Winterblaze - By Kristen Callihan Page 0,130

the loss acutely, but had to smile at his ire. Win pointed a long finger at her. “It is not over. Stay there.”

Still cursing, he grabbed his trousers and shoved them on before stalking to the door.

Winston wrenched the door open and caught Ian mid-knock. “What is it?” Win wanted nothing more than to slam the door in Ranulf’s face and return to Poppy, but he had to ask. “Is Talent ill?”

“No.” Ian grimaced. “Not more than he was. Here is the thing—”

Win’s hand tightened on the door. “Tell me about it later.” He had only so much time before he had to face the day and figure out his bloody fate, and he was going to revel in it.

Ian’s brows snapped together. “Look here, Lane—”

“Not right now,” Win ground out through his teeth.

They glared at each other for a wild moment in which Win struggled to keep from shouting like a madman. Something in his expression must have registered with Ian, for the man’s scowl dissolved, and he finally took in the fact that Win was half dressed. “Ah, I see.”

“Just—give me an hour.” Win halted and winced. “Two.”

He could have sworn Ian’s cheeks colored. “I’ll go.”

“I say,” came a feminine voice from the direction of the hall. “Is Poppy in there?”

Win groaned and let his head thunk against the doorframe as Daisy came up behind Ian. He could only thank God that Ian spun around and caught Daisy by the arm. “Later,” he said to his wife.

“I only wanted to check if she was truly all right,” Daisy protested as he led her back down the corridor.

Ian leaned close and murmured something in her ear. Before Win could see her response, he closed the door on them both. If he got out of this mess with Jones, he was taking Poppy back to their home in short order. He missed their cozy house. With its utter privacy.

A sense of foreboding crept along the back of his neck as he walked back into the bedroom.

Poppy listened to the exchange in the hall and bit her lip to keep from laughing. Ordinarily, she’d have gone and shooed Ian away. But Win had it in hand, leaving her to do as she pleased. Content to do just that, Poppy flopped over on her stomach and hugged the bed. But a thud from below caught her attention. She bent over the side. A small, slim leather notebook lay upon the floor. Win’s notebook. He had many of them. The last one she’d seen had been battered and bloody, a ravaged survivor pulled from his pocket after the werewolf had attacked him. Poppy had found a way to get that notebook into Ian Ranulf’s hands so that he might have the facts needed to defeat those who’d hurt Win.

The leather was smooth against her palm as she reached down to pick up the notebook. It appeared to have fallen from the little side table by the bed. So then, not hidden away.

This was what she told herself as she opened it. She was outright prying, yes. She did not care. She’d long gone past the point of respectable behavior in regard to him at any rate.

His familiar slanted scrawl across the page made her throat tighten. She’d read his notes before. Win committed every fact to memory, but he liked to write them down as well for, as he’d say, sometimes seeing the story written down cast it in a different light. Those notes were often disjointed, little facts written here and there, interspersed with his musings. But this was different. These words were orderly, a narrative. Her frown grew as she began to read… From the moment he’d stepped off that train, his life changed completely. And it had been because of a woman… By the end of the first page, her heart thudded against her breast.

“I wanted you to find it.”

The notebook landed on the ground with a slap as she jumped.

Bathed in the morning light, Win stood just inside the room. Anger did not lurk in his gaze, but sorrow, deep and pained. “Just not at this moment.”

“You’re writing about when we first met.” Her cold fingers wound themselves into the sheets. “But it is different. I don’t remember events quite in that way.”

His lashes lowered, hiding his soul away from her. “It is what really happened. Before.”

Before bloody Isley.

“Why write it down, Win?” Bile crept up her throat.

“I wanted you to know.”

She went to him, close enough to smell

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