Marked by the Moon (Nightcreature 9)
Alex stalked the boy as he clumped along, making as much noise as he could, whistling, too. If the rogue was out there, it couldn’t help but hear him.
The snow had thickened, the wind had come up. At times the flakes became so frenzied, Alex had a hard time seeing.
Her gaze scanned the area. Flat in some places, there were also mounds of snow and chunks of ice big enough to hide a wolf. Combined with all the nooks and crannies within the town itself plus the damnable snowstorm, the rogue could be anywhere.
Then something moved, a shadow just there, low to the ground and very quick. Alex looked for Barlow, didn’t see him, which didn’t mean he wasn’t there. Considering who—make that what—he was, he might be invisible. He’d been so before.
Regardless, she needed to get closer to George. If the rogue attacked, someone had to stop it.
She slunk from behind a building, slithered along its edge, blending into the swirling shadows as best she could as she kept her gaze on the lump of snow and ice where she’d seen the movement.
It hadn’t been wolf-like. Then again it hadn’t really been human. Alex tilted her head, considering. Maybe the movement had been Barlow.
She blew air out her nose, pawed the snow a little, confused. She wanted to charge over there and discover what was going on. But she couldn’t reveal her presence and perhaps let the rogue get away for good.
Almost as if he’d heard her thoughts, or perhaps merely seen the shadow, George ventured closer to the suspicious pile of snow. Alex whined, just a little, hoping he would hear her and hesitate.
Instead George walked nearer and nearer the place where danger might lie, and Alex couldn’t stay in the shadows any longer. If the rogue crouched behind that glistening white mound, it would kill the boy before she could stop it.
As there was no cover once she left the protection of the buildings, Alex didn’t even try to be subtle. She shot across the distance separating them, headed straight for George.
A loud crack split the night an instant before a wolf erupted straight through the snowbank. Covered in white, she couldn’t see the true shade of its coat, and the animal was moving too fast to catch a glimpse of its eyes or anything else. The beast ran straight for George.
Alex leaped at the boy, knocking him to the ground, then rolling to her feet, trying to put herself between the downed kid and the second wolf.
Before she could gain her balance, the animal hit her broadside, and she flew off her paws, slamming into the ice hard enough to stun.
At the same time she heard another crack, wondered distantly what it had been, even as she waited for the wolf to tear at her throat or her belly.
And by the way—where in hell was Barlow?
Then he landed next to her in a heap. It took an instant before she understood that this wolf was Barlow. But why had he been chasing George? Why had he knocked her down?
And what was that smell?
Alex rolled onto her belly just as George came to his knees. “Someone’s shooting at us,” he said.
Alex glanced at Barlow. Flames sputtered in the center of his chest.
“Or maybe just at you two,” George murmured.
Alex threw her body atop Julian’s. Her fur caught fire. George tried to help by scooping snow in his hands and tossing it on top of them both. He managed to put out Alex, but Barlow was another story.
Because once a silver bullet pierced a werewolf somewhere vital, they were done for.
Chapter 21
“Ooooooo!”
The howl rose through the sifting snow toward the grainy, hidden moon.
Alex wished she had a gun, and fingers, so she could end Barlow’s torment. Her throat ached to join him as he howled out the remaining seconds of his life.
George had run back to town, presumably to find water—a bucket, a hose, a fire hydrant. It wouldn’t do any good, but it gave the boy something to do.
Her eyes prickled—the smoke, the stinging snow, that was all—as Alex fought the wolf’s urge to run away. Barlow might be the bane of her existence, but she wasn’t going to let him die alone.
“Ooooo—whooo!”