Read Online Marked by the Moon by Lori Handeland - Free Book Online Page A

north.
    â€œYou’ll see Fairbanks before you know it,” he announced through the headphones they’d all donned along with their seat belts.
    Alaska?
    No wonder Edward had never found them.
    Â 
    Several hours later they flew over Fairbanks. The pilot couldn’t help playing tour guide.
    â€œFairbanks has one of the largest population centers this far north in the world. About thirty thousand in the town, and another eighty-four thousand in there.” He pointed to the acres upon acres of trees. “Place is surrounded by hundreds of miles of subarctic bush.”
    â€œHow cold does it get?” Alex asked.
    The guy grinned, enjoying himself. “In January down to sixty-six below; in July it can hit ninety-nine.”
    â€œWhat about right now?”
    â€œSeptember is a strange one. We’ve had snow, temps in the teens. Today it’s probably forty.” He waved at the western horizon where the sun was falling down. “But it’s gonna cool off soon.”
    â€œKind of early to be getting dark.”
    â€œYou’re near the Arctic Circle. In December they only see the sun for a few hours.”
    Alex definitely needed to be out of here before December.
    The plane banked over the city, which appeared fairly modern, full of paved streets, concrete and steel buildings. She even caught the bright flare of golden arches; then they sailed past, headed toward some pretty thick timber. The trees were so tall, the belly seemed to skim the branches.
    â€œWhere’s the airport?” Alex asked, and her voice shook just a little.
    Barlow lifted a brow and mouthed, Scared?
    She turned away.
    â€œI don’t need no stinkin’ airport,” the pilot answered in a very bad Speedy Gonzales accent.
    Alex almost panicked—until she remembered she couldn’t die. Unless the vehicle was pure silver, and if so neither Barlow nor she would be flying in it. This damn-hard-to-kill thing was kind of liberating.
    The pilot set the plane down on a gravel road that wound among towering pines. They climbed out; he waved and was gone.
    â€œNow what?” Alex asked.
    â€œNow we run.”
    â€œRun?” She turned in a circle. All she saw was trees. “Where?”
    â€œTwo hundred miles.” Barlow pointed. “That way.”
    Alex followed his finger, which pointed north and a little west.
    What was it about this place that was so familiar? She closed her eyes for a second. Trees. Earth. Sunshine and shadow. Ice on distant mountaintops. The very air smelled like him.
    â€œThis is home,” she murmured.
    When Alex opened her eyes, Barlow stared at her as if she’d just sprouted another head.
    â€œWhat?” she asked.
    He looked away. “The sun’s nearly down.”
    â€œGreat catch, Sherlock,” she muttered.
    The way he watched her, so intent one minute, then dismissive the next, grated on Alex’s already taut nerves.
    â€œI can’t run two hundred miles.”
    â€œYes.” He began to unbutton his shirt. “You can.”
    â€œYou mean—”
    â€œWolves can run forty miles per hour, cover a hundred and twenty-five miles in a day.” He tossed his shirt into the trees. “Werewolves are wolves, only better.”
    Or worse, depending on your point of view.
    The sun had slipped below the horizon, and soon the moon would appear. Round, seemingly full to the human eye, Alex still sensed the slight difference. She didn’t have to change, but oh, how she wanted to.
    The howl startled her so badly she jumped. Barlow had already shifted and paced back and forth at the edge of the wood. The urge to join him was impossible to ignore.
    Alex threw off the shirts, the shoes, the jeans, and let thecool silver hum of the moon surrounded her. The power poured into her. She reached for the wolf; her body contorted. She writhed and wriggled, struggled and strained. It took her a lot longer than it had taken him, but