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It wasn’t until Julian slammed into a snowbank, the impact knocking the rage right out of him, that he understood what had happened. Then he lay there trying to breathe evenly so he could make the paws that existed where his hands and feet should have been disappear.
A boot heel scuffed against the snow; then a shadow was cast over his face. “That’s a nice look for you.”
“Mmm,” Julian said noncommitally. He continued to concentrate on smooth, calm seas, balmy breezes, springtime. Anything that would calm him down. Alex’s voice…
Just wasn’t helping.
He breathed in and out, slow and steady. Which didn’t help, either. The scent of her filled his nostrils, and when his body responded as if she were a bitch in heat he got all pissed off again.
“Hey,” she said. “Your—uh—nose is growing.”
“Back off,” Julian snarled, the sound half man, half beast.
To her credit, she did.
Once he no longer had to fight his anger and his lust, he managed to put all the pieces of himself back the way they belonged.
Julian sat up, flexed his fingers, then wiggled his toes. He’d burst out of his boots when he’d begun to change. Dammit. He’d liked those boots. Now they lay strewn in pieces across the snow-white ground.
Alex leaned against the snowmobile, which had a dent the size of an Easter ham in the fender. Hell. He’d have to buy George a new one, or at least fix this one.
Her eyes shone brilliant green in the morning sun, so bright they seemed to bore into his. She was as mad as he had been. Luckily his wolves didn’t inherit his magic as well as his tendency to turn furry.
“Are you done with your temper tantrum?” she asked. “Did you put your tail back in your ass?”
He didn’t bother to answer. She knew as well as he did that the tail always popped out last.
“I should be impressed.” Alex pushed away from the machine and stalked slowly toward him, the rubber soles of her crappy boots making an annoying squelching noise in the snow. “I’ve never seen anyone change only their hands or their feet or their—” She wiggled her fingers at his face. “Snout. But I guess I’ve never met anyone as old or as powerful as you.”
Julian got to his feet. “Don’t you mean killed? You’ve never killed anyone as powerful as me?”
“Not yet,” she muttered, then hauled back one foot and kicked what appeared to be half of a black, shiny basketball.
The thing sailed directly at Julian’s face, and if he hadn’t been what he was, it would have broken his nose. He snatched the object out of the air, then contemplated one portion of a cracked helmet.
“Sorry.” He lifted his gaze to hers. “That must have hurt.”
“I don’t give a shit about hurt.” She kicked the other half even harder. He managed to grab this one an instant before it slammed into his groin.
“When did you take up soccer?” he asked. “I thought softball was your game.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you—?”
“I said I checked you out.”
She frowned, obviously wondering how he’d discovered her talent. It hadn’t been easy.
“Oh, yeah, I had tons of time to play games while I was being dragged around the country by my Jäger-Sucher father. Then once the werewolf ate him, it was directly into the pros for me.”
“Sarcasm,” he murmured. “My favorite.”
Alex looked around, presumably for something else to kick. When she saw nothing, she just hauled off and went for his nuts with the toe of her boot. Once again, he managed to catch the projectile inches from his crotch. Without a second thought he heaved upward and sent her flipping heels-over-head to land on her face in the snow.
Unfortunately snow in the Arctic was more like ice. Her temple cracked against it with a sick thud, and she lay still.
“Faet!” Julian hurried to her side. Just as he began to
kneel, her hand shot out, and she yanked his feet out from under him.
