Page 70 of A Wolf for Winter

“No. Not alone anyway.”

Allen surged upright only to collapse to his knees. Spirits above, it was like someone had filled his legs with cement. His pulse suddenly roared in his ears, and his wolf howled in alarm. “The fruitcake?” he wheezed.

“It was all laced,” she said. “Every bit of it. Wolfsbane and blue foxglove, infused in the port to mask their scents. I might be rubbish when it comes to most runes and the small magics, but there are some things I can still manage.”

She crept forward, the antler charm still pointed ahead of her. From the way her arm shook, she wasn’t just afraid of him—she was struggling to control the magic she insisted she could manage.

“Back off,” he snapped, attempting to rise again and failing.

“Don’t fight it,” she whispered, rushing forward to catch him as he sagged backwards.

He wanted to wolf out, to bite her traitorous head clean off her shoulders, but the poison locked his limbs and the magic of the charm kept him human. That’s what had stuck him last night, he realized, not a magic missile. It had shot out of Talia’s hand purely by accident.

“What is that thing?” he forced out. Was his jaw locking up? He struggled to wedge his hand into his pocket before his muscles seized entirely.

“A heretic’s fork. Old magic from Elfame, the land of the fae. Just goes to show you that the Hawthornes aren’t as all-powerful as they think they are, that stronger magics exist besides their own. Haven’t you wondered why the Hall’s wards haven’t been sounding the alarm?”

“Why?” he rasped. His fingers wiggled deeper into his pocket, seeking that which was inches away yet impossibly out of reach.

Talia shook her head. “I meant what I said, Allen. You’re a good man—you don’t need to be a part of this. The herbs’ll wear off around midnight—your wolf will keep you warm—then you can go and rid yourself of the Hawthornes’ prejudices—”

“I love her.”

The practitioner paused, eyes widening. “Who?”

“Li—” His jaw locked.

“Lilac,” she finished. A sympathetic smile curved her mouth. “She was always so nice to me, despite the others calling her an ice queen.”

Allen stared up at her, willing her to be merciful. To not go through with whatever she had planned.

“I’m sorry,” Talia whispered, brushing her hand over his eyelids and sealing him in darkness.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“Where is he?” Lilac muttered for what had to be the hundredth time. Or was it the thousandth? She slapped her fan against her gloved palm once again, at risk of worrying a hole in the delicate lace. The corner of her left eye was permanently crinkled from twitching so much.

“For someone who doesn’t even like the caretaker,” Boar mused, “you’re spending a good deal of your time thinking about him.”

“Plotting his demise,” she clipped, still searching the front doors as if they would open any second to admit him. She glanced out the closest window; it was so dark outside.

“And that’s exactly why he’s not here.”

“Boar!” She finally whirled on her brother. He was by the full-length mirror they had erected by the mask table, allowing any of the soon-to-be-arriving masquerade attendees to check their appearance at any time during the ball. “He’s been gone for hours. Aren’t you the least bit concerned?”

“A little,” he admitted, shrugging into his suit jacket and adjusting his cravat. Like the rest of his siblings, he was dressed like a Victorian aristocrat, as if a Regency romance novel had come to life in Hawthorne Hall. “But he can obviously take care of himself, and he’s probably just giving you space since you’ve been so beastly towards him. He could be checking on the goats—”

“He’s not; I’ve already looked.”

“Or with the Roots—”

“I called; they said he wasn’t there.”

“And they were probably covering for him.”

“Then you call them!”

He gave her a stern look. “I’m not going to bother them, Lilac. Though, it would’ve been nice for him to lend a helping hand with the buffet.”