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Ella’s lips curved, and she entwined her fingers with Jorund’s. The contrast of her youthful hand and his ancient, gnarled appendage was like a monkey’s paw and a baby’s fist. “I love him,” she said. “And he loves me.”
“Since when?”
“Twenty years now,” Ella answered.
“Give or take,” Jorund added.
“He’s old enough to be your great-grandfather,” Julian pointed out.
“I’m two hundred and forty-six years old, Julian.”
“Got you there,” Alex said.
Julian ignored her. “He’s going to die, Ella, and you’re not.”
“Barring a silver bullet.”
Julian took a second to scowl at Alex. He did not need any help. From her smirk, she was enjoying this.
“We wanted to talk to you about that.”
Ella’s comment brought Julian’s attention back to them just as Jorund’s hand jerked. “Not now,” the old man murmured.
“Yes.” Ella’s grip tightened on his. “Now.”
For an instant Julian wondered if Ella had been behind that shot. He really had no idea who to trust anymore. Everything he’d thought to be true was not.
He lifted his gaze from their linked fingers to Ella’s dark eyes. “Talk to me about what?”
“I want you to make Jorund like us.”
Chapter 22
Alex’s amusement with Julian’s obvious discomfort at the sexual activity of his “grandson” faded with Ella’s words.
“Why?” she blurted.
Julian gave her another dirty look—he was getting very good at them—then glanced back at the Frenchwoman. “Why now?” he amended.
“Jorund’s fading,” she said simply.
Julian let his gaze wander over the old man. “He seems to be doing all right to me.”
Jorund’s lips twitched, but he didn’t take the bait.
“Julian,” Ella snapped, her impatience evident in her Frenchifying of his name. “If you do not do it, I will.”
“Told you they all weren’t as beta as you thought,” Alex murmured, which earned her another evil glare from the wolf-god.
Alex was beginning to wonder about Ella. Although in the robe, she could see the woman’s neck for the first time and it was unscarred, she’d never gotten a decent peek at Ella’s ears since she always wore her hair down.
Alex would not have considered the Frenchwoman a good candidate for rogue werewolf killer of the month—until she’d trotted out of the snowstorm right after the rogue had trotted into it. What better way to remove suspicion than to appear as if you hadn’t just disappeared?
Ella had obviously been sneaking away and coming here for a long time. The Inuit would think nothing of her hanging around, and she could therefore eat whomever she liked and lope off with no one the wiser.
Except if she was an evil killing machine, why hadn’t she started evilly killing before now?
Julian pushed back his chair and stood, towering over them all. “We have rules about new wolves.”
