Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

Alex wasn’t used to being touched so often and so easily. She’d lived alone for eight years. On the move. No friends, no family. Few reasons to touch anyone at all. Especially not a stark-naked woman she’d only just met.

“Welcome,” Ella said. “We don’t often have new arrivals.”

As the others dispersed every which way, the woman led Alex across the square to a side street opposite the one down which Julian had disappeared. Had he chosen Ella simply because her home was the farthest from his?

“No?” Alex extricated her arm. “Why’s that?”

Ella glanced at her. “Hasn’t Julian explained about Barlowsville?”

“Barlowsville?” Alex repeated with a derisive snort. “What an ego.”

Ella frowned, her dark eyes confused. “You sound like you hate him.”

“Doesn’t everyone?” Alex muttered.

“He is our leader, our maker.”

Alex stopped walking. “He made all of you?”

“Yes.”

Edward had been right. Barlow was amassing a werewolf army. Although…the army didn’t appear to be very big or very vicious. But give them time.

Ella beckoned. “I have clothes for you. We seem about the same size.”

And it was pretty easy to tell.

Alex followed the woman, who had the slightest of French accents, to a single-story house partway down a street filled with others just the same. They were so similar, they appeared to have all come from the same kit. Slanted roofs, boxy exterior, two windows at the front on either side of the door, each painted the same shade of white as the snow, with chimneys that spilled wood smoke into a sky of pristine blue.

Ella opened the door and walked inside. Alex was surprised the place hadn’t been locked. Although where would Ella have carried the key?

She followed the woman into the house, eyes widening at the decor. She didn’t know anything about furniture, but Ella’s appeared both old and expensive.

“Nice,” she ventured, nodding toward the living room.

Gilt mirrors graced the walls. Elaborately hand-carved tables flanked chairs of ruby-red velvet and a couch of burnished gold.

“Merci.” Ella smiled. “It has taken many years but I’ve been able to reacquire most of my things.”

“These were actually yours when you were…”

“Human?” Ella smiled. “Yes.”

“How old are you?” Alex asked.

Ella put a hand on Alex’s arm. “Much, much older than I look.”

No shit, Alex thought.

“Come.” Ella led her down a short hallway, pointing into one of the rooms. “Wear whatever you wish. I will make us some café.”

When Alex hesitated, Ella gave her a little push, then closed the door behind her.

Here the decor was more modern: a bed that could have been purchased at Price Club—although Alex could not imagine Ella darkening their door—a nightstand of fake cherrywood, a lamp of false brass. However, upon the armoire—also fake cherry—sat several items that had definitely not been bought at a discount store.

A brilliantly painted china cup, a tiny vanity, small enough to fit into a doll’s house, but with intricate carvings that must have driven the artist half mad, and a glass woman, dressed like Marie Antoinette.

Alex bent closer. Actually, the figure was Marie Antoinette. She was beginning to catch a clue as to how old Ella was.

Alex opened the armoire, afraid she’d discover frilly underwear, bras with enough lace to be at home on a Victoria’s Secret catwalk, and silky stockings that would be useless in this climate. She was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong.

Not that the undergarments weren’t too frilly for her taste, but they weren’t embarrassingly so. Not that anyone would see them.

An image of Julian came to mind but she thrust it resolutely away. She was here to spy on him. To kill him if she could. There would be no repeat boinking of the man no matter how fantastic it had been.

Alex discovered serviceable black socks, along with a black turtleneck made of cashmere so soft she rubbed her face against it with a sigh as she slid it over her head. She’d never owned anything so fine.

“And you still don’t,” she muttered, moving to the closet. Inside the clothes were arranged by color, and there was a whole lot of black.

She chose a pair of black wool slacks, and she had to admit the outfit suited her, although she felt a bit like a cat burglar.

Shoes lined the floor. Unfortunately, they weren’t her size. Alex spent longer than she ever had in her life on her hair, which was tangled and littered with sticks. Since she had no comb or brush, she made do with her fingers, then quickly braided the length and secured it with an extra shoelace she found in a drawer. When she could avoid it no longer, Alex opened the door and went to the kitchen.

Ella sat on a tall chair at the center island, a tiny cup of very dark coffee in front of her. She was dressed in winter white. A bulky sweater with a cowl that dipped to the center of her chest, displaying a ruby in an elaborate filigree setting, and wool slacks similar but for the color to the ones Alex wore.

She glanced up from the magazine she was paging through with a smile that faded at the sight of Alex. “Oh, non !” She shook her head.

“Did I take something I shouldn’t have? I’ll change.” Alex spun, but she’d only gone two steps when Ella was by her side. The speed in which the other woman had reached her caused Alex to start. Would she ever get used to the swiftness of the werewolf in human form?

“All that I have is yours for the asking, mon amie. But so much black.” She made a tsk ing sound as she stepped past Alex and returned to the bedroom.

Alex followed, standing in the doorway as Ella rooted through the armoire.

“Ah-ha.” The woman flipped up her arm, and a gorgeous silk scarf unraveled. In all the shades of autumn—gold, russet, amber, olive—it was not something Alex would ever have chosen for herself. She’d never understood silk scarves. They certainly couldn’t keep you warm.

Ella crossed the short distance and draped it around Alex’s neck. “Let it hang down, just so.” She stepped back, gazing at Alex with a critical eye. Then she stepped forward and yanked the shoestring from Alex’s hair, tsk ing again. “Non.” She threw it into the trash and untangled the length from its braid.

“Oui.” She gave a sharp, satisfied nod. “I knew this scarf would bring out the lights in your hair.” She drew Alex to the full-length mirror attached to the back of the closet door. “Black is fine as a base, but add a flash of color and—” She kissed the tips of her fingers, then released them to the sky with a smooching sound. “Very chic.”

“Chic,” Alex repeated. “Right.”

She’d never been chic, would never be chic, did not know what chic meant. But Ella was right. The silly scarf did bring out highlights that Alex hadn’t even known she had.

“Thanks.” Alex’s gaze met the woman’s in the mirror. “It’s nice of you to help me.”

In her experience, people didn’t just help strangers for the fun of it. There had to be something in it for them. She wondered what was in it for Ella.

“It’s my pleasure,” Ella replied, and her expression was pleased. Almost as if she enjoyed making Alex look as nice as she could, just because she could.

“You have a lot of beautiful things.”

“Merci.”

“I wouldn’t think you could find all this way up here.”

“Here?” Ella laughed, the sound throaty, sexy, very French. “Here we would find flannel shirts, Levi’s, snow boots, and parkas. This—” She waved her hand at the full closet. “—is what the Internet is for.”