Lori Handeland - Marked by the Moon

Cade began to sweat. Killing Alex? No problem. Fighting Julian? Once Alex was dead and he was writhing, not much of a challenge, either. But facing two hundred werewolves?

“Not so easy now,” Alex murmured.

Cade began to babble. “She’s a spy. She’ll tell the Jäger-Suchers where we are. And he—” Cade pointed at Julian with the knife. “He won’t let you be what you were born to be. Werewolves kill. It’s what we do best. You’ve never lived until you’ve scented their fear, then tasted their blood.”

“Dumb-ass,” Alex said.

Julian knew exactly what she was thinking—and when had that started? Cade had just admitted his crimes to the jury of his peers.

Every gaze swung to Julian, and when they did, Cade made a break for it. He dropped the knife; he started to run. Before he’d gone ten yards, he was a wolf.

Julian didn’t want to kill him, but rules were rules, and Cade had broken them. It didn’t matter that he was Julian’s brother. He was still a psychotic, murdering werewolf, which meant that he must die. Julian closed his eyes, and he reached for the change.

“Julian,” Alex whispered, her voice full of wonder and fear.

He opened his eyes just as a ghastly, grisly howl cut through the night.

The two of them stood all alone beneath the moon. The howl went on and on and on, then it stopped.

Alex wasn’t certain which was worse—the howl itself or the silence that followed.

Julian stared into the distance, face as still as the night. His eyes glittered; he appeared carved from stone.

“They took care of it,” she said. “So you wouldn’t have to.”

Julian’s wolves understood what killing his brother would do to him. But they couldn’t allow Cade to live. Not here. Not anywhere. Cade would never stop killing. He liked it too much.

Julian didn’t answer. He didn’t even move.

“A little help,” she called.

She was half afraid he’d continue to stand there, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. She’d take her punishment; she wouldn’t run. But she’d prefer to take it when she wasn’t trussed to a monster truck half naked.

Julian leaned over and picked up the knife Cade had dropped when he changed. Then he crossed the short distance between them. Alex started to feel cold and not from the ice. Perhaps her judge was here and her punishment—

Julian lifted the knife, but all he did was cut the rope that bound her to the tailgate.

Alex crumpled to the snow. He could have reached out and kept her from falling. Instead he just turned away.

She climbed to her feet, adjusted the robe, thought about what she could say. “I got nothin’,” she admitted.

She was a spy. She’d planned to send all of them to their deaths. That she didn’t plan to anymore didn’t change that she’d plotted mass murder in the first place.

But Julian had been right. His wolves were more like people than most people. Barlowsville was home.

And so was he.

She couldn’t leave. They were bonded. Mated. Stuck.

Strangely that knowledge didn’t make her feel trapped. It made her feel…loved.

When had she fallen in love with him? She really couldn’t say. Was what she felt merely a by-product of their bond? Did it matter when the bond was real and true and forever? They were part of each other in a way she could never be part of anyone else.

She sensed the werewolves returning, the sensation of them getting closer and closer a tangible pulse deep within. They emerged from the gloom and took up the same positions as before—a semicircle facing Alex and Julian. Her time had come.

She didn’t bother to defend herself. She had no defense. She could say she was sorry now, but really… why on earth would they believe her?

Julian took a breath, then let it out on a long, exhausted sigh. He turned and strode toward her, the set of his shoulders determined, even as his face remained oh, so still.

“This is going to hurt me more than it’s going to hurt you,” he murmured.

He was right. Her pain would only last until the flames died. Considering their mate bond, his could go on and on.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I understand.”

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but that would only make things worse.

He was two feet away from her when the sleek black wolf leaped between them.

“Ella,” Alex said. “Let him go.”

Ella snarled, and the hair on the back of her neck lifted.

“Really,” Alex continued. “He’s gotta do what he’s gotta do.”

A silver wolf with Rose’s eyes joined the black one; another with hair like Joe’s was right behind. Wolves drifted in from both sides, making a line of multicolored beasts between Alex and Julian.

He lifted his gaze. “I guess they’ve made their choice.”

“No—” Alex began.

“They’re right. My arrogance got people killed. My obsession with vengeance put us all at risk. I’m not fit to lead.”

“Who is?”

Alex had meant the question to be rhetorical—really, who was fit to lead?—but Julian’s smile had her heart clenching. “Oh, no. Uh-uh. You stay right—”

Julian threw back his head and howled. The agony in the sound—the fury and the pain—made her reach out. Her hand was only an inch away from touching him when he shimmered, shifted, and disappeared. Alex had been right about the coup, just wrong about the new alpha.

That appeared to be her.

Julian left, and he didn’t come back. Sure, she sent wolves out to look for him; she went to look for him, but if Julian didn’t want to be found, he wasn’t going to be. He had magic on his side.

Sometimes late at night she heard him howling, the sound a long wail of agony for the brother he’d lost.

But he didn’t go far. Certainly she felt ill on and off, but it wasn’t too bad, and it always passed.

She imagined him loping beneath the winter sun, breath streaming out of his snout in a white mist. He would run just a little too far, and he’d feel the pull in his gut, the bond with his mate, and he’d turn back. Then his stomach would ease, and so would hers.

In a few months the bouts of nausea subsided. Since this coincided with reports of “the master” being seen at the edge of the woods watching Barlowsville one day, Awanitok the next, she understood why.

She was lucky; the village practically ran itself. Alex didn’t have any trouble at all. Once the wolves had chosen her, she was theirs just as she’d been his, and they listened to whatever she had to say.

Still, Alex’s guilt ate at her. Her appetite faded, yet she seemed to be gaining weight. Finally she went to the café, found Rose, and asked, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Kill you?” Rose patted her cheek. “Julian broke his own rules by forcing you.”

Since they were in the center of the café during the lunch rush, Rose’s words were greeted with a dozen nods and just as many murmurs of agreement.

“We should have killed him.” Rose’s sweet face folded into a vicious scowl. “I still might.”

“I killed Alana. I didn’t understand. Until he made me understand.”

“ Made being the operative word.” This from Daniel, who occupied a nearby table with Josh. “We don’t do that around here.”

“I was going to turn all of you over to Edward,” Alex announced to the room at large.

“No, you weren’t,” Rose said, and returned to work.

Alex still lived with Ella. She’d been told she could move into Julian’s house, but the instant she’d set foot in the door, she’d started to cry. Without him, the place was too big, too cold, and too quiet

Ella didn’t mind. She said she liked the company. Alex thought what the Frenchwoman liked was keeping an eye on her. Every time Alex turned around lately, there stood Ella.