Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

The old man shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. There is new wolf vicious and there is alpha wolf vicious. Sometimes they can be very much the same.”

“The wolf is brown,” Julian said. “I’m not.”

“You are a shaman,” the elder pointed out. “I think you could be anything that you wish.”

Julian sighed and lifted his face to the sky. The old man had a point. Julian probably could change the shade of his fur just by thinking of it.

But he hadn’t. On the other hand…

He looked at Alex. She was staring at him, obviously wondering the same thing about him that he was wondering about her: What had she been doing during the time they’d been running separately last night? He doubted she’d been snacking on the local wise woman, but who knew?

Turning back to the elder, he murmured, “I swore to protect this village.”

“For a price.”

“There’s always a price.”

The Inuit inclined his head in agreement.

“I will discover who’s done this, and I will make sure they never do it again.”

Julian strode toward the snowmobile without another glance in Alex’s direction. If she wanted to return with him, she could move her ass. If she didn’t, he’d leave her behind.

He barely registered her climbing on as he started the machine, barely felt her hands at his waist as he sped away. He was so damn mad.

His village had existed for over a century unharmed, undetected, because they had one simple rule and it was this: Never eat the people.

Now someone had broken it—at least once—and who was to say that someone hadn’t ranged farther and wider and broken that rule again and again in a place over which Julian had little chance of damage control?

In no time there would be representatives of this or that government agency detached with guns and orders to kill the rabid wolf. They’d have a bit of trouble with that, of course—he doubted they’d bring silver bullets —which only meant that Edward would hear about it.

Edward would have no trouble at all.

Julian wasn’t aware that he was driving faster and faster until Alex’s fingers dug into his side as they bounced far too high over an incline, then came down far too hard on the other side.

“Brown wolf,” Julian muttered. He should have asked what shade. Dark as mud at midnight? Or light as the sand beneath the dawn? That might narrow it down.

Anger flared, and Julian imagined himself as a wolf, chasing down another wolf—dark brown, light brown, didn’t matter. He would leap; he would land on its back; they would roll over and over in the snow, but the golden wolf would come out on top; then he would grab the traitor by the throat and—

Julian jerked his head to the side with a ripping motion.

Ahhh. He could almost taste the blood.

His fury surged, and the next thing Julian knew both he and Alex were sailing through the air and skidding across the frozen tundra.

It wasn’t until Julian slammed into a snowbank, the impact knocking the rage right out of him, that he understood what had happened. Then he lay there trying to breathe evenly so he could make the paws that existed where his hands and feet should have been disappear.

A boot heel scuffed against the snow; then a shadow was cast over his face. “That’s a nice look for you.”

“Mmm,” Julian said noncommitally. He continued to concentrate on smooth, calm seas, balmy breezes, springtime. Anything that would calm him down. Alex’s voice…

Just wasn’t helping.

He breathed in and out, slow and steady. Which didn’t help, either. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and when his body responded as if she were a bitch in heat he got all pissed off again.

“Hey,” she said. “Your—uh—nose is growing.”

“Back off,” Julian snarled, the sound half man, half beast.

To her credit, she did.

Once he no longer had to fight his anger and his lust, he managed to put all the pieces of himself back the way they belonged.

Julian sat up, flexed his fingers, then wiggled his toes. He’d burst out of his boots when he’d begun to change. Dammit. He’d liked those boots. Now they lay strewn in pieces across the snow-white ground.

Alex leaned against the snowmobile, which had a dent the size of an Easter ham in the fender. Hell. He’d have to buy George a new one, or at least fix this one.

Her eyes shone brilliant green in the morning sun, so bright they seemed to bore into his. She was as mad as he had been. Luckily his wolves didn’t inherit his magic as well as his tendency to turn furry.

“Are you done with your temper tantrum?” she asked. “Did you put your tail back in your ass?”

He didn’t bother to answer. She knew as well as he did that the tail always popped out last.

“I should be impressed.” Alex pushed away from the machine and stalked slowly toward him, the rubber soles of her crappy boots making an annoying squelching noise in the snow. “I’ve never seen anyone change only their hands or their feet or their—” She wiggled her fingers at his face. “Snout. But I guess I’ve never met anyone as old or as powerful as you.”

Julian got to his feet. “Don’t you mean killed ? You’ve never killed anyone as powerful as me?”

“Not yet,” she muttered, then hauled back one foot and kicked what appeared to be half of a black, shiny basketball.

The thing sailed directly at Julian’s face, and if he hadn’t been what he was, it would have broken his nose. He snatched the object out of the air, then contemplated one portion of a cracked helmet.

“Sorry.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “That must have hurt.”

“I don’t give a shit about hurt.” She kicked the other half even harder. He managed to grab this one an instant before it slammed into his groin.

“When did you take up soccer?” he asked. “I thought softball was your game.”

Her eyes widened. “How did you—?”

“I said I checked you out.”

She frowned, obviously wondering how he’d discovered her talent. It hadn’t been easy.

“Oh, yeah, I had tons of time to play games while I was being dragged around the country by my Jäger- Sucher father. Then once the werewolf ate him, it was directly into the pros for me.”

“Sarcasm,” he murmured. “My favorite.”

Alex looked around, presumably for something else to kick. When she saw nothing, she just hauled off and went for his nuts with the toe of her boot. Once again, he managed to catch the projectile inches from his crotch. Without a second thought he heaved upward and sent her flipping heels-over-head to land on her face in the snow.

Unfortunately snow in the Arctic was more like ice. Her temple cracked against it with a sick thud, and she lay still.

“Faet!” Julian hurried to her side. Just as he began to kneel, her hand shot out, and she yanked his feet out from under him.

The back of Julian’s head and the ice connected with the exact same thud. Then Alex landed on his chest, and he lost what was left of his air.

She leaned in close, seeming to press the boniest point of her knee into his very lungs, and blood dripped onto his face. Her eyes appeared a little crazy, and he wondered if getting knocked in the noggin twice in so short a time had unhinged her.

“Why did half that village have your eyes, Barlow?”

Now he knew she’d lost it. What kind of a question was that?

“Answer me,” she said between her teeth, then rapped his head against the ground again.

“Long—” he managed, wheezing and coughing. She let up a bit on his chest, and the second word exploded, “—story.”

“Then you’d better start talking.”