Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

He reached for her other arm, yanked it forward with no small amount of force. “Use two hands!” he shouted.

His hair blew past her face, long and light, and when the sun hit the strands they turned every shade of gold. Even though the helmet had a visor, she could still smell him—that intoxicating scent of ice and snow and trees.

She should probably pull her thumb out of his pants, but he was so warm. She was tempted to slide the rest of her chilled appendage in to join it. And the allure of that thought made her yank the hand right out.

Instead she cupped her palms at his hips as lightly as she could and not be sent into outer space when they hit the next uneven patch.

The terrain was incredibly rough. Even the snowmobile had a hard time getting over some of it. Walking the distance between the two villages would be nearly impossible. Traversing it as a wolf had probably been the best way.

Despite the ridges and valleys, the bumps and thumps, Alex began to enjoy the ride. Her father had loved speed. You couldn’t be a Jäger-Sucher and not be sort of a danger-junkie.

When they’d traveled the western highways, where there were no speed limits, he’d put his foot to the floor and taken them up and down hills and around curves with the skill and velocity of an Indy 500 driver.

The memory of those rides, combined with the rush of the wind and the flash of snow-covered terrain moving backward at an incredible rate, both thrilled and saddened Alex. She loved the sensation of speed, but she really, really missed her father. Which made her wonder—

If he saw her now, would he shoot her in the head as he’d shot so many others?

Julian clenched his jaw so tightly it began to ache. If he wasn’t careful he’d crack a tooth. He’d done it before.

What had he been thinking to bring her along?

Well, he couldn’t leave her in town until he’d spoken with her about keeping certain secrets, and he couldn’t just order her not to tell anyone who she really was. Knowing Alex, that would be an open invitation to do just that, however if she did he’d have one less problem to deal with when he returned to Barlowsville.

But he wanted her to suffer, not to die. Although the way she was making him suffer right now had him rethinking the entire plan.

Sure, she was holding on to him so lightly, if he hit a particularly big rut she would go sailing. Regardless, he could still feel the warmth of her hands on his hips, which only made him think of the last time those hands had been in the same place, pulling him closer, urging him on—

“Knull mæ i øret,” he muttered.

“What?” Alex shouted, leaning closer, pressing her breasts into his back and her crotch more firmly against his ass.

Julian started to look for a huge dip in the snow so he could send her flying far away before his hard-on became a reality instead of a threat. Thankfully, his searching eyes caught sight of the roofs of the Inuit village instead. He let off the throttle, and the snowmobile slowed noticeably.

“What’s wrong?”

Julian lifted his chin toward the horizon as more and more roofs became visible, along with telephone and electrical poles, even a few flags. One of the villagers lumbered a hundred yards south of them carrying a string of fish in one hand and a spear in the other. Julian couldn’t tell who it was since the hood of the man’s fur-trimmed parka shaded his entire face.

“This is an Eskimo village?” Alex asked.

“Inuit,” he corrected. “It means ‘the real people.’ The word Eskimo went the way of savage, redskin, chief, squaw, papoose —”

“I got it. Inuit,” she repeated, leaning forward again as he reached the top of the swell that led down into the center of town.

“The village is called Awanitok.”

“Which means?”

“Far away.”

“Clever. But…I don’t see any igloos.”

He fought the urge to laugh. Certainly the Inuit had made use of igloos once upon a time—mostly as an emergency shelter for hunting expeditions—but now—

“This place seems more up-to-date than yours.”

Exactly.

“The Inuit are mostly craftspeople these days. They need more contact with the outside world than we do.”

“More contact?” She rolled her eyes. “From what I saw, Barlowsville doesn’t have any.”

He’d never said she wasn’t smart. Just annoying.

“Your point?”

“What’s up with the generators?”

“What do you think?”

Her lips curved. “Trying to avoid a Jäger-Sucher showdown?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

She blinked as if he’d surprised her. He suspected she wasn’t used to thinking of Edward as the enemy. She’d better get used to it. Mandenauer wouldn’t care if she’d been changed against her will, he’d only care that she’d been changed at all.

“Barlowsville is off the grid,” Julian said. “Anything that might alert the Jäger-Suchers to our existence is something we don’t have.”

She frowned. “Explain.”

“If no invoices are generated for services, no mail, no phones—”

“It’s as if you don’t exist,” she said softly.

“Voilà!”

“But—” She bit her lip. “Ella said she’d ordered all her clothes from the Internet.”

“She did.” He swept his hand out to indicate the Inuit settlement. “From here. Had it delivered here, too.”

To power his laptop connection, Cade had done some fancy signal-bouncing, Internet-stealing mumbo-jumbo. According to him, a single bounce was undetectable. But a hundred wouldn’t be.

“No one minds the lack of…amenities?” Alex asked.

Since most of the inhabitants had been born in another age—be it when Viking ships sailed the deep blue sea or the words Vive la Révolution rang free— no one did. Especially since all they had to do was make a short trip here to use anything that they wished.

“We don’t need them.”

“You’ve never had an emergency?”

“What kind of emergency would there be that we couldn’t handle ourselves?”

Injuries healed. He was the law. In the past century nothing had ever happened to necessitate their breaking “radio silence,” and he doubted it ever would.

“Huh,” Alex said. “You wanna tell me why that kid had your eyes?”

Barlow gunned the engine, and the snowmobile tilted over the edge of the swell, then raced down the hill and into Awanitok. Guess he didn’t want to answer her question.

If Barlow were anyone other than who he was— make that what he was—Alex wouldn’t have even had to ask. She’d have known.

Hanky-panky with the Indian maiden. Except werewolves couldn’t make babies. Or so she’d been told.

By Edward. Leader of the Liar’s Club.

“Shit,” Alex muttered. She’d only done Barlow once, but as she’d heard many times before…

Once was all it took.

She wanted to shout at him to Stop this snowmobile! And if he wouldn’t, then dump them into a snowbank and make him face her, talk to her, tell her the truth. Unfortunately, if she did that now she’d be having the conversation in front of a village full of strangers.

Alex decided to pass. She could always beat the truth out of him later.

And wouldn’t that be fun?

The machine coasted to a halt on what appeared to be the main street. Compared with Barlowsville, the place was huge. Twice as many commercial establishments, probably because there were at least three times as many houses on three times as many side streets.

Regardless of how large the town was, everyone seemed to be aware that they had arrived, because people began to exit the stores and restaurants; they hurried in from the residential avenues that led off the commercial area, and the air filled with the rumble of engines as those who lived on the outskirts started their cars or all-terrain vehicles.