Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

Barlow disappeared into his house. The slam of the door echoed in the still morning air. Alex understood the sentiment. Anger, hatred, lust—that she could get behind. But when he’d gone gentle on her, kissing her forehead, murmuring into her hair…

What the hell had just happened?

“He was marking you,” Cade murmured.

Alex turned her attention from Barlow’s house to his brother, who seemed far more amused than he should be.

“There’s a mark?”

Cade lifted his hand, and his fingers brushed the place on her neck that still burned from Julian’s mouth. “Not anymore.”

Cade’s touch was all business—like a physician during an exam. Nevertheless, Alex stepped out of his reach, suddenly uncomfortable. “Why would he do that?”

“You’re his. He wanted me to know it.”

Alex didn’t bother to correct him. Right now, she felt his—chosen, branded…marked.

“It’s a wolf thing,” Cade continued. “Sometimes we pee on trees.”

“I guess I should be glad he wasn’t a wolf when he decided to mark me.”

Cade’s lips quirked. “I guess.”

“Is everyone in town going to think I’m—”

“His?” Cade’s smile deepened. “They already do.”

“What?”

The word erupted, loud and confrontational, causing a middle-aged man who’d just come out of his house to glance across the street in their direction.

“Morning, Barry!” Cade lifted a hand, and after a few more seconds’ contemplation Barry bent, picked up his newspaper— The Werewolf Gazette ?—and went inside.

Cade tilted his head and observed Alex as if she were a fascinating new specimen. “Julian hasn’t brought a new wolf to town since—” He paused and unease flickered over his face.

“Since Alana?” Alex asked.

Cade’s eyes widened. “He told you about her?”

Alex shrugged. He had; then again he hadn’t.

“If he didn’t bring you here for himself,” Cade murmured, “then why did he bring you?”

She wasn’t going to touch that question with a ten-foot pole.

“You’ll have to ask him,” she said. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“I heard they were looking for a waitress at the coffee shop.”

“And this is something I need to know why?”

“Thought you might want a job. I know you said you weren’t a cop—” His forehead creased. “But Julian said you were.”

“PI,” Alex supplied. God, she was so good at lying it was kind of embarrassing. “Not really a cop, but close.”

“Well, we don’t need a cop or a PI in Barlowsville, but we do need a waitress at the coffee shop. I bet you could handle it.”

“Maybe,” she allowed.

“It’s a great job for someone who’s new to town,” Cade continued. “Everyone drops by eventually. And once they know you’re working there, they’ll drop by even quicker.”

“Why’s that?”

“They’ll want to talk to you. Get to know you and let you get to know them.” Cade opened the door, taking a step inside before glancing back. “If you’re interested, just ask for Rose.”

Alex had considered going door-to-door, or accosting people in the streets for answers. She could have made the case that she just wanted to get to know everyone, but she figured that would sound fishy. The coffee shop was the perfect cover. She could talk to people and get a peek at them. See if they had any telltale burn marks.

The owner, Rose Bianchi—not a mark on her that Alex could see—was so thrilled to have an applicant that Alex feared the woman might hug her.

“You can start today?” she asked, her fluffy, white halo of hair bobbing above cheeks the same shade as her name. “Right now?”

“I don’t know anything about being a waitress,” Alex lied. It wasn’t as if she could mention all the towns where she’d picked up a few days’ work for tips just so she could buy another box of silver bullets.

“What’s to know?” Rose asked, handing her an apron, and her own pencil and pad. “You write down what they want; then you bring it to them.”

The place smelled like every diner Alex had ever been in. Coffee and fried eggs, bacon and toast. What had she thought they’d serve? People burgers?

“What happened to your last waitress?” Alex asked.

“She’s working at the bookstore now.” Rose shrugged. “Folks switch around. After a few decades, even a job like this gets boring.”

“Even a job like this?” Alex repeated.

“We’re always busy. Got something new on the menu every day.”

She indicated the chalkboard where the specials had been written in a precise, curving hand. Today’s omelet contained apples, spinach, and bacon, while the pancake of the day was cranberry nut. Alex realized she hadn’t eaten since yesterday. Luckily free food came with the job. She wondered if they’d care if she ordered all the specials at once.

“Always someone to talk to. Stories to hear,” Rose continued, patting Alex’s arm with a surprisingly soft, supple palm. Didn’t waitresses usually have rough skin? Although anyone that could heal a knife to the throat was going to heal dishpan hands in a jiffy. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Thanks,” she said.

Rose grinned, exposing slightly crooked but very white teeth. “I’ll be right there.” She pointed at the ancient cash register near the front.

Sometimes this town seemed like the land that time forgot. Then someone would wheel in on a snowmobile, or turn up the sound on their iPod, earbuds trailing into the pocket of their plaid flannel shirt, or share the latest Saturday Night Live skit, as the guys at the corner table appeared to be doing.

“That’s Joe behind the grill.” Rose lifted her chin to indicate the equally white-haired man flipping pancakes as he sang a song about the moon, and an eye, and a big pizza pie. He saluted them both with his spatula, but the look he leveled at Rose was pure devotion.

“Husband?” Alex guessed.

“Nearly a hundred and eighty years now.” Rose winked and headed for the register.

“A hundred and eighty years,” Alex echoed. She couldn’t imagine. She’d kill Barlow before the first year was through.

Alex jolted at her thoughts. She wasn’t going to marry Barlow. She wasn’t going to marry anyone. She was going to find the werewolf she’d come here to find, kill it, then run.

Once she got to work, Alex discovered that Rose was right. The job wasn’t hard. For a werewolf.

Alex had superior strength and amazing stamina, even in this form, so being on her feet for hours, carrying heavy trays loaded with equally heavy plates, setting them down, picking them up, and running, running, running…

Not a problem.

However, if she’d been human she’d have washed out in an hour. The place was unbelievably busy, with wave after wave of customers filling the seats. Did anyone in the entire village eat breakfast at home?

A second waitress, who introduced herself as Cyn— short for Cynthia—and appeared to have been a waitress since the dawn of time, or perhaps the mid-1950s considering her red beehive and tendency to crack gum at the end of every sentence, handled most of the booths, leaving Alex the counter.

“That way you’ve only gotta deal with one person’s order at a time,” she said as she hurried by with a tray of coffee, juice, and tea for the local bridge club.

Alex couldn’t help but stare at the table full of elderly ladies, who twittered and laughed and discussed rubbers, slams, and dummies with great animation. She had to remind herself that they were werewolves .

Then she got a flash of the same ladies sitting around the table in wolf form, pearls still encircling their hairy necks, earrings swaying from their pointy ears, tasteful pink nail polish adorning their claws as they finished a hand of duplicate.