They’d done things Julian wished he didn’t remember.
He had an excuse. He’d been a Viking. What was he
supposed to do, refuse to plunder and pillage? That was a good way to meet the pointy end of a sword. Besides, the concept that taking whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, because he could was wrong had never even occurred to him.
Not then.
Paw-steps approached, the slash of a body through the trees. Alex was closing in. He’d run ahead, eager to immerse himself in home. He had no worries that he would lose her. He wouldn’t be that lucky.
She burst through the branches, sending the fresh scent of pine into the air. They were going to have to talk about silence and stealth. Perhaps tomorrow when they could actually talk.
Alex, whose snout had been to the ground as she followed his scent, pulled up when she caught sight of him. Her lip lifted; a snarl rumbled.
Certainly werewolves could think like humans—reason, plan—they were faster, stronger, and they didn’t die without a silver bullet, but for the most part when they were wolves, they were wolves. Speech was beyond them.
However, they got their message across. Right now Alex was saying she’d kill him if she could.
Julian lifted his lip and snarled back. The feeling was mutual.
In truth, werewolf murder was rare. He’d heard it described as a fail-safe in the virus. Werewolves were selfish and vicious, and many were not quite sane. Therefore, if two met, they would fight to the death. Which would leave very few werewolves around.
Julian and his wolves were different. Yes, they became werewolves because of a virus, but they weren’t evil.
They didn’t kill for the sake of killing. Excluding the first kill, they rarely killed at all—especially one another.
But they could.
Suddenly Alex tilted her head; her tail stiffened, her snout lifted, and a light breeze ruffled her tawny fur. She quivered once; then she was gone, racing through the trees at a pace only a werewolf would love. If she took one wrong turn in this dense cover she would smash headfirst into an immovable object and break her neck.
Too bad that wouldn’t kill her.
She disappeared into the distance, and Julian huffed an annoyed breath through his nose. Was she trying to step on every stick in the forest?
He followed, but at a more sedate pace. Julian had run snout-first into a tree before. He didn’t plan to do so again.
He found her sitting in a patch of moonlight, head tipped upward, mouth lolling open to catch the fat snowflakes that had just begun to fall.
For an instant he wanted to join her, to tumble her to
the ground and wrestle as wolves did. To run and play, to hunt together, then later—
Mounting her as a wolf, again as a man. Fur against fur. Skin upon skin. His breath and hers, coming fast and sharp. Panting. The slick slide, that welcoming heat. She’d be tight, tighter still when she clenched around him and he—
Julian yipped in surprise at the images that cascaded
through his mind. Alex yipped, too, startled, then glanced over her shoulder and showed him her teeth.
If wolves could laugh, Julian would have. Even if he didn’t despise her, she certainly despised him. He could fantasize all he wanted about fucking her, but it would never, ever happen.
* * *
Alex found herself dazzled by everything. The world, when viewed as a wolf, was completely new. Scents swirled around her, and they told her things—a rabbit ahead, a mouse just there, a moose had meandered through not long ago.
The snow pattered like rain upon the ground, upon her, so much louder than snow should be. The night was silver and blue, exquisite, a shadow land that existed Only for her.
Then Barlow blundered in and wrecked everything.
She was staring at the moon, fighting the
bizarre urge to howl, when he yipped from just behind her. She nearly jumped out of her fur. Where had he come from? He moved as quietly as a wolf as he had as a man.
She, however, was having a hard
He had an excuse. He’d been a Viking. What was he
supposed to do, refuse to plunder and pillage? That was a good way to meet the pointy end of a sword. Besides, the concept that taking whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, because he could was wrong had never even occurred to him.
Not then.
Paw-steps approached, the slash of a body through the trees. Alex was closing in. He’d run ahead, eager to immerse himself in home. He had no worries that he would lose her. He wouldn’t be that lucky.
She burst through the branches, sending the fresh scent of pine into the air. They were going to have to talk about silence and stealth. Perhaps tomorrow when they could actually talk.
Alex, whose snout had been to the ground as she followed his scent, pulled up when she caught sight of him. Her lip lifted; a snarl rumbled.
Certainly werewolves could think like humans—reason, plan—they were faster, stronger, and they didn’t die without a silver bullet, but for the most part when they were wolves, they were wolves. Speech was beyond them.
However, they got their message across. Right now Alex was saying she’d kill him if she could.
Julian lifted his lip and snarled back. The feeling was mutual.
In truth, werewolf murder was rare. He’d heard it described as a fail-safe in the virus. Werewolves were selfish and vicious, and many were not quite sane. Therefore, if two met, they would fight to the death. Which would leave very few werewolves around.
Julian and his wolves were different. Yes, they became werewolves because of a virus, but they weren’t evil.
They didn’t kill for the sake of killing. Excluding the first kill, they rarely killed at all—especially one another.
But they could.
Suddenly Alex tilted her head; her tail stiffened, her snout lifted, and a light breeze ruffled her tawny fur. She quivered once; then she was gone, racing through the trees at a pace only a werewolf would love. If she took one wrong turn in this dense cover she would smash headfirst into an immovable object and break her neck.
Too bad that wouldn’t kill her.
She disappeared into the distance, and Julian huffed an annoyed breath through his nose. Was she trying to step on every stick in the forest?
He followed, but at a more sedate pace. Julian had run snout-first into a tree before. He didn’t plan to do so again.
He found her sitting in a patch of moonlight, head tipped upward, mouth lolling open to catch the fat snowflakes that had just begun to fall.
For an instant he wanted to join her, to tumble her to
the ground and wrestle as wolves did. To run and play, to hunt together, then later—
Mounting her as a wolf, again as a man. Fur against fur. Skin upon skin. His breath and hers, coming fast and sharp. Panting. The slick slide, that welcoming heat. She’d be tight, tighter still when she clenched around him and he—
Julian yipped in surprise at the images that cascaded
through his mind. Alex yipped, too, startled, then glanced over her shoulder and showed him her teeth.
If wolves could laugh, Julian would have. Even if he didn’t despise her, she certainly despised him. He could fantasize all he wanted about fucking her, but it would never, ever happen.
* * *
Alex found herself dazzled by everything. The world, when viewed as a wolf, was completely new. Scents swirled around her, and they told her things—a rabbit ahead, a mouse just there, a moose had meandered through not long ago.
The snow pattered like rain upon the ground, upon her, so much louder than snow should be. The night was silver and blue, exquisite, a shadow land that existed Only for her.
Then Barlow blundered in and wrecked everything.
She was staring at the moon, fighting the
bizarre urge to howl, when he yipped from just behind her. She nearly jumped out of her fur. Where had he come from? He moved as quietly as a wolf as he had as a man.
She, however, was having a hard
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