Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

“I suppose not,” he said quietly, and for an instant she could have sworn she heard sympathy, or pity, in his voice. Which made her anger flare and she lashed out.

“I figured you’d eat everything raw. Like the wise woman.”

She’d been staring at his face, waiting for a flicker of…what? Guilt? Could a werewolf feel guilt?

But he merely lifted a brow. “You think I killed her?”

“Someone did.”

“Maybe it was you.”

“I don’t kill people.”

“You keep on believing that.” He yanked a huge handful of paper towels off the roll and handed them to her without even asking what she wanted them for. She guessed it was obvious when he followed her into the hall and leaned in the doorway while she wiped up her mess.

“I didn’t kill the wise woman,” he said quietly.

“Neither did I.”

Silence settled between them. Did he believe her? Did she believe him? She wasn’t sure.

Alex straightened and handed him the sopped towels. “I guess we’ll have to reserve judgment until we have proof.”

“Like catching each other red-pawed?” He returned to the kitchen and threw the towels into the trash.

“Mmm,” Alex said noncommitally. They had been separated for short periods last night, but would he have had time to wash the blood from his fur before she saw him again?

Probably not. Then again—magic man. How hard would it be for him to abracadabra away the stains?

Barlow motioned for Alex to sit at a table of white tile and sandy-shaded wood. She couldn’t help herself. She ran her palm over it like a lover. How was it that everything in his house was exactly what she would have chosen herself?

Barlow sat on the other side of the table, remaining silent until she met his gaze. “You want to tell me about it?”

“I didn’t kill the wise woman,” she said.

“Not that. The Jäger-Suchers .”

“You want me to tell you about the Jäger-Suchers ?” Alex snorted. “So when Edward shows up he kills me first? No thanks.”

“Alex.” Julian reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. She frowned at it, and at her own because even though her head was telling her to break his fingers, her hand wanted to curl around his and hold on. “You’re one of us now.”

“I didn’t choose to be.”

“This is what I’ve been telling you. Most werewolves are made against their will. But the Jäger-Suchers don’t care. They kill them anyway.”

“They don’t have much choice,” she said. “Teeth and claws, blood and death. You try and reason with that.”

Julian sighed and leaned back, taking his hand with him. “You don’t understand—”

Because she missed his hand and she wanted it back, she snapped, “I’ve been there. I know. Werewolves are serial killers in a fur coat. They don’t change. They don’t want to. And the only way to stop them is with silver. Period.”

“You’ll discover differently here. I promise.”

“Considering what we heard from your grandson, there’s at least one wolf in this village that proves me right.” She smirked, feeling some of her old self shine through. “How long until there are more?”

“There won’t be.”

“Just because I didn’t get past kindergarten doesn’t mean I didn’t read and research and learn. I particularly enjoyed history, and one thing history’s good for is revealing patterns of behavior.”

“You lost me.”

“The more you hold these wolves under your thumb, the more you make them behave in a way that’s not natural, the more they’re going to want to break free, and the more violent they’ll be once they do.”

“This werewolf is a rogue,” he insisted. “Probably isn’t even from here.”

“You keep on believing that,” she said.

A few moments ago, Julian had felt sorry for her. A few moments after that he’d touched her, and it had felt so…perfect, he’d kept his hand right where it was.

Now he wanted to take that hand and wrap it around her throat until her smirk died, and she did, too.

Of course she wouldn’t stay dead—and he had only himself to blame for that.

“Why don’t you finish telling me why, if you can’t make baby Barlows, there are all sorts of people with your eyes running around calling you Daddy.”

“Grandfather,” he corrected.

“Whatever.” She tilted her head. “George called you Ataniq . Sounds a little like asshole, but I doubt he’d have the balls.”

“Unlike you,” Julian returned.

Alex spread her hands and shrugged.

“ Ataniq means—” He paused, realizing that once he told her she’d only smirk again.

“You may as well spill it. I can borrow the Internet as well as the next werewolf.”

“Boss, president, king, master,” he blurted.

She stared at him for several seconds, while he discovered he’d been wrong. The smirk didn’t come back; instead a look of incredulity spread over her face. “You raped and pillaged your way through that village and now they call you grandfather and master?”

“No.”

“You just said—”

“We didn’t. I mean I didn’t—”

“You were a Viking, Jorund . You didn’t sail here to teach the natives about Jesus.”

No, they’d come here at Julian’s insistence. He’d had a sudden urge to sail west, though very few ships did. Such a trip had been a danger at the time considering the belief in sea monsters and a flat, flat world. The waters were uncharted, the land beyond the horizon a mystery. Naturally, he couldn’t resist.

Julian had always remembered the beauty of the place they had found. The ice, the snow, the freedom that swirled in the air. He’d wanted badly to come back. About a hundred years ago, he had.

“There weren’t any sea monsters,” he said. Alex blinked, then frowned. “They said there’d be sea monsters, and I wanted to find one.”

“Were you twelve?” she asked.

“Twenty.” And in command of his own vessel. “I think the sea monsters they spoke of were actually whales. Great beasts that rose up from the ocean, blowing huge gusts of water out of their heads.”

She was beginning to stare at him as if he’d lost his mind. “The sea monsters were whales. Check. And you sailed past them, landed…” She wiggled her fingers in the general direction of the ocean. “Then marched into Awanitok and took whatever the hell, and whoever the hell, you wanted.”

“No.”

She sighed impatiently. “Barlow, your eyes don’t lie. Well, your eyes do. But all the eyes, in all the faces, all over that village don’t.”

“I led a raiding party,” he began, then went silent, remembering.

It had been summer. If it hadn’t they’d never have been able to sail near the land since the water in the Arctic froze solid.

The Inuit village had been small at the time, perhaps sixty people. They’d lived in homes dug into the ground, the earth providing natural insulation. Anything aboveground was fashioned with sod over wood or whalebone frames. Julian had thought the method ingenious.

He’d had ten men with him. Plenty to pillage the natives. Unfortunately they’d been too poor to pillage.

“They offered a sacrifice if we left them alone.”

Alex lifted a brow. “Indian maidens?”

Julian shrugged. “They didn’t have anything else.”

“You took them. In more ways than one.”

“As you pointed out, we were Vikings, and we’d been on that ship for a very long time.”

Alex glanced out the floor-length sliding glass door to her right. “Then all the blue eyes aren’t descended from you.”