Page 24 of A Wolf for Winter

Which would’ve been a tough idea to sell if the witches caught him going out in this weather with just his street clothes on had it not been for the magic of the opal ring. Or maybe Hawthorne Hall itself.

To his great surprise, after Boar had announced what room was to be his, Allen found all of his belongings—firstly, at the Hall without them being delivered by the Roots; secondly, all unpacked; and thirdly, a variety of formal wear that had been tailored. He wasn’t about to look a gift horse—or gift Hall—in the mouth, so he changed into his athletic wear, stuffed a black plastic trash bag into his pocket, and headed down for the cellar and the rear exit.

Run. Do a perimeter sweep. Test the boundaries of the Valley. Figure out my next move.

Those were his priorities now.

Mercifully no one was in the cellar, so there was no one to question him when he slipped outside. He moved quickly across the snow-covered walk, making a mental note to shovel it in the morning. The goats were all asleep in their barn, nestled in the straw, and they didn’t even bleat when he approached. Prey animals always had difficulty sensing Nemean wolves, anyway, and he was glad for the special ability his bloodline granted him. It was one of many—the impenetrable hide being the most prominent—but the spirits never blessed with abandon without also adding a fly to the ointment. For a Nemean wolf, that fly was more of a swarm. It was the most likely reason why the Coalition had rejected his application so many times.

Nemean wolves were destined to be rolling stones. Never settling down. Never forming a pack. Even their own parents only came together for the procreation of their species and their mothers hurled them from the den come age eighteen.

Forever.

Allen was still optimistic—his one toxic trait—but not if he could never leave this valley.

He waited until he was deeper into the woods before pulling the black plastic trash bag from his pocket and shedding his shoes, clothes, and the opal ring. It all went into the bag, cinched tight, and hung on a branch. Then his bare skin rippled, and between one heartbeat and the next, he became a golden-white wolf.

The winter wind no longer stung, the cold no longer numbed, and his human legs no longer slogged through the snow. He was power and strength and wildness, at one with nature instead of against it.

With a shove of his haunches, the wolf bounded deeper into the forest. It was exhilarating to feel the wind on his furry face, the cold air in his lungs, the feel of the ground flying under his paws. Yet he took no joy. This wasn’t a run to stretch his legs. This was a run to confirm his freedom. He bolted for the grasslands beyond the forest and the boundary line of Annesley Valley.

Hitting it shocked him like an electric fence.

The wolf ricocheted off the force field, steam rising from his fur. The opal ring, which he had most certainly left in the trash bag, was banded around his left outermost toenail. It flashed a warning.

No. No!

The wolf threw himself against the barrier again and again until he smelled singed fur. Then he ran another twenty yards south and tried again. The opal ring flared every time, and every time, the wolf was repelled.

Panting, Allen resumed his human skin. He tore that infernal ring off his finger, hurled it behind him, and bolted for the boundary line.

The force field sent him flying into the woods.

Branches snapped under him, hardly breaking his fall, then snow sloughed onto his head. At least it cooled the burning sensation on his skin. Swearing, he wrestled free of the snow and looked down at his chest. It looked like he’d just spent the day at the beach in July without an ounce of sunscreen.

“Gah!” he cried out as steam lifted from his red flesh. On his pinky finger, the opal ring winked at him. It would return no matter how many times he took it off. “Gah to you, too!”

There was only one thing left to do. He had to talk to Zofia.

Only after you sweep the perimeter, his training reminded him. You have a job to do. And panic isn’t anywhere in that dossier.

With just a thought, he shifted back into the wolf. His massive paws churned through the snow, weaved him between trees, and took him in a wide arc around Hawthorne Hall. His rapid heartbeat had slowed as he focused on something he could do.

Seated on its little hill overlooking the village, Hawthorne Hall was surrounded mostly by open grassland. Treacherous territory for a massive golden-white wolf to be found, even if the snow was up to his wolfy elbows. Someone would notice the massive trench he’d leave behind in his wake, or at least the paw prints. A good pair of binoculars would be all he’d need to monitor this area from the Hall itself. To the northeast of the Hall, however, was the forest that would need the most exploring.

There was the little pond that separated its closest point from the building, and the barn, of course. The forest was too vast for him to chart in this one sitting, but he mapped out the section closest to the Hall. The only defining characteristics were a large cluster of boulders that must’ve rolled down from the mountains centuries ago and a little clearing that seemed oddly symmetrical, like it had been manmade.

Tired, more from the emotional strain than anything else, and starving again, Allen returned to his bag of suspended clothes. It took only a few minutes to dress and a handful more to traipse back to the barn. On the way, he checked his cell phone and discovered a voicemail from James Root.

“Allen, son, I won’t beat around the bush. Zofia had a complication at the hospital this evening. Her pain medication was incorrectly delivered—”

“They gave her the wrong stuff, the morons!” came Kalina’s irate interruption.

“Hush, ’Lina. Let me get this out. Allen? Well, Zofia’s in a coma now. Doc says it could’ve been worse. ’Lina’s packing a few things to go stay with her—”

“And guard her against more incompetency!”

“—for the next couple of days. ’Lina, no, don’t bring the cat. Ugh. Allen? I know the ol’ gal would be relieved to know you’re taking good care of the Hawthornes. Keep doing what you’re doing, and keep the truck for as long as you need. We’ll be in touch, okay?”