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“Me? What did I do?”
If possible, Barlow’s eyebrows went higher.
“Lately,” she muttered.
Alex considered what had happened. She’d left the safety of the village; there’d been a sharp crack, which she’d ignored in her concern for George. Barlow had burst through the snowbank, knocked her aside, and then—
Crack!
“You pushed me out of the way,” she said.
Barlow shrugged and didn’t comment.
Why would anyone want to kill her? No one knew her well enough yet to hate her.
It suddenly occurred to Alex that while she had not gotten a good look at her father’s killer, her father’s killer might have gotten a pretty good look at her. But if that was the case, why hadn’t the culprit outed her as a Jäger-Sucher to the others the instant she’d loped into town?
Because to do that would be to admit that he or she had not been the good little Barlow-escue werewolf he or she was supposed to be but had instead been out killing people.
Alex thought it far more likely that the wolf, if it had recognized her—and maybe it hadn’t, she’d been fifteen at the time—would try to kill her. Now someone had.
Which meant her father’s killer was here. Perhaps Edward hadn’t been manipulating her—much—after all.
“Aren’t you the slightest bit concerned?” Barlow asked. “I just told you someone tried to put a silver bullet into you, and you stand there staring into space.”
“Werewolves try to kill me every damn day,” Alex said. “It’s when they try to be my friend that I get a little freaked out.”
“Who said it was a werewolf?”
Alex scowled. “Who the hell else would it be?”
“Let’s find out.”
George appeared out of the ever-thickening snow, his arms full of clothing and boots. He dumped them onto the ground between Alex and Julian.
“Thanks,” Julian said. “Now get inside and stay there.”
The boy opened his mouth to argue. Julian narrowed his eyes, and George snapped it shut again, then spun on his heel and marched away.
Alex snorted and muttered something that sounded a lot like wolf-god. As if that were some kind of insult.
Julian wasn’t sure where George had found the clothes, but he’d done a good job. Certainly everything was a bit tight on him, but Alex’s apparel appeared just her size. Probably because he’d caught the kid staring at her ass on more than one occasion.
And why wouldn’t he? It was a damn good ass.
Julian coughed to cover the growl that rumbled in his chest, then winced and put his hand over the shooting pain. He might have popped out a silver bullet, then healed the wound, but it still hurt and probably would for a good long while. He wasn’t sure. He’d never healed silver before.
Had anyone?
Alex stomped her foot into a second boot and straightened. “Now what?”
Julian lifted his chin, indicating the ice mound where the shots had originated. “Now we see if there are any tracks worth tracking.”
“But the ice—” she began, hurrying to keep up as he strode in that direction.
Julian kicked at the fluffy layer of white. “Snow,” he said.
She smacked herself in the forehead. “Duh.”
