PERFECTLY WICKED: Why WERE Winter and Erikson so Muddy?

Did you read Perfectly Wicked and wonder . . . wait . . . what did happen to make Winter and Erikson so muddy? Well, you’re not alone! Originally I’d had the following scene in the book (a la Nora Roberts, whose older romances often had multiple POVs), but since it was from Winter’s point of view instead of Holly’s, my agent suggested we take it out. I agreed with her, and so it was removed. BUT! I kept it because I thought it was such a fun way for Erikson and Winter to meet and instantly become enemies.

If you’re already a Lovise Letter subscriber then you’ve had early access to this, and if you’re not, I’ll be sending out new bonus content to newsletter subscribers first in the future. If you’ve read Just a Little Wicked, Erikson and Winter’s “witchy” story, I included this there as well. And if you haven’t done either, well, this post is for you!

Bonus Scene: The First Time Winter Met Erikson

The Previous Spring

            Winter woke at dawn, restless and itchy. There was a strange energy blowing in from the south, and she couldn’t identify what form it would take. Her visions of the future were unpredictable and spotty. At times she saw only a few moments of an event, and occasionally she didn’t even know what she’d seen until the tragedy had already taken place, such as in the case of the town hall fire. She supposed she might see more clearly and more often if she didn’t expend half her mental energy trying to block the images.

            Very rarely, such as in this case, she saw nothing at all, but was aware of a tangible shift in energy. Change was coming their way, and without any visions to tell her what it was, she was as vulnerable to the future as everyone else.

            She showered and dressed quickly, shivering in her room as she pulled her curly wet hair into a ponytail and tugged on a baseball cap. Downstairs, she started the coffee, filling the carafe to the top because she’d heard Missy come in late and knew her twin would be desperate for a cup. She and Missy didn’t have a ton in common, but coffee addiction was one thing they shared.

When Winter sat down to lace her boots, a vision danced at the edge of her mind. She mentally shoved it away, but it forced its way through regardless. Her visions had been coming more frequently and more forcefully ever since Connor Grimm had arrived at Wicked Good Apples, but she hadn’t shared that bit of information with her sisters or her aunts. They had enough to worry about without her adding to their stress.

            This time, the vision was of an animal rather than a person—a doe and her two fawns to be specific. They were stuck—or soon to be stuck—in the muddy bog on the lower west side of the property, where the ground bowled and marshland reigned. The marshland was visible from the driveway and was a big hit with visitors who, after snapping photos of the brilliant maples, would then inevitably ooh and ahh as they spotted redwing blackbirds swooping over the cattails and turtles sunning themselves on half-submerged logs.

            Winter poured coffee in a travel mug, and against her better judgment—thwarting visions meant consequences—headed down the driveway to save the stupid deer.

            It was so early that the light was gray, and mist hovered over the dew-dampened grass. The apple trees rose from the clinging mist, their gnarled black branches decorated with various shades of gray leaves. A thin, golden strip of light was just beginning to spread across the blue mountains in the west.

            Winter shivered in the cool June air. She loved their little apple farm. Maybe not as much as Holly, but it was home. She’d grown up here, and as the property manager, she’d tended almost every apple tree by hand. Yet sometimes she had the strangest feeling that she didn’t belong, that she was meant to be somewhere else, doing something else.

            After one last gulp of coffee, Winter set her mug on the edge of the driveway and climbed down the embankment, slipping and sliding on the damp grass, branches clawing at her ponytail and long-sleeved shirt. Birds were waking up, and as she approached the marsh, their songs grew louder as the ground became soggier, water seeping around her boots. There, in the rapidly dissipating mist ahead, was the telltale silhouette of a doe. At her side were two fawns, shivering with fright.

            Was Winter supposed to find their terror entertaining because she was Wicked? Well, she didn’t. Her whole life she’d seen visions that would make any decent person ill, and her soul was weary of it.

            “It’s okay,” she murmured as she soundlessly approached. The doe scented her and lifted her head, the whites of her eyes rolling in fear. The deer tried to jerk herself out of the muck, but her forelegs had sunk up to the knees.

            Winter assessed the situation. If she tried to climb in the muck after them, she’d end up stuck. She scanned the immediate area: moss-carpeted rocks, tall yellow cattails, dead logs that the turtles sunned themselves on. The logs!

            Winter squished over to one of the lighter logs, pulled on her work gloves, and yanked on the end, grunting as she dragged it toward the center of the marsh. When her feet began to sink in farther than she was comfortable with, she switched ends and pushed the log the rest of the way, angling it as close to the deer as she could manage.

            “Well, here goes,” she said, nimbly hopping onto the log. The mother deer began to panic as she approached, but the fawns were lethargic with exhaustion. “Let’s start with the baby.”

            Winter balanced atop the tree trunk, praying it wasn’t so rotted that it would break through, and when she reached the first fawn she squatted down. She cautiously grasped its foreleg. In the back of her mind, she registered the sound of a truck barreling up the driveway, but her focus was so intense that she let it fade in with the background noises.

            Light began to lengthen between the trees, golden and warm, as Winter pulled the first hoof free. She reached for the second, hoping to hell deer didn’t bite, because her head was far too close to its mouth for her liking, and tugged the other foot out of the mud. It made a sucking sound as it popped free, and then the little fawn stumbled across the remainder of the marsh so quickly that the mud didn’t have a chance to imprison it again.

            Winter was inordinately pleased with herself as she moved on to the second fawn. This one was a bit farther away and required more thoughtful balance on the log. She had just begun leaning over when someone called out, “Are you all right?”

            Winter spun around in alarm and lost her balance, glimpsing a pair of shockingly blue eyes before she tumbled into the marsh. Her hands sank all the way up to her elbows, and mud closed over her knees and halfway up her thighs. She struggled on all fours, the muck holding her immobile with astonishing strength.

            “Holy shit! Don’t move!” the guy called, athletically leaping over a rock and walking onto the log with perfect balance.

            “I’m not going anywhere,” Winter ground out.

            “Listen, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw the coffee mug in the driveway, and when I pulled over, I spotted someone down here. I thought you might need help.”

            “Nope, I was doing just fine until you came along.”

            His smile was so disarmingly charming that for a single moment Winter was rendered speechless. Then she remembered where she’d seen those blue eyes and ruggedly good Viking looks before: he was Connor Grimm’s brother, Erikson Grimm, a man as equally famous for being an outrageous flirt as he was for co-hosting Grimm Reality.   

            Why hadn’t she seen him coming?

            He squatted and reached for her, his big hand wrapping around her upper arm. With a firm tug, he attempted to pull her free, but she was as stuck as the two remaining deer.

            “This isn’t going to work,” Winter snapped, humiliated that she was meeting Erikson Grimm with her ass in the air and her hands and knees stuck in a mud pit.

            “What is this shit, cement?” he barked. “Screw this.”

            “Don’t step in—”

Before she could finish speaking, he’d planted one big boot in the muck behind her and was encircling her waist with his arms. He was a tall man, and Winter was what clothing stores liked to call petite—AKA a shrimp, so his arms easily wrapped around her.

She caught a whiff of the warm cedar of his cologne and felt the heat of his chest on her back as he said, “On the count of three. One, two, three!” He yanked her hard, and to both of their surprise, Winter came flying out of the mud, her gloves staying behind in their eternal, swampy resting place. Because neither of them had been expecting the marsh to release her, he stumbled backward and landed on his ass with Winter bouncing on his lap with an oof.

She quickly turned around and scrambled out of his lap, but the mud gripped her boots on either side of his legs. Muck slid down her bare arms and plopped to the ground. Her entire body was coated in swamp slime. She looked heavenward and cursed all of the stars and universes, because she was literally stuck with her groin in Erikson Grimm’s face.

“Well, this is interesting,” he said in amusement.

“Let me help you up,” she grunted, choosing to ignore his comment.

            She clasped his hand and helped pull him to standing. He towered over her, and although he was nearly as muddy as she was, his eyes sparkled with humor.

            “The least you can do is help me get the deer out now,” Winter said, avoiding his gaze. She wasn’t really a people person, and she had no clue how to interact with magnetism at this level.

            What ensued was the most ridiculous ten minutes of Winter’s life. They slipped and slid in the mud, got stuck, and had to help each other out so many times that they looked like mud monsters by the time they were finished, and Winter had lost all her reservation around him.

            “You know Grimm, you should stick to show business because you suck at deer rescuing,” she snapped when they’d finally released the mother. The doe darted off, nuzzled her two fawns, and the trio disappeared into the forest.

            “I suck?” he roared. “You’re the crazy person who came out here on her own to rescue some tick-riddled deer. If I hadn’t shown up, you’d be stuck in the mud until the next century.”

            “If you hadn’t shown up, I wouldn’t have fallen off the log to begin with!” she shouted.

            “Bullshit.”

            They glared at each other in the middle of the marsh, both of them unrecognizable with filth.

            “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Erikson snarled. He started walking toward firmer ground, the slime making juvenile sucking sounds with every step. Winter was having a difficult time making headway, and she felt even more sympathy for the deer. “What are you waiting for?” he taunted over his shoulder.

            If Winter had been cursed with a death look, she would have slain him on the spot.

            “Frig this.” Erikson spun around, plowed back through the mud to her, and hefted her over his shoulder. Winter shrieked in outrage, her head dangling halfway down his back and her butt in the air, but he pinned her thighs to his chest and said, “Quit wiggling, or we’ll both end up in the mud again.”

            Winter couldn’t think of enough insults for him, so she bit her tongue and seethed in silence as he carried her through the mud with the speed of a turtle moving through molasses. At last he reached solid ground and set her on her feet. “You’re welcome.”

            “Gah!” she cried. “You are the most infuriating person I’ve ever met. It’s like starting a fire and then taking a bow when you pour water over it.”

            She was seriously thinking about tackling him to the ground, when he turned his back on her and started walking up the embankment.

            “Oh no you don’t!” she spat, chasing after him. “You’re not driving up to the house and leaving me to walk home in this filth.”

            “Never said I was.” He yanked open the passenger side and gestured. “Get in, you pain in the ass.”

            Winter stood toe-to-toe with him, and even though she was a full foot shorter, she knew she had the look of a warrior on her face when she said, “You and I are now mortal enemies.”

            Erikson snorted. “Can you climb in yourself, or do you need a boost, Elf?”

            Winter’s eyes widened. Everyone she knew quailed under her warrior look, but not only was this guy unaffected, he’d called her an elf. 

            Winter glowered at him, swung into the cab, and slammed the door in his face. Not just mortal enemies, eternal enemies. It didn’t matter how ungodly attractive he was, there was no one on this planet she hated more in that moment than Erikson Grimm.