Page 66 of A Wolf for Winter

No, he clamped down. He couldn’t get distracted. Though Prue was imprisoned, she wasn’t the only one who needed to be confined. Her accomplice, the one who’d attacked Zofia in the hospital, was still unaccounted for. So long as he was in the wind, his woman and her family wouldn’t be safe.

His shower was brief, just enough to get the stink off him and clear his head. He didn’t want any miscellaneous scents toying with his senses, and he’d smelled too much like Lilac—wondrous, but a distraction nonetheless. Dressing warmly, he tucked the little book in his pocket and slipped from his room.

Allen paused by the door, out of sight from the function hall on the first floor. He heard the Hawthornes puttering around, presumably preparing for the Yuletide Gala’s final event, the masquerade ball. Despite the poisoning at the Craft Faire and Boar’s near-strangulation at the Hanging of the Green, the villagers were not deterred from attending the final event. From what he’d gathered during his stay with the Roots, the masquerade was the crown jewel of events in Annesley Valley, and only the Hall burning down would prevent anyone from attending. Poisonings, cursed garlands, talk of ill-wishes and hedge witches chafing under Hawthorne rule, the first witch duel in decades on the Hall’s front lawn, this was all food for the gossip mill and not to be missed.

As such, the Hawthornes were busy preparing to put on, yet again, the finest spectacle of the year. With them occupied, he’d sneak out whatever door they weren’t near and head towards the village, back to the site of the witch duel. Perhaps phone the Roots and check on them and Zofia. Get a pulse on what was going on in the village without actually leaving the Hall’s grounds. Word of Prue Stonewell’s confinement would surely be spreading around.

“Allen!” Rose suddenly cheered.

Of course that Hawthorne would be in the one spot where his door was visible from the first floor. So much for stealth.

“Hello, Rose,” he said, keeping the groan from his voice. He trotted down the winding stair, joining the witches on the first floor.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Boar told him. “Why does it look like you’re going outside?”

“Patrol,” he answered, nodding briskly. “Maybe check on Zofia.”

“So soon?” Lilac asked. Her brother glanced at her, noting, as Allen had, the worried note in her voice. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot Boar a surly look. “I’m not interested in freezing again on his behalf is all.”

“Are the wards alerting you?” Boar glanced at the opal ring on Allen’s finger.

“No, but—” It never hurts to double check. Those were the words he was going to say, except when he’d assessed them just now, he discovered them to have shrunk back to their original position. Even when he normally slept, they didn’t do that. What had that blast done to him?

Boar seized his moment of hesitation. “Allen, I meant what I said. You’re not—”

“Going anywhere without breakfast first,” Rose said, looping her arm through his and practically dragging him towards the cellar door. “Or brunch rather, given the hour. Elevenses, if you’re a hobbit. Do you like mimosas?”

“But—”

“C’mon, we could all use a snack.” She ruffled his hair. “Been hard at work while you’ve been snoozing.”

Allen glanced behind him, marking the transformation of the function hall into a splendid ballroom. There were new decorations plus tables and chairs for the feast, all pressed against the walls to leave room for dancing. Lilac had been working at the table closest to the front doors, growing masks. She was as talented a sculptor as she was a potions-maker, and spectacular masks resembling all manner of forest creature covered the surface. There were sly foxes and chubby-cheeked chipmunks, does and stags, bobcats with tufted ears and eagles with sharp beaks. There was even a white wolf mask.

“Li, you coming?” her sister asked.

“You know I don’t snack,” she answered, but she followed anyway, casting him a quick glance from under her lowered lashes. His heart thumped, his wolf whining.

“You don’t snack, you don’t eat carbs, ugh, you’re barely a Hawthorne.” Rose hauled Allen down the stairs and into the cellar, plopping him down on a stool. “Now, what do you want?”

“I can cook for myself, Rose,” he said quickly. If they just took an apple or something and went back upstairs, he could sneak out the back door. “You don’t need to—”

“Oh pish posh.” She waved his protest away. Then her ivy-green eyes took on a crazed gleam in her excitement. “I know how to cook bacon, and, well, bacon. Want some bacon?”

“Move, Rose.” Boar body-checked her away from the stove. “I’m making breakfast sandwiches.”

“Brunch sandwiches. I’ll get the orange juice and the bubbly for the mimosas!”

Lilac sank down onto a stool one away from his, maintaining their ruse, but she leaned towards him as her siblings bustled about the kitchen. “What’s going on?” she murmured under her breath, knowing his shifter ears would hear her.

“I’ll get the plates,” he announced, using the excuse to walk past her and reply, “Don’t worry.”

She shot him a warning look. Don’t keep secrets from me.

“Like we should trust you with the antique china that’s been in our family for generations?” she retorted, shoving off her stool to presumably collect the plates herself.

When they reached the cupboard, he wasted no time explaining, “Prue has an accomplice.”

“What?”