Marked by the Moon (Nightcreature 9)

The instant the words left her mouth, Julian remembered the taste of that mouth, the feel of it on his body, the scent of her all around him, and his penis leaped.

“Faen,” he muttered. Shit! He was naked. If he got a hard-on now—

He didn’t want to think about that. In fact, he’d better not think about it or he’d definitely get one.

Her eyebrows lifted, and her lips twitched as if she knew his every thought. “What if I promise not to jump you?”

“You’re admitting that you did jump me?”

“No.”

Her defiance caused amusement to flicker, quickly followed by annoyance at both his reaction and the sight of her face. How could he be both attracted and repelled by her every minute of every day? He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, at the same time he wanted to throw her down on the ground and take her.

“Ella,” Julian snapped, and strode away without bothering to reiterate his orders. It was a sign of weakness to repeat himself, and Julian could not afford to be weak.

Just because he was their leader, and had been for close to a century, did not mean a wolf wouldn’t challenge him if given the opportunity. Julian had managed to keep the peace because he was the strongest, the biggest, the baddest when he chose to be. No one dared question him.

Except Alex.

He sighed, wondering if he might have to kill her after all.

Chapter 9

Following a long, hot shower where Julian both warmed his chilled skin and jacked off to ascertain he would not have any surprise erections later that day, Julian dressed, then checked his messages.

Between traveling, locating Alex, following her, and setting up his plan, he’d been away over a week. He had a lot to deal with. Julian was not only the mayor of what had come to be known as Barlowsville—a joke at first, but the name stuck—he was also the chief of police, the judge, and, when necessary, the executioner.

The latter was rare. For the most part they lived in harmony. But when dealing with nearly two hundred werewolves…well, shit happened.

Thankfully none of the messages awaiting him spoke of misbehavior so severe that capital punishment would be necessary. Just the usual minutiae of village life—boundary disputes, nonpayment for services or goods—and the minutiae of werewolf existence—the snatching of a rabbit from someone’s very jaws, the taking of more than one’s share of a larger kill—elk, deer, moose.

He put aside his duties until later. He had one duty he must attend to first.

His house, a two-story log cabin at the farthest edge of the village, backed a squat, white edifice that blended into the landscape during the majority of the year when snow covered the land.

Presently the snow reached Julian’s knees, but the distance between the rear of Julian’s house and the rear of the building was only a few hundred feet and wasn’t that difficult to traverse, especially for someone with the strength of ten.

Inside, the air was cool—though not unpleasantly so. Silence reigned, broken every so often by the click of electricity or the whisper of the wind through the eaves.

“Cade?” Julian called, but no one answered.

Typical. His brother often became engrossed in his work to the detriment of all else. If it weren’t for the full moon that forced the issue, Julian thought Cade might forget to shape-shift altogether.

Julian walked through the silent halls, ducked his head into Cade’s empty living quarters, then followed his nose to the laboratory where he found his brother boiling what smelled like death over a tiny blue f

lame. For a few minutes Julian just watched him.

As a Viking, Cade had been a bust. Without Julian to protect him, he would have died long before that fateful day in Scotland.

Cade was a gentle soul, a healer by trade. He’d been indispensable when they’d gone a Viking, his knowledge of the human body and the herbs and potions necessary to mend it vast.

Whenever they’d invaded a new country, Cade spent his time talking to the local healers, gathering knowledge from every corner of the earth. He fought, but not eagerly or well, which meant Julian always fought at his side.

Except for that one time.

“Hey,” Julian murmured, and Cade looked up, blue eyes widening when he discovered his brother in the room.

He frowned at the clock, then the calendar, then back at Julian. “What day is it?”