Julian had to stifle a smile. Sometimes she amused him.
Alex stopped abruptly and laid a hand on his arm. Julian paused and gazed at her quizzically.
“What if they’re still there?” she murmured.
Julian started walking again. “If they were still there they’d have shot you while I was burning.”
His amusement faded with those words. He might have angered out the bullet; he might have magically healed. But while the silver had been in his chest, while his skin had been sizzling and his hair had been frying, the agony had been beyond anything he’d ever known.
It had made him so mad.
When he’d seen the first shot kick up the snow a few inches from Alex’s paws, rage had sparked, allowing him to burst through the icy bank that had concealed him. Then, when the bullet had slammed into him, his fury had exploded along with the flames.
They reached the looming hill of ice and stepped gingerly around its edge. Then together they stared at the rifle half covered with snow.
“Why would an Inuit shoot me?” Alex asked.
“True. They barely know you.”
She laughed. Julian’s smile broke free, but it faded as he continued to peer at the ground.
“Look.”
He pointed at the tracks—first feet, but then several yards away from the village, out where the snow would have masked everything, the feet became paws. A few yards farther, the wind across the tundra had erased them completely.
“The rogue is both human and wolf,” Julian said.
“Needed fingers to pull the trigger,” Alex murmured. “And paws to get the hell gone. But how did he know what we were planning?”
Julian cut her a quick, curious glance, and she explained. “He—or she—knew we were coming. He brought a rifle loaded with silver. If he was here to eat another villager, no need for a gun.”
Julian stared into the wall of swirling white. She was right.
“There’s nothing else to see here,” he said. “Let’s go.”
But Alex was staring into the storm now, too. “Shh,” she whispered, head tilting, eyes narrowing.
Julian listened, detected nothing, held his breath and tried again. Somewhere out in that swirling white he heard the patter of paws.
He glanced at Alex. She lifted her chin, sniffed. So did he.
Definitely a werewolf. But who? The snow, the wind, all the people who lived nearby were throwing off his nose.
Julian stepped forward, and Alex touched his arm, shook her head; then her gaze tracked to the right and she slowly lifted her arm, pointing to the glistening black wolf that burst from the night.
“Ella,” he whispered.
They followed her back toward Awanitok. Julian bent and grabbed the discarded rifle as they hurried past. He didn’t bother to check if there were any bullets left. He could smell them.
Ella appeared on her way somewhere, trotting purposefully through town as if she hadn’t a care in the world.
“Just because she’s here,” Alex said, “doesn’t mean she’s evil.”
“This from the woman who thinks that just because we breathe we’re evil.”
Alex didn’t have a snappy comeback for that, and Julian would have asked why if Ella hadn’t chosen that moment to turn into Jorund’s backyard.
“Faet!” Julian spat, and began to run.