Page 4 of A Wolf for Winter

Yay, sibling sandwich.

She inhaled, fighting for calm, and wished that instead of fiddling with his gloves, Boar would just flick the reins and tell the goats to make haste to the village. The longer they tarried, the greater the risk Dad would think of “one last thing” and play Tetris with all the crates, trunks, and bags back there and discover her secret.

“It’s cold out here,” Lilac prompted, forcing a lightness into her tone she didn’t feel. “Can we just get going?”

Rose snorted. “What’s the hurry? It’s amazing out here.” She gave Lilac a light jab to the ribs with her elbow. “And it’s not like there are any boys on the road in this weather you gotta primp for, Li.” She leaned across her sister to snicker at Boar, “She doesn’t want her nose to run and ruin her makeup.”

“Because snot-nosed mountain woman with rat’s nests in their hair are so attractive,” she couldn’t help firing back, finally at the end of her rope.

Rose flung her head back with a laugh, not offended in the least. Boar nudged Lilac’s shoulder, mouthing, Good one.

His approval did nothing to assuage her temper. She only let it manifest as that tic in her left eye, the rest of her as serene as always. Despite what her family thought, Lilac didn’t care one whit if there were any boys on the road or in the entire village for that matter. They were needy and self-serving and only sought her attention to stroke their own egos and brag to their friends. She had no time for their games, only for her securing her future.

“Girls,” Dad said sharply. “Boar.”

The three became rigid, straight-backed statues. Their father came around to the front of the wagon in just his flour-coated apron and no coat, his bare arms noticeably unmarked by goose flesh. That was weather magic for you.

“Obey the Rule of Three,” he instructed them. “You three are siblings—your magic is strongest when you use it together in symphony. You will watch each other’s backs at the village. It has been under the care of the Hawthornes for generations, but with the coven gone, some might seek to take advantage. You will not allow this. You will take the fealty oaths, accept the tithes, and host a Yuletide Gala as if the entire coven were running it, not three uninitiated witches. Hawthornes are strong, always.”

The trio of siblings nodded solemnly.

“Boar”—their father turned to his only son—“you are the eldest, so above all, you are responsible for upholding this family’s name and protecting your sisters. Think with your head, not your muscles. Understood?”

Boar tensed beside Lilac as if he had been slapped, then she heard him grind his teeth before he nodded once.

“Rose, keep your antics and impulsiveness to a minimum. And no palm readings or astrology charts. You’re a Hawthorne, not a hack.”

“Aw,” Rose whined, only partly for show. She’d always gravitated towards the celestial magics, the ones guided by stars and fate.

“Lilac.” Her father’s voice turned soft. Maybe it was affection, maybe he thought the harsher tone he was using on her siblings would somehow break her. Whatever the reason, it had Lilac straining forward in her seat like a crocus after the first rays of spring. “Just be yourself.” “Show them what you can do.” Those were the words she was most desperate to hear, or any variant thereof.

“Smile, Lilac,” he told her, his own lips quirking up. “Pretty girls shouldn’t frown.”

The hope in her died. Smile, Lilac. That was Grandmother’s code, her command, when it was time for Lilac to make her family proud.

Not this time.

At least, not in the way her family expected her to. No, she suspected they would all be shocked to discover she had talents and worth and more to offer this family than her feminine wiles. And if they didn’t accept that . . .. Well, if Meadow could run away and forge a new life elsewhere, then so could she.

CHAPTER THREE

Allen sat at the little kitchen table by the window and fidgeted. Behind him, Kalina Root fussed at the stove, preparing pierogi for their lunch. Her husband James was at the counter beside her, slicing rounds from a brown loaf as he waited for the kettle to boil. Both of them were in their seventies but still spry, and both refused his help outside of their grocery store. They let him set the table and fill the water glasses, but that was it.

So he was forced to bounce his heel and stare out the diamond-paned window at the cobblestone street beyond. A light snowstorm had blown down from the mountains just that morning, the flakes small and powdery and swirling in little dervishes in the wind. The streets of the Gothic-style village were deserted, and Allen suspected that had more to do with the storm than the fact that most of the businesses in Annesley Valley closed for an hour around lunchtime. Except for the Cat & Cauldron down the street, of course, the pub swollen with patrons eager to drain its kegs and start the Yuletide Gala festivities ahead of schedule.

With nothing worthy of his attention outside, Allen shifted his gaze down to his hands. Cupped in his palm was a single worn photograph. It was protocol to memorize the contents of a dossier and then destroy the evidence—he’d thrown it all in the Roots’ fireplace only moments after stepping inside their townhouse. Except this one photograph. Not because he had trouble committing the face to memory. He couldn’t burn this one because he couldn’t stop looking at it.

Allen glanced outside—still nothing—and tilted his wrist, letting more of the weak, gray sunlight illuminate the woman’s features. She was simply gorgeous, and the shallower person would’ve accused him of keeping the photograph just so he could have something pretty to look at when he was alone at night. But that wasn’t it at all. Well, not entirely.

Lilac Hawthorne was hiding something.

She had the same chocolate-brown hair as her siblings, though her locks framed her face in softer waves than the wild curls of her younger sister, Rose. The brother, Boar, had brown eyes while the sisters shared the same ivy-green hue. Though Lilac was smiling in this picture, those beautiful eyes looked sad. Like they were desperate to say something else had it not been for the smile damming it all away inside.

Wetting his lips, he traced the curve of that smile with his thumbnail for what had to be the hundredth time. As if the action would part her lips and reveal the truth of the sadness behind her eyes. And he wondered, not for the first time, if it was anything like the burden he carried. A secret that burned a hole in your chest but would damn you if you spoke it aloud. He knew that pain, and he wanted nothing more than to take it from her. To liberate her and see the light of her smile reach those beautiful eyes.

He sucked in a shallow breath, his heart drumming in warning. Spirits above, he hadn’t even met the witch yet and he was already in danger of falling under her spell. Why was he so weak when it came to women in trouble?

“Any sign of her yet?” Kalina asked from the stove.