Page 43 of A Wolf for Winter

At any other time, Allen would’ve found her playful interrogation amusing, but not when an intruder had been so close to the Hall. Still, he forced himself to act as if nothing was amiss. “Wouldn’t you know it if the Hall wasn’t taking care of that right now?”

“Wait, seriously?” Boar asked. His break in concentration earned him a snowball right to the face. Lilac smirked triumphantly.

It was true about the Hall. Apparently it had sensed Allen’s intense need to investigate the threat. When he had returned to the cellar with his coat, the faucet was pouring hot water into the sudsy sink and the plates and utensils were ratting around as if they were in a top-loading washing machine with an agitator on overdrive. Allen hadn’t questioned the strange marvel, but instead said thank you. It never hurt to be polite.

“Why do you always bring that black trash bag with you?” Rose was asking now.

Spirits above, she should work for the analyst branch of any agency.

“Y’all stay together until I get back, okay?” he said, ignoring her question.

“Yes, Dad,” she laughed, lobbing a snowball after him.

Unable to help himself, his attention shifted to Lilac. Like the rest of her siblings, she was bundled up in a coat with nothing but her face exposed against the cold winter air. The tip of her nose was already as pink as her hat. She looked, well, adorable, and Allen mentally kicked himself for staring a second longer than he should have.

Be safe, sweet girl, he willed her before traipsing off into the woods.

The second he was past the first row of trees, the din of the Hawthornes’ taunts and yelps of pain faded away. Allen was fully focused on his sense of smell, nostrils flaring.

Whatever other had come down out of these woods had left no prints behind, but it had come as far as the frozen pond. He’d seen some disturbances in the snow on the banks and the pond’s surface itself, but it was impossible to say if there was any direct correlation. Snow still clung to these trees, and a strong wind could’ve drifted it in any direction.

The scent was something strange, too, that otherness he’d never smelled before. It reminded him of springtime grass, but fresher, more alive if that was even possible.

He waited until he could no longer see the witches before ducking behind a tree and stripping out of his clothes. He stuffed the bag and hung it in record time, shifting into his wolf form less than a second later.

The wolf sensed the strange scent even stronger than the man had, and it took him directly to the place he didn’t want to go.

The grove.

The wolf knew better than to enter it, knew to give it a wild circle to determine if there was anything lying in wait. A new smell joined the first—grease. Tallow, specifically. And cinnamon? Musk? Something sweet, too, like fruit.

The wolf snorted.

Whoever had come to the grove, for there were still no tracks he could find, had come up from the village. He was smelling food, yuletide decorations, and old building. So, like, the whole village. Not surprising, since whoever had tripped the Hall’s wards had found refuge there yesterday.

But that grassy smell . . .

One mostly human, one full human—two scents. Two threats.

Growling, the wolf closed in on the empty grove and sniffed at the scratches on the tree bark. There were more of them, but it was still unclear who or what had made them or if they even meant anything. Still no prints, though the scents were stronger here. Old, too; whoever had come and gone having done so before sunup.

He would have to come back tonight.

After another sweep of the area, the wolf returned to the black plastic bag that held his clothes. Allen dressed angrily, stuffing himself back into his clothes as if they were the source of his frustration.

Someone had come to Hawthorne Hall. Someone who knew where the invisible barrier was. And that someone had stopped at the edge of the pond, which was right outside Lilac’s window. The idea that someone might’ve been watching her made his blood boil.

As he shoved his feet into his boots, he vowed to return to the Hall and learn how to extend its barrier. He’d get that thing all the way to the forest if he could, maybe even further.

A crow cawed, nagging at the edges of his thoughts.

Allen shook his head, concentrating. He needed to call Kalina, too, see if Zofia was awake and could aid him in that endeavor. Or even take over. But then he’d have no reason to be up at the Hall, to—

The crow cawed again, fraying his last nerve.

He glared up at the sky, ready to release a howl that would send everything in the vicinity scurrying for its nest or den, when he heard it again.

Not a crow after all.