o 35b0a02a46796a4f (16 page)

Alex shuddered again, and Barlow pulled her arms more firmly around his waist so that the entire front of her was pressed to the back of him. He gave off heat like a furnace, and before she could stop herself she actually cuddled.

Alex did
not
cuddle. Especially with werewolves.

But
she
was a werewolf.

-

“Fuck;’ she muttered, her own thoughts making her

dizzy.

Barlowsville appeared on the horizon, and Alex was damn glad to see it. Which only confused her more.

They roared into town, straight past the square and down a street Alex had never been down before. She’d figured Barlow would take her straight to Ella’s and leave her there so he could discover the traitor in their midst. She certainly wouldn’t want to be
that
wolf.

But what if...

She’d heard the old man point out that Barlow was a sorcerer; he could be anything. Even a brown wolf when his hair was gold. However, according to the wolf man he didn’t kill for sport. No one here did.

So then who had eaten the wise woman?

Barlow stopped in front of a two-story log structure at the very end of the street. Behind it she could see a long, white, really ugly warehouse-type building. What the hell did he keep in there?

Alex heaved a silent sigh. She was going to have to find out. That and a whole lot more.

Barlow shut off the motor, slid free of the seat and trotted up the steps, then into the house. Alex sat on the snowmobile, uncertain what she should do. Did he already know who the rogue was, and he’d come directly to the wolf’s house to kill it?

However Barlow reappeared with the Inuit kid. He saw her still sitting there and frowned. “George has to go home now,” he said. “Come inside.”

Alex glanced at the rustic home. “This is
your
place?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Nothing.” She climbed off the machine. In truth, she wanted it with a longing that embarrassed her. Whenever she’d dreamed of a house of her own—not often, it was never going to happen—she’d dreamed of a log cabin very similar to this. “Where are the white pillars, golden window frames, marble steps, and neon sign that flashes HOME

OF THE WOLFGOD KING OF BARLOWSVILLE?”

George’s blue eyes widened, and he glanced at Barlow as if he expected him to. . . what? Kill her now?

Instead Barlow’s lips twitched. He appeared to be finding her funnier and funnier as time went on.

Huh.
Usually people found her less and less funny the more she hung around. Then again, Barlow wasn’t most people. Hell, he wasn’t even
a
people.

“I left it in my other suit;’ he said. Which made no sense So why, then, did Alex laugh?

George glanced back and forth between the two of them, his expression of concern fading to one of confusion. He didn’t get the joke either.

“I’m afraid we had a bit of an accident.” Barlow pointed to the dent. “And your helmet is—” His eyes met hers, and he smiled.

“Toast,” Alex said. “Your helmet is toast.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.” Barlow continued to hold Alex’s gaze, and something flickered just below her breastbone— a trickle of heat that both intrigued and disturbed her.

“It’s all right,
Ataniq.”
George came down the steps. “I have other helmets.”

“I meant the snowmobile,” Barlow said drily.

“Oh!” The boy glanced at Alex, and his cheeks reddened. She wasn’t sure why.

He smiled at her shyly, and she smiled back, which only made him blush all the more.

Barlow cleared his throat, and George’s clear blue gaze flicked from Alex to Barlow; then he straightened as if he might click his heels together and bow.

The incongruity of that image—the Indian boy with the long flowing hair, bowing like a European underling to a lord—almost made Alex laugh again, but she managed not to. Poor George would think she was laughing at him.

“There’s no need,
Ataniq.
I can fix it.”

“You’ve always been good at that.” Barlow beckoned Alex, and with a small shrug in lieu of good-bye, she moved toward the house.

Barlow’s eyes suddenly narrowed, and Alex glanced behind her, concerned, only to find George’s gaze on her ass.

“Go,” Barlow ordered in a voice so icy she got shivers. Then he watched until the snowmobile had left town as quickly as it had entered. -

“You scared him,” Alex said.

“Good.” He flicked her an unreadable gaze and disappeared inside.

Alex followed, shutting the door behind her. “He’s just a kid.”

Barlow, who’d sat in what appeared to be a hand-carved wooden chair in the hall and begun to pull off his wet socks, tilted his head to look at her. “Are you a kid?”

“What? No.” She didn’t think she’d ever been a kid.

“He’s your age, Alex.” He stood and carried the dripping socks into the kitchen. “Or close enough.”

Alex remained in the hall. He was probably right. George was her age, maybe even a year older. But he’d seemed so damn young.

“Hey!” she called, striding down the hall, then pausing when her ridiculous rubber boots slid as the ice on the bottoms melted all over the polished wood floor. Alex cursed, yanked them off, and left them on the mat near the door. “You got any paper—” She stopped just inside the entryway, mouth half open as she stared at the most gorgeous kitchen she’d ever seen.

The sun spilled through a skylight, illuminating the honey shade of the wooden beams and walls. The countertops were blinding white and the appliances chrome. But what she really liked were the huge natural stones that decorated both the center island and the fireplace in the attached dining area.

“Got any paper what?” Julian asked as he came out of a tiny room to the rear. Alex caught a glimpse of a washing machine before he shut the door.

“Towels;’ she managed, still staring.

Julian noticed and glanced around. “What?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks. I—uh----” He shrugged. “Like to cook?’

Alex’s eyes widened. “Really?”

“Why not?”

“I just, well I never.. . have.”

“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? Di 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?”

“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.”

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.”

“Most of my men were related to me in some way.” It made for less hassle on the high seas. If everyone was related, there was a slimmer chance of not only mutiny, but wholesale slaughter as well.

“Go on,” Alex said.

“I just told you everything.”

“Not everything. Why does an entire Inuit village in the twenty-first century call one man master? Not very PC?’

“PC,” he repeated, his mind churning to find a meaning.