Too bad she had no idea how.
She hadn’t stepped foot in a traditional school since kindergarten—except that time when there’d been the werewolf massacre at Graystone Middle School—
Alex shuddered, and Julian shouted, “Almost home.”
The word home made her start. This wasn’t her home, and it never could be.
Edward had manipulated the media, and everyone else involved, into believing that the twelve dead at Graystone were the result of a school shooting. Edward manipulated a lot. Manipulation was what Edward did best. How else had he convinced her to do this?
Alex yanked her mind from her memories and Mandenauer. While she was here she had to think like a werewolf, not like a Jäger-Sucher. If Julian discovered that she was working for Edward—
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 wolf-god 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.