Marked by the Moon

by Lori Handeland

  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.

  The machine flew up, came down hard. Alex narrowly missed biting her tongue. She grabbed onto Julian’s belt, her thumb sliding beneath his jeans and scraping skin. He straightened so fast his shoulder clocked her in the jaw. If she hadn’t been wearing the helmet, she would have seen stars.

  He reached for her other arm, yanked it forward with no small amount of force. “Use two hands!” he shouted.

  His hair blew past her face, long and light, and when the sun hit the strands they turned every shade of gold. Even though the helmet had a visor, she could still smell him—that intoxicating scent of ice and snow and trees.

  She should probably pull her thumb out of his pants, but he was so warm. She was tempted to slide the rest of her chilled appendage in to join it. And the allure of that thought made her yank the hand right out.

  Instead she cupped her palms at his hips as lightly as she could and not be sent into outer space when they hit the next uneven patch.

  The terrain was incredibly rough. Even the snowmobile had a hard time getting over some of it. Walking the distance between the two villages would be nearly impossible. Traversing it as a wolf had probably been the best way.

  Despite the ridges and valleys, the bumps and thumps, Alex began to enjoy the ride. Her father had loved speed. You couldn’t be a Jäger-Sucher and not be sort of a danger-junkie.

  When they’d traveled the western highways, where there were no speed limits, he’d put his foot to the floor and taken them up and down hills and around curves with the skill and velocity of an Indy 500 driver.

  The memory of those rides, combined with the rush of the wind and the flash of snow-covered terrain moving backward at an incredible rate, both thrilled and saddened Alex. She loved the sensation of speed, but she really, really missed her father. Which made her wonder—

  If he saw her now, would he shoot her in the head as he’d shot so many others?

  Chapter 11

  Julian clenched his jaw so tightly it began to ache. If he wasn’t careful he’d crack a tooth. He’d done it before.

  What had he been thinking to bring her along?

  Well, he couldn’t leave her in town until he’d spoken with her about keeping certain secrets, and he couldn’t just order her not to tell anyone who she really was. Knowing Alex, that would be an open invitation to do just that, however if she did he’d have one less problem to deal with when he returned to Barlowsville.

  But he wanted her to suffer, not to die. Although the way she was making him suffer right now had him rethinking the entire plan.

  Sure, she was holding on to him so lightly, if he hit a particularly big rut she would go sailing. Regardless, he could still feel the warmth of her hands on his hips, which only made him think of the last time those hands had been in the same place, pulling him closer, urging him on—

  “Knull mæ i øret,” he muttered.

  “What?” Alex shouted, leaning closer, pressing her breasts into his back and her crotch more firmly against his ass.

  Julian started to look for a huge dip in the snow so he could send her flying far away before his hard-on became a reality instead of a threat. Thankfully, his searching eyes caught sight of the roofs of the Inuit village instead. He let off the throttle, and the snowmobile slowed noticeably.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Julian lifted his chin toward the horizon as more and more roofs became visible, along with telephone and electrical poles, even a few flags. One of the villagers lumbered a hundred yards south of them carrying a string of fish in one hand and a spear in the other. Julian couldn’t tell who it was since the hood of the man’s fur-trimmed parka shaded his entire face.

  “This is an Eskimo village?” Alex asked.

  “Inuit,” he corrected. “It means ‘the real people.’ The word Eskimo went the way of savage, redskin, chief, squaw, papoose—”

  “I got it. Inuit,” she repeated, leaning forward again as he reached the top of the swell that led down into the center of town.

  “The village is called Awanitok.”

  “Which means?”

  “Far away.”

  “Clever. But…I don’t see any igloos.”

  He fought the urge to laugh. Certainly the Inuit had made use of igloos once upon a time—mostly as an emergency shelter for hunting expeditions—but now—

  “This place seems more up-to-date than yours.”

  Exactly.

  “The Inuit are mostly craftspeople these days. They need more contact with the outside world than we do.”

  “Mor
e contact?” She rolled her eyes. “From what I saw, Barlowsville doesn’t have any.”

  He’d never said she wasn’t smart. Just annoying.

  “Your point?”

  “What’s up with the generators?”

  “What do you think?”

  Her lips curved. “Trying to avoid a Jäger-Sucher showdown?”

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  She blinked as if he’d surprised her. He suspected she wasn’t used to thinking of Edward as the enemy. She’d better get used to it. Mandenauer wouldn’t care if she’d been changed against her will, he’d only care that she’d been changed at all.

  “Barlowsville is off the grid,” Julian said. “Anything that might alert the Jäger-Suchers to our existence is something we don’t have.”

  She frowned. “Explain.”

  “If no invoices are generated for services, no mail, no phones—”

  “It’s as if you don’t exist,” she said softly.

  “Voilà!”

  “But—” She bit her lip. “Ella said she’d ordered all her clothes from the Internet.”

  “She did.” He swept his hand out to indicate the Inuit settlement. “From here. Had it delivered here, too.”

  To power his laptop connection, Cade had done some fancy signal-bouncing, Internet-stealing mumbo-jumbo. According to him, a single bounce was undetectable. But a hundred wouldn’t be.

  “No one minds the lack of…amenities?” Alex asked.

  Since most of the inhabitants had been born in another age—be it when Viking ships sailed the deep blue sea or the words Vive la Révolution rang free—no one did. Especially since all they had to do was make a short trip here to use anything that they wished.

  “We don’t need them.”

  “You’ve never had an emergency?”

  “What kind of emergency would there be that we couldn’t handle ourselves?”

  Injuries healed. He was the law. In the past century nothing had ever happened to necessitate their breaking “radio silence,” and he doubted it ever would.

  “Huh,” Alex said. “You wanna tell me why that kid had your eyes?”

  Barlow gunned the engine, and the snowmobile tilted over the edge of the swell, then raced down the hill and into Awanitok. Guess he didn’t want to answer her question.

  If Barlow were anyone other than who he was—make that what he was—Alex wouldn’t have even had to ask. She’d have known.

  Hanky-panky with the Indian maiden. Except werewolves couldn’t make babies. Or so she’d been told.

  By Edward. Leader of the Liar’s Club.

  “Shit,” Alex muttered. She’d only done Barlow once, but as she’d heard many times before…

  Once was all it took.

  She wanted to shout at him to Stop this snowmobile! And if he wouldn’t, then dump them into a snowbank and make him face her, talk to her, tell her the truth. Unfortunately, if she did that now she’d be having the conversation in front of a village full of strangers.

  Alex decided to pass. She could always beat the truth out of him later.

  And wouldn’t that be fun?

  The machine coasted to a halt on what appeared to be the main street. Compared with Barlowsville, the place was huge. Twice as many commercial establishments, probably because there were at least three times as many houses on three times as many side streets.

  Regardless of how large the town was, everyone seemed to be aware that they had arrived, because people began to exit the stores and restaurants; they hurried in from the residential avenues that led off the commercial area, and the air filled with the rumble of engines as those who lived on the outskirts started their cars or all-terrain vehicles.

  Julian shrugged his shoulder and before she even realized that she’d understood what he wanted without benefit of speech, Alex climbed off the snowmobile, then stepped back so that he could as well.

  Villagers approached, staring at Alex with open curiosity. She stared right back with increasing concern. They didn’t all have Julian’s eyes, but a damn good portion of them did.

  How many Indian maidens had he boinked? Had every one he so much as glanced at produced offspring?

  How long had he been here? There were people of all ages with those damnable blue eyes. They were so going to have a talk.

  A rustle went through the growing crowd as Julian straightened to his full height. She had to admit he was impressive, and he stood out among the Inuit like a bright full moon in a cloudless night sky, his golden hair flaring in the sun, even as blue highlights gleamed in the ebony tresses of those that surrounded him.

  “Ataniq,” they murmured, bowing their heads as if he were a god. Alex really wished she had a copy of Inuit for Dummies so she could look that up. Considering all the blue eyes she kind of thought it meant “Daddy”—and the more she thought that, the sicker she felt.

  Alex was about to demand a translation when the entire group stilled, every gaze turning to the East. Alex turned, too.

  “Is that a Smart Car?” she blurted.

  The tiny vehicle chugged gamely down a snow-packed street lined with an assortment of SUVs and pickup trucks. As it passed the single Hummer—in an identical shade of black—Alex had the odd thought that the Hummer was big enough to have birthed the thing.

  The baby car paused next to the snowmobile. No matter how hard she tried, Alex could distinguish nothing but a swaying shadow on the other side of the illegally tinted windows.

  Perhaps a long, gray-haired woman wearing a multicolored skirt, clunky boots, and a T-shirt that read save the planet?

  Or a teenager who liked to wear hemp pants, nose rings, and a baseball cap emblazoned with the logo go green?

  Maybe a—

  Alex’s musings were cut short when the door opened and the last person in the world she would ever have imagined might drive a Smart Car stepped out.

  Well, perhaps stepped wasn’t the right word, since several of the Inuit men rushed forward and helped the skinny, stooped old man to his feet.

  While most of the Inuit wore modern clothes—parkas from Land’s End, Ugg boots, Levi’s—the new arrival appeared to be dressed in traditional Inuit clothing. His parka, made of patched-together bits of black, brown, and white fur, reached to the knees of trousers the shade of a deerhide. Upon his feet he wore boots, also made of skin, though different in color and texture and therefore no doubt from a different dead animal.

  One of those who’d rushed to assist him reached across the driver’s seat and withdrew a heavy, carved cane, which he put into an outstretched, claw-like hand. However, when the ancient elder moved toward Barlow he had a spring in his step, and he barely used the cane at all.

  “Taataruaba,” he greeted, blue eyes shining in his dark and lined face. Though his voice wavered, nevertheless it carried over the assembled crowd. “Welcome home.” He bowed his head.

  “Tutaaluga,” Julian returned, and touched that head as if in a blessing. “It is good to be home.”

  Alex moved closer. She wanted to hear what emergency could be so pressing that the young man had been sent across the tundra at top speed to retrieve Julian, yet everyone here appeared as calm as a Sunday afternoon.

  The man Julian had called Tutaaluga glanced up, and Julian’s face took on an expression of extreme fondness—although how Alex would know that she wasn’t sure. She’d never seen such an expression when he was around her.

  Barlow put out his hand, and the Inuit grasped it. For an instant Alex thought Tutaaluga might kiss Barlow’s ring, if he was wearing one. Instead, Barlow drew the old man’s brown, withered fingers through the crook of his arm, and they moved away from the ever-increasing crowd.

  Alex took a step after them, then remembered…she didn’t have to be nearby to hear everything that they said. Her ears were as good as CIA audio surveillance equipment. Especially since the gathered onlookers had gone as still as the sky right before a tornado hit.

  “We are sorry to have to summon you, Ta
ataruba,” the old man said.

  “I know you wouldn’t unless you needed me. What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  Julian frowned. “I’ve never known you to have a problem speaking to me. I’m your Taataruba.”

  “You are also the ataniq.”

  “Which is why you called me.” Julian let out his breath, then patted the man’s hand. “What makes you nervous?”

  “You are qixa and amabuq. Shaman and wolf.”

  Alex’s eyebrows shot up. They knew?

  “I would never hurt you,” Barlow vowed; his voice but a whisper, it trilled over Alex’s skin like a feather.

  She could easily imagine him speaking like that in the depths of the night, and because she could—hell it appeared most of the women in town could—Alex battled the shudder of awareness until it went away.

  “I would never hurt anyone here,” Barlow continued.

  “It is not you we are worried about.”

  Julian frowned. “Who?”

  “If I knew that,” the old man said, “I would not have needed you.”

  “Speak plainly,” Julian ordered, and though Tutaaluga had to be his elder by decades, the old man rushed to comply as if ordered to do so by God himself.

  “I apologize, Taataruba.” He dipped his head.

  Was Taataruba Barlow’s Inuit name? Maybe Ataniq was. Alex was confused. About a lot of things.

  “Our wise woman was killed by a wolf last night.”

  They still have those? Alex thought.

  “A real wolf?” Barlow asked.

  “No, Ataniq.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The old man cast Julian an impatient glance, though as soon as his eyes met Barlow’s he immediately cast them down. “We know about werewolves, Taataruba.”

  “None of mine would do such a thing. They have no need.”

  “Need has little to do with it. There is craving. There is madness.”

  “Not for us.”

  “Are you sure?” Tutaaluga murmured, and it was Julian’s turn to cast an impatient glance.

  “Perhaps there is a rogue.” At the word Alex started, and Julian turned his gaze in her direction.