Marked by the Moon (9 page)

A brilliantly painted china cup, a tiny vanity, small enough to fit into a doll's house, but with intricate carvings that must have driven the artist half mad, and a glass woman, dressed like Marie Antoinette.

Alex bent closer. Actually, the figure
was
Marie Antoinette. She was beginning to catch a clue as to how old Ella was.

Alex opened the armoire, afraid she'd discover frilly underwear, bras with enough lace to be at home on a Victoria's Secret catwalk, and silky stockings that would be useless in this climate. She was pleasantly surprised to be proven wrong.

Not that the undergarments weren't too frilly for her taste, but they weren't embarrassingly so. Not that anyone would see them.

An image of Julian came to mind but she thrust it resolutely away. She was here to spy on him. To kill him if she could. There would be no repeat boinking of the man no matter how fantastic it had been.

Alex discovered serviceable black socks, along with a black turtleneck made of cashmere so soft she rubbed her face against it with a sigh as she slid it over her head. She'd never owned anything so fine.

“And you still don't,” she muttered, moving to the closet. Inside the clothes were arranged by color, and there was a whole lot of black.

She chose a pair of black wool slacks, and she had to admit the outfit suited her, although she felt a bit like a cat burglar.

Shoes lined the floor. Unfortunately, they weren't her size. Alex spent longer than she ever had in her life on her hair, which was tangled and littered with sticks. Since she had no comb or brush, she made do with her fingers, then quickly braided the length and secured it with an extra shoelace she found in a drawer. When she could avoid it no longer, Alex opened the door and went to the kitchen.

Ella sat on a tall chair at the center island, a tiny cup of very dark coffee in front of her. She was dressed in winter
white. A bulky sweater with a cowl that dipped to the center of her chest, displaying a ruby in an elaborate filigree setting, and wool slacks similar but for the color to the ones Alex wore.

She glanced up from the magazine she was paging through with a smile that faded at the sight of Alex. “Oh,
non
!” She shook her head.

“Did I take something I shouldn't have? I'll change.” Alex spun, but she'd only gone two steps when Ella was by her side. The speed in which the other woman had reached her caused Alex to start. Would she ever get used to the swiftness of the werewolf in human form?

“All that I have is yours for the asking,
mon amie.
But so much black.” She made a
tsk
ing sound as she stepped past Alex and returned to the bedroom.

Alex followed, standing in the doorway as Ella rooted through the armoire.

“Ah-ha.” The woman flipped up her arm, and a gorgeous silk scarf unraveled. In all the shades of autumn—gold, russet, amber, olive—it was not something Alex would ever have chosen for herself. She'd never understood silk scarves. They certainly couldn't keep you warm.

Ella crossed the short distance and draped it around Alex's neck. “Let it hang down, just so.” She stepped back, gazing at Alex with a critical eye. Then she stepped forward and yanked the shoestring from Alex's hair,
tsk
ing again.
“Non.”
She threw it into the trash and untangled the length from its braid.

“Oui.”
She gave a sharp, satisfied nod. “I knew this scarf would bring out the lights in your hair.” She drew Alex to the full-length mirror attached to the back of the closet door. “Black is fine as a base, but add a flash of color and—” She
kissed the tips of her fingers, then released them to the sky with a smooching sound. “Very chic.”

“Chic,” Alex repeated. “Right.”

She'd never been chic, would never be chic, did not know what chic meant. But Ella was right. The silly scarf did bring out highlights that Alex hadn't even known she had.

“Thanks.” Alex's gaze met the woman's in the mirror. “It's nice of you to help me.”

In her experience, people didn't just help strangers for the fun of it. There had to be something in it for them. She wondered what was in it for Ella.

“It's my pleasure,” Ella replied, and her expression
was
pleased. Almost as if she enjoyed making Alex look as nice as she could, just
because
she could.

“You have a lot of beautiful things.”

“Merci.”

“I wouldn't think you could find all this way up here.”

“Here?” Ella laughed, the sound throaty, sexy, very French. “Here we would find flannel shirts, Levi's, snow boots, and parkas. This—” She waved her hand at the full closet. “—is what the Internet is for.”

“You use the Internet?”

“Most of us may be very old, but we have learned to leave our past behind.” She glanced at the bric-a-brac on the armoire. “For the most part. We live in this world now.”

“You call hiding away in the Arctic Circle living in the world?” Alex asked.

“It is the only choice that we have.” Ella left the room, the downward slant of her shoulders making Alex want to slam her own head against the wall a few times until she knocked some sense into herself.

Alex had never had to watch what she said before. For the
most part, everything Alex thought came straight out of her mouth. But then she'd never had to interact in polite society. And who would have thought a werewolf village in the middle of the tundra would be considered polite society?

Alex followed Ella to the kitchen, where the woman wiped an already immaculate countertop with an equally pristine cloth.

“I was rude,” Alex began.

“It's natural to wonder about your new home, but Julian must have told you why we live as we do.”

“So he can be Lord of the Wolves?”

“He
is
lord of these wolves. And because of that, because of him, we live safely and well. There are hunters out there, Alex. They would shoot you with a silver bullet for no other reason than that you exist, then leave you to burn without a backward glance.”

Alex had nothing to say to that since she had once been one of them.

Julian tapped on Ella's door. When she didn't answer, he went inside.

He found the two women sitting next to each other, fine china espresso cups near at hand. If he wasn't mistaken, they were poring over French fashion magazines.

What the hell?

“Problem, Julian?” Ella didn't even look up from the magazine. She'd probably heard him come in the door. Hell, she'd probably heard him walking up the street.

Alex on the other hand, leaped off the chair so fast she set it rocking back and forth; it would have fallen if Ella hadn't reached out a slim, lovely hand to stop it.

“You—you just walk into anyone's house whenever you like?” she demanded.

“I knocked.” Even to his ears, the words sounded defensive. “You were too busy with—” He waved his hand at the magazines, which
were
French and fashionable. Of all the things he might have expected Alex to be doing, this was not one of them.

“We were engrossed. Girl talk, Julian.”

Ella gave his name a French twist on the
J,
turning it into
something between a
Z
and a
G
. She only did that when she was irritated with him. What had he done? His eyes narrowed on Alex. What had she
said
he'd done?

“Unless there's something urgent,” Ella continued, “I suggest you run along before we bore you to death.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Run along.”

He lifted a brow. “Is there some reason you don't want me here?”

“How much time do you have?” she muttered.

Ella laughed, startling them both. Alex turned to her at the same time Julian did, and together they snapped, “What's so funny?”

Ella's smile widened. “You pretend to loathe each other, but you do not. As they say on TV: ‘What is up with that?'”

“You're crazy,” Julian said.

“So I have been told.” She glanced back and forth between them. “Usually when I am right.”

Julian had sent Alex with Ella because Ella was the most no-nonsense woman he knew. She had an uncanny knack of seeing the true person behind the facade. He trusted her opinion.

But seeing her with Alex, shoulder-to-shoulder like the best of friends, unnerved him. Didn't Ella smell the evil on her? He could.

To prove the theory, Julian sniffed—once, twice. Hell. All he could smell was
her
.

“What did you want, Julian?”

He'd come to bring Alex to Cade, but along the way he'd realized they needed to have a talk. She should keep her mouth shut about who she was, what she'd done, why she was here.

However, now he found himself wondering if he should
at least tell Ella the truth. It had not been fair of him to command the Frenchwoman to welcome the enemy into her home when she hadn't even known the enemy was here. Ella's sound judgment was obviously being clouded by—

What? He didn't think Alex had the ability to pretend to be something she was not. From what he'd observed, she was pretty damn honest about everything. For instance—how very much she wanted to kill him.

“Come with me,” he ordered, and stalked toward the front door, expecting Alex to follow. He would speak with her on the way to the lab, where she would give blood to his brother. He really wanted to know why she was migraine-free after being touched by nearly two hundred werewolves.

He opened the door, stepping back to let Alex go first. Except she wasn't there. She was hovering in the entryway between the kitchen and the hall.

“I told you to come,” he said.

“I told you to die,” she returned. “But you're still breathing.”

Quickly choked laughter drifted from behind her.

How could she deny his commands? No one else ever did.

However, when he observed more closely, he noticed that she would surreptitiously take two steps forward before clenching her hands, gritting her teeth, and taking a slow, difficult step back.

“Come,” he said again.

She took three quick steps before she could stop herself. Then she punched her fist into the wall.

Actually she punched her fist
through
the wall.

Whoops.

Ella hurried into the hall, saw him standing by the door
scowling and Alex with her fist now stuck in the plaster. That was going to be a pain in the ass to fix, and it was going to leave a mark.

In the wall.

“Quit badgering her!” Ella ordered.

Julian's mouth hung open. “But she—Your wall. Big hole.”

“I can see, Julian. Obviously you can't.”

Alex yanked her fist free, sending plaster flying every which way. Some of it landed in Ella's hair, but she didn't seem to care. Which was strange considering he'd seen her throw the mother of all fits over a stray leaf in her fur.

“See?” he repeated, confused.

Ella pointed to the ground. “She can't go walking in the snow. She has no shoes. Bring some. Size nine.” Then she took Alex by the arm and led her back into the kitchen.

 

“You don't know much about men, do you?” Ella asked.

“He's not a man.”

Alex's knuckles stung on the outside, ached on the inside, but she wasn't really hurt, and they were already healing.

Her embarrassment, however, appeared there to stay. She'd behaved like the animal he'd made her. Every day, in so many ways, she was drifting farther from the Alex she knew in the direction of an Alex she did not want to become.

“He
is
a man,” Ella said firmly. “And a good one.”

Alex blew a derisive breath from between her lips.

“I can smell the desire between you.”

Alex winced. Nothing wrong with Ella's nose.

“But you also seem to hate each other.”

Or her intuition.

“Yet he gave you our gift and brought you home.”

“This isn't a gift,” Alex said, “and I'm not home.”

“You could be,” Ella murmured, but Alex pretended not to hear.

She sat at the island and finished her coffee. The jolt of caffeine gave her the guts to say, “I'm sorry about the wall.”

“Walls can be fixed.” Ella took a chair on the opposite side, wisely giving Alex her space. “I've never seen anyone deny him before. When he speaks, we listen. We
want
to. Don't you?”

“Hell, no. When he speaks I want to rip off his face.”

“Interesting,” Ella murmured, at the same time Julian tossed a pair of the ugliest boots ever invented onto the table between them.

Alex glanced up. Had he heard her say she wanted to rip off his face? If he had, he hid it well. Maybe he'd already surmised how she felt. He might be annoying, but he certainly wasn't stupid.

Instead of throwing the navy-blue rubber boots at his head, Alex put them on and followed him from the house. Perhaps if she fought him less, she'd feel like herself more. Couldn't hurt.

“We need to talk,” he said.

“You couldn't just say that?” She fell into step beside him. “You had to order me to
come
like your dog?” His forehead creased as if he had no idea what she meant. “Let me clue you in—some folks don't like being told what to do as if they have no choice. However, if you ask nicely, at least pretend that they have the opportunity to refuse, they might agree with a lot less hassle.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Julian led her toward the center square, which now bustled with noise and activity. Snowmobiles rumbled—she'd yet to see any cars—store bells chimed, voices rose in greeting, to
both Julian and Alex. Julian lifted a hand and returned every hello. Alex merely nodded. She wasn't used to so many people knowing her name. Hell, she wasn't used to
anyone
knowing her name.

They passed the café, which didn't appear to have a name beyond eat—as evidenced by the neon sign in the window. A quick glance inside revealed every table full, with most of the patrons enjoying huge platters of steak and eggs.

“I guess the percentage of heart disease here is pretty damn low,” she muttered.

“There
are
advantages, Alex.”

“To being an evil killing machine?”

He let out a heavy sigh. “Does anyone you've met seem evil? Are there bloody body parts strewn all over? Do you see any intestines strung from the rooftops and severed heads on pikes in the town square?”

“That doesn't mean it can't happen.”

“It won't. We're different.”

“So
you
say.”

“So you'll see.”

As they continued to stroll across town Alex noted that most of the inhabitants made do with a hat, boots, and a flannel shirt against the elements. Alex wasn't wearing much more than that, either, and she didn't really mind.

“How cold is it?” she asked, wrapping Ella's scarf around her ears and neck.

“Not bad today. About five below.”

“And that's ‘not bad'?”

“It can get to minus fifty some nights.”

She flicked a finger at him. “You wear a coat then?”

“Fur coat.”

Figures.

“Why aren't I turning blue?” she wondered aloud.

“Another advantage. Increased metabolism, increased body heat. You don't want to leave your extremities out for too long in this cold, but you aren't going to need a coat unless the temperature drops another forty degrees.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“There's someone I want you to meet,” he said.

“I thought I met everyone when we were—” She waved at the town square. “You know.”

His lips quirked. “Naked?”

She wasn't going to discuss naked with him. Not now. Not ever.

When she didn't take the bait, he shrugged and his smile faded. “Not everyone runs as a wolf every night.”

“Why not if it's so fantabulous?” she muttered.

The sudden rev of a motor was followed by the overwhelming scent of exhaust. Julian paused and turned, calmly watching the snowmobile race up the street directly at them.

Alex fought the bizarre urge to step in front of him. Even if the machine hit Barlow head-on, he'd be fine. Since she'd prefer him dead, where on earth had the desire to protect him come from?

You'd think she'd put her
head
through Ella's wall instead of her fist the way she was acting.

She needn't have worried. Whoever was at the controls of the snowmobile stopped a safe distance away, then whipped off the helmet.

Long, flowing, inky black hair cascaded free. Alex couldn't take her eyes off it; the flow was like a river of ebony. So when the new arrival spoke, she started in surprise and yanked her gaze to the face.

Yep, it was a man all right.

“Ataniq,”
he began. “There is trouble in the village.”

Alex wanted to glance at Barlow, but she couldn't take her eyes from the stranger. He was beautiful.

Obviously one of the original locals—were they still called Eskimos? She didn't think so, but
what
they were called she hadn't a clue—his skin was smooth and dark, that hair belonged on a supermodel, but his eyes—oh brother, those eyes.

They were Barlow's eyes.

She turned to him with a lifted brow, but he was already throwing his leg over the snowmobile.

“But—” Alex began, and Barlow's gaze flicked up. From his expression, he'd forgotten she was there.

He cursed, glancing at the sky as if asking for deliverance. What had
she
done?

Besides killing his wife?

For the first time Alex felt a hint of shame, but she thrust it resolutely away. She'd been a hunter, Alana the hunted. Alex had only done what she'd been told to do.

And, hey, wasn't that the excuse used at the Nuremberg trials?

Barlow beckoned, and her lips tightened mulishly. The young man's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. She was getting really sick of everyone bowing and scraping to the wolf-god, then giving her grief when she wouldn't.

He pointed to the back of the snowmobile, then flicked his finger at the young man, who attempted to hand her his helmet so fast he dropped it. Alex snatched it out of the air and tried to give it back, but he merely held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and refused to take the thing.

Though the motor rumbled loudly, Alex knew Barlow, with his supersonic ears, would have no trouble hearing her. “Where are you going?”

He jerked his head at the youth. “George said there's trouble in the village.”

“I thought this was the village.”

“Didn't you see the other one when we ran past last night?”

Alex remembered the twinkling lights—first up ahead, then to the side as they skirted around it—the village that was more like a town.

“What business is it of yours if another village has trouble?”

Impatience crossed his face. “I don't have time to explain.” He glanced around as if looking for someone to take her off his hands, then sighed and glanced back. “You'd better come along.”

He shifted forward, making room for her as if her agreement was a given. Though she'd like to say no just to spite him, she
had
always wanted to ride on a snowmobile.

Alex wound Ella's scarf around her neck, tying it tightly in place so it wouldn't fly off; then she slipped the helmet quickly onto her head. Just the few seconds of exposure to the wind made her ears feel brittle enough to fall off. Although why she was worried, she had no idea. She'd just grow another set.

And she'd kind of like to see that—with someone
else's
ears.

The instant she was settled, Barlow took off, and Alex would have flipped backward and landed on her head if he hadn't grabbed her hand and pulled it around his waist.

His stomach muscles flexed, and she had to clench her fingers to keep from stroking them. Unfortunately, a clenched hand did not hold on very well, especially when they hit a rut.