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The back of Julian’s head and the ice connected with the exact same thud. Then Alex landed on his chest, and he lost what was left of his air.
She leaned in close, seeming to press the boniest point of her knee into his very lungs, and blood dripped onto his face. Her eyes appeared a little crazy, and he wondered if getting knocked in the noggin twice in so short a time had unhinged her.
“Why did half that village have your eyes, Barlow?”
Now he knew she’d lost it. What kind of a question was that?
“Answer me,” she said between her teeth, then rapped his head against the ground again.
“Long—” he managed, wheezing and coughing. She let up a bit on his chest, and the second word exploded, “—story.”
“Then you’d better start talking.”
He coughed again, right in her face, and she rolled her eyes as if he were the biggest crybaby ever, then got off him and stood.
Julian just lay there awhile and got used to his lungs again.
“Barlow…” she warned.
“Okay, hold on.” He sat up, lifting a hand to stay her next attack. “What are you so mad about?”
“What—?” she sputtered. “You. Me. We.” She clenched her hands, lifted her face to the sky, and screamed with fury. If Alexandra Trevalyn had been a Viking, Julian had no doubt she would have been a berserker, too.
When she stopped, she seemed calmer. He’d be the first to admit—sometimes screaming helped.
“You’ve told me over and over that your wolves are different,” she began, voice a bit hoarse.
“They are.”
“How different? Can you make little Barlows?” She took a step forward, and from the gleam in her eyes Julian could tell she wanted to kick him again. “Did you make one in me?”
He blinked. “No. Of course not. I—”
“Didn’t use any protection.” She gagged, bent over, and he feared for an instant she’d be sick right there on the snow.
“There was no need,” he said. “My wolves aren’t that different. We can’t procreate.”
He pushed aside the shimmy of memory his words brought forth. That fact had caused him no end of trouble already.
Alex took several deep, shaky breaths. When she straightened, she was pale but steady. “Explain the blue eyes. Even Tutaaluga had them.”
Julian lifted a brow. “Tutaaluga?”
“The old guy. Which is kind of freaky considering how much younger you look than him.”
“His name is Jorund.”
Confusion spread over her face. “You called him Tutaaluga.”
“Tutaaluga means ‘my grandson.’”
“He’s your grandson? But that’s not possible if you can’t impregnate the Indian maidens.”
“The—” Laughter bubbled, but Julian refused to let it flow free. He had a feeling his testicles might get introduced to his throat if he did, and he liked them exactly where they were. “You thought I’d been…”
“Boinking the natives,” she filled in. “Why not? They treat you like the local wolf-god.”
Well…he kind of was.
