Page 12 of A Wolf for Winter

If they were who he strongly suspected them to be, he’d best be polite.

Allen yanked the door shut behind him, revealing the long stretch of hall and three brown-haired witches he recognized from the Coalition’s dossier . . . in an attack formation.

“Hi—Oh shit!” Allen shouted as Boar launched himself straight at him with a glowing green fist.

Allen pivoted out of the way, shoving hard into Boar’s shoulder to divert his momentum away. As the witch collided with the balcony railing, Rose charged in quick with a punch combination that made him skip back a few steps as he blocked. He couldn’t hurt them, but he couldn’t allow himself to be harmed either.

“What did you do to Nan?” Rose shouted, kicking for his groin.

The scrappy witch! Allen twisted away, sweeping out with his leg and catching her behind the ankles. Rose fell solidly on her butt with a surprised little yelp, but then Boar was leaping over her like an avenging angel.

“Who?” Allen cried.

“Mrs. Hollyoak,” Boar snapped.

“She’s fine!” Allen yanked his head back before Boar’s haymaker could connect with his cheek. “She’s in the hospital, but—”

“That doesn’t sound fine to me!”

Allen grunted as Boar caught him around the middle and took him to the ground. The male witch was massive and quick, and if he pinned Allen down, there was no way he’d be able to escape unless he shifted. Which was never going to happen. To show these witches his wolf would be a death sentence—the Coalition had made that very clear.

They wrestled for dominance, fighting like tomcats. Boar might’ve cracked him across the jaw but Allen clapped Boar’s ears like he was a buzzing horsefly. The witch reared back with a feral snarl as the thunderous claps barraged his eardrums. Allen kicked him in the chest. Boar crashed onto his side, face scrunched up in pain as he cradled his head with his glowing hands.

He’s healing himself!

Allen flipped onto his feet, landing in what he hoped was a defensive but not aggressive crouch. He lifted his hands pleadingly, but Rose was already on him again.

“Please, stop! This is just one big misunderstanding—”

Then it happened.

A precision strike right to his forehead. He hadn’t even seen it coming.

As he fell back stunned, he glimpsed a trembling Lilac lowering her finger with a triumphant look on her face. His teeth rattled in his head as he crashed against the floor, then he yelped.

The hardwood planks beneath him had softened like clay, now like sand, and they were swallowing him.

His wolf released a terrified cry, and suddenly Allen was back in the Afghan desert with that infernal sandstorm whipping about the cave, pinning him and his brothers down like fish in a barrel for the men outside to pick off at their leisure.

Caught in the floor, Allen scrambled to free himself, fingernails clawing to find purchase. His feet and legs felt nothing but air. He kicked madly but found nothing to brace against.

“Wait!” That was Lilac’s voice. “Look at his hand!”

The floor became solid again, freezing into place around his lower ribs. He continued to paw for only a second or two more, the panic not quite gone, before he realized he wasn’t falling, wasn’t being swallowed up. He was still in danger, though, and looked up at the three witches who now stood in a semicircle around him. He almost snarled at them. Almost.

“That’s Nan’s ring on his finger,” Lilac said, crouching down.

What? He’d left that on the pedestal downstairs. How had it reappeared on his finger?

Lilac reached out to touch it, then refrained, darting a wary glance at him. Her ivy-green eyes met his, and Allen felt a zap as if he’d just stuck a penny in a wall socket. Except zaps like those didn’t thunder down into his toes or make him forget to breathe. When a surprised blush bloomed on her cheeks as her mouth parted with an inaudible gasp, his heart whumped painfully against his ribs and sent a zing racing down to a particular part of himself that had no business rousing when he was suspended halfway in the air.

In that second of connection, he knew all the villagers’ rumors were wrong and those books shoved under the mattress were right. Lilac Hawthorne wasn’t gorgeous. The whole of her was stunning.

And lethal, if her perfect strike to his forehead had anything to say about it.

His face must’ve revealed that realization—and Lilac misconstrued it as lust—for she straightened abruptly. Her surprise was replaced by disgust as she stepped back, letting her two siblings take lead on the interrogation.

“So he mugged her to loot the place?” Rose asked no one in particular. She gave him an appreciative look. “Ballsy. Complete disregard for the longevity of his own life, but ballsy.”