Marked by the Moon (Nightcreature 9)
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.
The old man did, too. “Who is she?”
“She’s new.”
“You haven’t brought a new wolf here since—”
“What did this killer wolf look like?” Julian interrupted.
“Brown.” The elder’s eyes passed over Alex’s hair. “Light eyes. Blue or—” The man’s gaze lifted to hers. “Perhaps green.”