’t quite sure why his question had bothered me so much. Was it because it should’ve been obvious why I changed my appearance to my sister? Or was it because I hadn’t admitted to myself that I wanted to distance myself from a twin who wasn’t quite identical, but who everyone associated me with.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to be different from your sister, I feel the same about my father.”

Apparently, I got pissy at comparisons. My hackles rose metaphorically, the heat on my neck right where the fur would’ve risen had I been in my wolf form. Why was I bothered about his frankness? I should’ve appreciated his honesty.

“Following in his footsteps is going to take a lot of courage,” I said, deciding to push down the rising resentment.

As if Killick Huntington had anything to be worried about. The man was an alpha-heir, entitled to rule over a whole pack of werewolves who would be willing to do anything for him, who already loved him.

“I can see the judgement in your eyes. You think I’ve had it easy, don’t you?”

Shrugging, I turned and went behind the wooden slatted divider. I couldn’t deny that he’d certainly had a silver spoon upbringing, despite the pressures that were often placed on him. Yes, he had to be nice to everyone and act a certain way, which was probably irritating at times. However, I’d much rather that than an emotionally, and now physically, absent father, a brother who hated life so much, he left us without a word, and a sister who apparently wanted to join the abandoning brigade. No, I didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for Killick Huntington.

“Judge me all you want.” Killick almost snarled. “You have no idea what it’s like having your mother emotionally manipulate you, every second, of every day.”

My heart skipped a beat as I tugged my tight strappy top over my head and poked my head out. “She what now?”

Killick’s breath hitched as I reached for a hairbrush and ran it through my long purple locks. I held my own breath, wondering whether he’d open up even more.

“Nothing,” he spat eventually. “Hurry up.”

The front door clicked and he walked out, his shoulders raised and the smell of him wafting in his wake. I bit my lip as I gathered my things and hurried to catch up to him, completely intrigued by what he’d meant.

Melinda Huntington was a charming woman with shoulder-length blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. She always wore a smart trouser suit with kitten heels and a huge smile on her face. I’d envied Killick, wishing she’d been my mother.

“I’m sorry,” I said, clambering into his car with my bag, “but you can’t make a statement like that and then shut down.”

“Yes I can.”

The engine fired up and he switched the radio on, reversing madly until he almost hit a tree. An angry rock song came on, the gravelly voice moaning about how broken his soul was deep inside. Shit, I didn’t expect the alpha-heir to have depth.

The angry scowl on his face made me keep my mouth shut. I was confused, really confused, but if I wanted to get through the next few days, I had to make sure I didn’t piss anyone off, including hunky Killick.

It was silent in the car – bar the heavy guitars – all the way through town. A calm sense of numbness relaxed my muscles as the music ironically soothed me. I understood the rage that bubbled under the surface of someone who had been through trauma. I had assumed that Killick had been protected, even when his best friend had taken his own life.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered when we turned into the headquarter’s driveway.

The music switched off and I glanced at him.

“Why are you sorry?” His forehead was still furrowed, an aching look making him broody.

Twirling a damp strand of hair around my finger, I searched for the words to express why I was sorry, but I couldn’t find them.

“For judging you,” I blurted eventually, my cheeks heating as the car stopped in an unmarked parking spot.

It was the best I could come up with, especially since he was staring at me quizzically. I wasn’t sure what his mother had done to him, and I certainly hadn’t been aware that his father had investigated him after my brother’s death, but it seemed like I’d misjudged him a little too harshly.

“Like I said before,” he muttered as he turned to me, “you’re not the only one who lost everything that day.”

My gaze slipped to his, searching the depths of his soul in his blue eyes. Something hummed in my veins, aching, strange.

“My father is waiting.”

Twisting away, he got out of the car and stormed into the house. I released my breath in a long low exhale and climbed out after him, slowly treading up the steps and through the front door, which stood ajar.

“Ah, there she is,” Phileas said, pointing to me as I entered.

He stood in the entrance to the library, gesturing for me to join him. The hairs on the back of my arms stood on end as his bright eyes flicked between me and his son, who hovered nearby.

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