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this would be over before it began—but she grabbed his penis in her ice-cold hand and he jerked. Maybe he
could
last a while longer.

Her breath was warm, her mouth even warmer. It had been so damn long. He’d had sex, sure, but this to him had always been the height of intimacy. You had to trust someone to put your “jewels” in a place where they kept all those teeth.

Julian stiffened. He had a lot of feelings about Alex, but trust wasn’t one of them.

Struggling for control, at first Julian didn’t realize that

Alex had gone to her knees. He looked down just as she leaned forward and licked him, quick as a cat, along his tip.

He cursed, reaching for her, but she struck away his hands, then with agonizing slowness she rose.

Her breath drifted over his belly, and the muscles beneath the skin fluttered. Moist heat curled across his chest, his neck and mouth. She -lifted her gaze to his, tilting her chin just enough so their lips brushed.

“What kind of man
are
you?” she asked.

“Not a man,” he said, and pushed her once more against the wall.

He could only take so much and he’d already taken it. Hell, he’d refused a blow job. He deserved a fucking medal. Instead, he’d take this.

He cupped her buttocks, sliding his fingers across the soft, virgin skin where thighs became ass. His biceps flexed to lift her, but she already had her arms around his neck, using the house to brace herself so she could hook her knees over his hips, cross her ankles at the small of his back, and pail him home.

He thrust, sliding within, relishing her heat—that soft, tight, moist heat. He’d meant to finish quick—he didn’t have much finesse left—but instead, the instant she surrounded him, he stilled, then lowered his forehead to hers.

She wanted to forget; he could understand that. Some nights he would have given the soul she didn’t think he had for just an hour’s sweet peace.

“Barlow,” she muttered, and wriggled, trying to arch but he had her pinned too tightly.

“Don’t move,” he managed. If she moved right now, if he did, this would be over far too soon; then they would both remember all that they wished to forget. He wanted to avoid that for as long as he could.

She said something that sound a lot like
Knull mce i Øret,
but in English, and he smiled, closing his eyes, reaching for the strength on which he prided himself.

“Be still,” he murmured, and placed his palm on her belly, letting his thumb slide lower, delving into her tight curls. She was slick, swollen, perhaps as close now as he. He began to move just a little, in and out, flicking his thumb up and down.

“Yes,” she murmured. “Yes.”

And that single word, uttered in a voice he could only describe as
woman,
made him remember instead of forget.

His hand on another woman’s stomach as they lay in their bed, all tangled in the sheets and each other. Her dreams, his hopes, the argument that had torn them apart, then sent her away.

To her death.

-.

Julian yanked his hand back, and the chill night air burned across his fingers. Yet he could still feel her skin against his palm, and her body drawing from him his seed.

“I can’t,” he croaked.

“You are,” she responded, “and so—” She thrust against him, hard and sure. “—am I.”

Fury flashed, like lightning through the sky above, and in the distance he thought there was thunder. Why wouldn’t the earth shake; why wouldn’t the skies open up and rain down fire? He was fucking another woman, and not just any woman, but
the
woman.

The one who had killed his wife.

Of course if it hadn’t been for him, Alana would never have been out there alone.

He threw back his head, roaring his fury to the heavens,, and she clenched around’ him, the pulse of her orgasm fueling his own. But in that instant before he spilled everything, a memory sparked.

A boy with his golden hair. A girl with her green eyes. A dream that had become a nightmare through a bizarre combination of love and lies and impossibility.

The thoughts were agony, and Julian snarled again, hi’s beast rumbling so close.

Alex drew his mouth to hers, and right before their lips met, she whispered, “Julian.”

He came in a rush so strong, if he hadn’t had the wall for support he would have fallen. As it was, he lost his grip on sanity, plunging into her, the thud of her spine against the house only fueling the violence within him.

She didn’t seem to mind, clasping him to her, arms wrapped around his back as she took all that he gave, gave all that he took, gasping in his ear, “Again. Again. Again,” to the rhythm of his thrusts.

When he was spent, when she was, he pulled out of her body without meeting her eyes. His hands and feet became paws a mere instant before they hit the ground running as some of the last words his wife had ever said to him rang in his shaggy wolf’s ears requesting the one thing he could never, ever give her.

A child.

“Just like a man,” Alex murmured as Julian’s bushy golden tail disappeared into the darkness. “Get what you want, then shift into a wolf and run away.”

She shook her head as she went inside. Talk about irrational, but then she was. What on earth had possessed her to let Julian Barlow do her against the side of the house?

“I didn’t ‘let’ him do anything.” She sighed as she turned the shower to a temperature just short of scalding. “I begged him to.”

Alex sat on the edge of the tub and took inventory. Bruised ass? Check. Scraped back? Check. Burning, slightly blue feet? Check. Self-esteem at an all-time low?

“Double check.”

She’d never begged for sex in her life; she hadn’t

begged for anything except—

“Hell,” Alex muttered, and let her chin fall down to her chest. She was right back where she’d started. Not wanting to remember, but unable to forget that night in Alabama.

The werewolf had come right at her. How she had missed killing it, Alex would never know. The whole night had been a disaster from the instant the beast first appeared. Charlie hesitating, when Charlie never did, and because he did, Alex had done the same.

-

She’d never made that mistake again.

The water was hot; so Alex climbed in and let the beat of it on her face wash away the grainy tracks of. her tears.

B” the memories would never wash away.

The wolf had rushed forward; Alex had fired. But she

thought
maybe—probably—her
hands had begun to shake, and the bullet went wide, catching something—an ear perhaps—because flames shot into the night. However, she hadn’t hit anything vital since the beast kept coming.

She’d known she was dead and—

“That was all right,” Alex whispered, as the steam r -

all around her.

But instead of slashing her to shreds, the werewolf ha knocked her aside, too, and disappeared into the hills.

should have followed; she should have finished him off. stead she’d dropped to her knees at her father’s side, and as blood seeped into her jeans, she’d begged him not to die.

Unfortunately, he was already dead.

When the sun rose, so did she. Leaving Charlie’s body behind, she’d gathered his weapons with hers; then she’d called Edward.

He’d arrived within twenty-four hours, and he’d taken care of everything, including her. Alex had become a
Jäger-Suchers
in more than name that night. She’d been fifteen years old.

Alex gasped, realizing she’d nearly fallen asleep standing up, with the shower still beating on her face, and she felt a little sick. She shut off the water, ignoring the jitter in her stomach, and went in search of clothes.

She settled on another pair of black slacks and a bulky cable-knit sweater, also black. She didn’t bother with a colorful scarf this time. She just didn’t care.

Alex really needed to get to a store and find something that was more “her.” Not that she had any money. Or that there was a Walmart anywhere nearby.

The idea of a Walmart in the middle of the Arctic, servicing werewolves and the occasional Inuit, made her laugh. Which felt really good until she started to cry. What was
wrong
with her?

She did
not
cry. What was the point? Crying wouldn’t bring Charlie back any more than begging had. The only thing crying was good for was making her feel weak, alone, and sadder than she’d been before she started.

Her body languid—great sex appeared to have that effect—she decided to just lie down for a minute. The next thing she knew, she awoke—ears straining for.. . something.

Then, from the depths of the darkness, the scrape of claws across ice echoed. Alex was drawn to the window at the front of the silent house where she peered out upon an equally silent town.

Except for that
click, click, click.
It was going to drive her mad.

She shoved her bare feet into the horrible boots, which smelled like the burning remains of an old tire factory, and stepped outside.

The moon fell toward the horizon, throwing strange, elongated shadows across the snow. The village looked like a geometrically challenged children’s game—one where colorful plastic squares, rectangles, and the like needed to be shoved into their matching holes before the timer went off and popped them all back out.

The sound of those claws was like the tick of that clock creating a sense of urgency that caused Alex to head down the steps and into the street.

Alex had thought herself the only one left in Barlowsville after Julian loped off. Just like the previous night, all the werewolves were running beneath the moon.

Alex reached the end of the street that spilled into
t’
town square and caught sight of a tail disappearing around an ATV parked at the edge. She hurried after, wincing her boots crunched in the snow like newspaper crushed in hr hands.

She paused in case she had to duck around the side of the ice cream shop—who ate ice cream in the Arctic?—to avoid being seen. Why she wanted to avoid that, she wasn’t sui but she did.

However, the animal kept going. With his super-dup ears he had to have heard her, but he didn’t even glance back.

Who was this wolf? Why was it here? What did it want?

Alex had already rushed through the common and fol- lowed the four-legged shadow across the street before brain caught up to her questions.

“Rogue,” she whispered, then she cursed.

Why hadn’t she brought a gun?

Oh, right. She no longer
had
a gun.

For an instant, Alex could barely think past the thunder of her heart in her head. Then she realized she had a better weapon within.

She’d just begun to slide Ella’s slacks from her hips when she caught sight of the wolf again. Though the moon leached the color from everything, it couldn’t change the shape of the body, the particular shagginess of the coat, the size of the paws, or the arrogant tilt of the head.

“Barlow,” she muttered.

She nearly turned away and went back to Ella’s. But then the wolf trotted right past Barlow’s house and headed for the white monstrosity to the rear.

Alex followed. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to know what that place was, and now seemed like a very good time.

She reached Julian’s backyard just as the wolf turned into a man. Then she stood there frowning as the man opened the door and went inside.

She knew Barlow’s backside better than she knew her own
.

That hadn’t been it.

Julian ran through the night, attempting to make the memories-fade. Not surprisingly, running didn’t help any more than, fucking had.

He avoided his wolves. Right now he wasn’t-fit company for man or beast.

He heard them in the distance, their howls lifting in a joyous serenade to the moon. If he was with them, he would’ do the same. The moon had marked them, it called, it soothed and invigorated: For werewolves, the moon was everything.

Julian ran until his stomach jittered and his head ached, and it became clear that he hadn’t become ill in LA because he’d left Alex too soon, he’d become ill because he’d left her at all.

And wasn’t that just fantastic?

Julian pushed that problem aside, dug a hollow in the snow, crawled in, tucked his tail atop his nose, and gave in to what was haunting him.

The memory of his wife.

I want your child, Julian.

She’d whispered the words into his ear as they lay side by side in their bed, and her hand drifted over him. He smiled, rolling on top of her, hardening even as he slipped within. Then he heard what she’d said, and he slipped right back out again.

She reached for him, but he stilled her hand. “Alana, I thought you understood.”

Sitting up, she pulled the sheet to her chin. “Understood what?”

“The limits of our existence.”

“There are no limits. We’re
werewolves,
Julian
.”

As if he didn’t know.

Julian climbed out of bed and began to pace. “Your grandmother told me she explained things.”

“She did. She said I’d
have a second chance at the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?”

“A dozen children.” She laughed. The sound, which usually made Julian’s heart flutter, suddenly made it stutter painfully. “Well, maybe not that many. But I love them so much. That’s why I kept teaching preschool even though the money was crap. Kids make life worth living.”

“Alana,” he began, and her smile faded. “There’ll be no children. Werewolves can’t have them. It’s impossible.”

“That’s.. . crazy,” she said.

“Is it?” Julian came around to her side of the bed, refusing to be hurt when she scooted away as if she’d just seen him for the monster he was. “Why would you think a werewolf could procreate?”

“Because— Because Gran
said
so!” Her eyes darkened with shock. “She promised me. Do you think I would have agreed to become like this—” Her ‘lip curled. “—otherwise?”

“You’d have been dead otherwise.”

“Better dead than craving blood, being ruled by the

moon, living in the middle of nowhere, with’ a town full of freaks.”