Page 41 of A Wolf for Winter

“I mean awake. Before eight in the morning.”

Her sister ate the bite on her fork then stabbed it in Allen’s direction. “I blame him. And his French toast.”

The caretaker bustled between the trestle table and the stove, cutting and dipping more challah bread into the spiced eggy custard before laying it gently in the skillet popping with hot grease. Bacon sizzled in a nearby pan; mushrooms and spinach sautéed in another. The cellar-kitchen was a wondrous blend of scents and stirred memories, but Lilac couldn’t take her eyes off Allen.

His freshly showered hair was a collection of tiny spikes on the top of his head, and a black T-shirt fit snugly across his broad shoulders. She followed the tapered V of his back to where the red plaid pajamas began and the beige ties of his apron swung. He looked . . . homey. And after what he’d said last night . . . she wondered if home was starting to have a different meaning for her. Not Hawthorne Manor. Not the estate she grew up in. Not her biological family. But the person who saw her for who she truly was.

He must’ve felt her eyes on him, for Allen glanced briefly over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking upward and his eyes crinkling with a quick smile. He was in Don’t Burn The Food Mode, after all. “I made plenty, Lilac, if you want to try some. Still working on your omelet. Though, I will confess, it will most likely end up as scrambled eggs.”

Still half in a daze, Lilac didn’t reply but slid onto the bar stool next to her sister.

“And I’ll have you know,” Rose said, the words fighting to get past the food in her mouth, “I was already up to get a dawn skating in when I got distracted.” She tossed her head in the direction of the back door to where her ice skates leaned against the wall.

“In your pj’s and robe?” Lilac asked dryly.

“Yeah. Makes going back to bed easier that way.”

Grinning, Rose hacked off another wedge of French toast and shoveled it into her mouth with a happy moan. Melted butter and maple syrup dripped off her fork with every bite. Lilac’s stomach growled violently. Allen paused in his dipping, flipping, and stirring to tong some bacon onto Rose’s plate and slide a mug of green tea into Lilac’s stunned hands.

“By the Green Mother!” Lilac exclaimed, launching off her stool. “What happened to your face?”

The caretaker’s left eye was as purple as a sugared plum.

“Yeah, I about freaked out when I saw that too,” Rose commented, crunching down on some bacon.

“Oh, that.” Allen jerked his chin to the cellar door, which was presently opening. “Ask your brother.”

“Boar!” Lilac was just about to rip into him when she noticed the bruising marring his cheekbone and the odd set to his nose.

Boar lumbered over to the stove with the armful of wood he’d lugged in from outside and rearranged the split logs so they fit neatly in their holder. Her brother wasn’t flaunting his authority but . . . hauling in wood?

“Thanks,” Allen said. “Now wash your hands before breakfast.”

He flashed Boar an impish grin. The witch replied with his own feral smirk before cuffing the caretaker on the back of his head. Then he stalked off to the washroom to do as he was told.

“What is happening here?” Lilac demanded.

“What?” Allen drawled, whisking the eggs for his attempt at her omelet. “You don’t start off your day with bare-knuckle therapy?”

When they were at Hawthorne Manor, every day began with physical training. Hawthornes were of the belief that spells weren’t the only thing that could help them in a fight. Though, with Uncle Tod and the coven in Redbud, their training had become a little lax. Boar had led them in Uncle Tod’s absence, switching out their daily combat training for a grueling weight-lifting routine none of them enjoyed.

“And you didn’t heal him?” she asked her sister. “Or you?” she hollered at her brother in the washroom.

“I told him I’d do it after breakfast,” he hollered back.

“And what’s your excuse, Rose?” she pestered.

Rose shrugged. “Too busy eating. He already had the plate ready, and once I took a bite, well, I haven’t stopped.”

“You’re going to choke.”

“Worth it.” Rose paused in her devouring to chug some milk. She had four glasses in front of her, all at various fill levels: milk, orange juice, water, and black coffee.

She’s like a cup goblin, Lilac thought.

“By the Green Mother, it’s just like Great-Aunt Fern’s. Here.” Rose thrust a steaming forkful at Lilac. “Just try a bite.”

Lilac almost reached for it. Almost. Even now, the years of denying herself were whispering in her ear not to falter. That she wouldn’t be useful if she lost her beauty by even gaining a pound in weight.