Free Marked by the Moon by Lori Handeland

welcoming heat. She’d be tight, tighter still when she clenched around him and he—
    Julian yipped in surprise at the images that cascaded through his mind. Alex yipped, too, startled, then glanced over her shoulder and showed him her teeth.
    If wolves could laugh, Julian would have. Even if he didn’t despise her, she certainly despised him. He could fantasize all he wanted about fucking her, but it would never, ever happen.

    Alex found herself dazzled by everything. The world, when viewed as a wolf, was completely new. Scents swirled around her, and they told her things—a rabbit ahead, a mouse just there, a moose had meandered through not long ago.
    The snow pattered like rain upon the ground, upon her, so much louder than snow should be. The night was silver and blue, exquisite, a shadow land that existed only for her.
    Then Barlow blundered in and wrecked everything.
    She was staring at the moon, fighting the bizarre urge to howl, when he yipped from just behind her. She nearly jumped out of her fur. Where had he come from? He moved as quietly as a wolf as he had as a man.
    She, however, was having a hard time staying silent—and right now she was so hungry, she was wondering how Barlow would taste raw.
    Glancing over her shoulder, she caught sight of a similar expression in Barlow’s too human eyes. He was wondering how she would taste also. But in a totally different way.
    Barlow came toward her, and Alex scrambled to her feet, nearly collapsing when they tangled together. She could not get her mind around four feet, not two. By the time she righted herself he was gone, and she stood in the clearing alone with the moon.
    Her stomach growled so loudly she started. Then she wasn’t sure if the skittering sound on the snow had been her own claws or the claws of another.
    Her ruff went up, her wary gaze flicked around the open space, and she caught the scent of something “other.”
    Scents in this form were so precise, yet she had nothing to connect them to. She knew that once she could put an image with that scent, she would never again forget it. But right now all she felt was an intense urge to run. So she did.
    Alex loped alone for miles, and that was fine by her. The less she saw of Barlow, the better. He wasn’t going to be able to ditch her. She could smell him on the breeze, the grass. Hell, even the snow—which had begun to swirl heavier and faster, obscuring the tops of the trees—smelled like him.
    Then she caught a whiff of something else. Something that made her ruff go back up, along with her lip, and her snarl rumbled into the chill.
    Blood.
    It had a scent all its own.
    Alex hunkered down, crept forward, belly to the ground. She tried to be quiet. But no matter what she did, one of her paws always landed on a stick or a stone—crack, clatter, come and get me.
    She took another sniff. Not just blood but death. Dammit! She’d wanted to kill Barlow herself.
    Strangely, the idea of him dead did not make her want to roll across the snow and yip with delight. Instead, panic caused her to pant. She turned a slow circle and saw nothing but trees.
    A whimper escaped, and she swiped a paw at her snout in annoyance. Whining would get her nowhere.
    She used her human mind, made herself see reason. Barlow couldn’t be dead. She hadn’t heard a shot. Not that a silver bullet was the only way to go.
    Lighten up! she told herself. If Barlow were ashes she could go back to civilization, find Edward—yeah, right—and make him cure her.
    Except no one made Edward do anything.
    Alex was starting to catch a clue to something she hadn’t considered before. Even if she succeeded at this mission, would Edward cure her?
    Why, when she made such a perfect spy?
    She discovered she was gnawing on her own foot, as if caught in a trap.
    Because she was. Damn Edward Mandenauer to hell.
    Ferocity boiled inside. Consumed with the need to run and growl and fight,