Marked by the Moon (Nightcreature 9)

Alex glanced at her fist. She could get used to this.

Hyped, she bounced on the balls of her feet, spinning toward a third guy. She caught the scent of steel and jerked away an instant before the knife slashed her cheek. Barlow tackled him, and the two went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

A wild punch caught Alex on the chin. Her head snapped back, but she didn’t go down.

“What the hell?” the guy muttered; then his eyes widened as Alex started to laugh. The blow hadn’t even hurt.

He turned to run, and Barlow kicked the kid in the chest. Alex sidestepped as the boy sailed five feet and landed in a heap. He didn’t move, either.

The one Barlow had tackled lay immobile, the fifth—

“Watch out!” Alex shouted, and Barlow rammed his elbow backward, catching his attacker in the gut.

“Ooof,” the kid said, then dropped to his knees. His eyes rolled back, and he toppled over like a well-hit bowling pin.

Alex’s harsh, excited breathing was the only sound that broke the resulting silence. Barlow wasn’t even winded.

“That was—” Alex clenched and unclenched her hands. “Freaking fabulous.”

“Learn to pull your punches,” Barlow said, refusing to look at her. “You could kill someone, even in this form.”

He walked to the van, opening the driver’s-side door and climbing inside. Alex stared after him and thought again: Since when does killing bother a werewolf? Right now, it didn’t bother her. Right now, if someone came at her with the intent to turn her to ashes, she’d kill him with ease and probably dance a jig on his broken bones.

What was wrong with her? She was behaving more like a beast than the king beast.

The adrenaline rush faded, and Alex was left in a cold sweat, her hands lightly shaking.

“Alexandra!” Barlow roared from the van.

Alex glanced at the bodies flung all around; her heart slowed as she noted that each one was still breathing before she followed him.

“Keys,” he snapped as soon as she climbed inside.

“What’s your problem?” she asked. “You said, ‘Let’s kick their ass.’”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

It had. In fact, it had seemed like a fantastic idea right up until the time the stillness had descended, and she’d realized how much fun she’d had, how easy it had been to hurt people, and how much she’d wanted to keep doing it.

Alex was both energized by their success and seriously worried by it. What was the weird connection between them, and how could she break it?

“Alexandra,” Barlow murmured.

“Alex,” she returned. The last time someone had called her Alexandra, finger painting had been the most important thing on her schedule, followed by snack and an afternoon nap.

“Your keys?”

Her hand went to her pocket before she remembered this wasn’t her pocket. “I think they’re back in that room.” She put her palm against the passenger window. One of the boys stirred. Another groaned. “With my clothes.”

Barlow muttered a word in another language, and despite her not understanding it she knew it to be a curse. “We need to get out of LA,” he said. “The cops are going to figure this out.”

“Right. They’ll decide the torn clothes are because someone shifted into a werewolf, and the keys on the floor belong to—” She paused. “How will they figure out who they belong to?”

“Your ID?” he suggested.

“I was a Jäger-Sucher once. That translates to ‘hunter,’ not moron. No ID.”

He placed his hands on the steering column, closed his eyes, and…was that a growl? She wasn’t sure since, seconds later, the van started like magic.