Marked by the Moon (Nightcreature 9)

But he merely lifted a brow. “You think I killed her?”

“Someone did.”

“Maybe it was you.”

“I don’t kill people.”

“You keep on believing that.” He yanked a huge handful of paper towels off the roll and handed them to her without even asking what she wanted them for. She guessed it was obvious when he followed her into the hall and leaned in the doorway while she wiped up her mess.

“I didn’t kill the wise woman,” he said quietly.

“Neither did I.”

Silence settled between them. Did he believe her? Did she believe him? She wasn’t sure.

Alex straightened and handed him the sopped towels. “I guess we’ll have to reserve judgment until we have proof.”

“Like catching each other red-pawed?” He returned to the kitchen and threw the towels into the trash.

“Mmm,” Alex said noncommitally. They had been separated for short periods last night, but would he have had time to wash the blood from his fur before she saw him again?

Probably not. Then again—magic man. How hard would it be for him to abracadabra away the stains?

Barlow motioned for Alex to sit at a table of white tile and sandy-shaded wood. She couldn’t help herself. She ran her palm over it like a lover. How was it that everything in his house was exactly what she would have chosen herself?

Barlow sat on the other side of the table, remaining silent until she met his gaze.

“You want to tell me about it?”

“I didn’t kill the wise woman,” she said.

“Not that. The Jäger-Suchers.”

“You want me to tell you about the Jäger-Suchers?” Alex snorted. “So when Edward shows up he kills me first? No thanks.”

“Alex.” Julian reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. She frowned at it, and at her own because even though her head was telling her to break his fingers, her hand wanted to curl around his and hold on. “You’re one of us now.”

“I didn’t choose to be.”

“This is what I’ve been telling you. Most werewolves are made against their will. But the Jäger-Suchers don’t care. They kill them anyway.”

“They don’t have much choice,” she said. “Teeth and claws, blood and death. You try and reason with that.”

Julian sighed and leaned back, taking his hand with him. “You don’t understand—”

Because she missed his hand and she wanted it back, she snapped, “I’ve been there. I know. Werewolves are serial killers in a fur coat. They don’t change. They don’t want to. And the only way to stop them is with silver. Period.”

“You’ll discover differently here. I promise.”

“Considering what we heard from your grandson, there’s at least one wolf in this village that proves me right.” She smirked, feeling some of her old self shine through. “How long until there are more?”

“There won’t be.”

“Just because I didn’t get past kindergarten doesn’t mean I didn’t read and research and learn. I particularly enjoyed history, and one thing history’s good for is revealing patterns of behavior.”

“You lost me.”

“The more you hold these wolves under your thumb, the more you make them behave in a way that’s not natural, the more they’re going to want to break free, and the more violent they’ll be once they do.”