"Latest Nightcreature novel features strong characters and an excellent plotline making it must reading."
Reviewed by Unassigned 1_Reviewer
Posted October 18, 2010
Romance Paranormal
Alexandra Trevalyn kills werewolves and has no regrets about it. A trained member of the Jager Suchers, she began hunting and eliminating werewolves while still a teenager, after her parents had been murdered by the monsters. She feels no regret when she takes them out and realizes she will most likely meet her end in a confrontation with one of them. She believes that end has come when she encounters Julian Barlow. Instead, Julian turns Alex into one of the very monsters she loathes, believing that to be a fitting punishment for the woman who killed his wife. He plans to turn her and leave her to take a wrong turn when he realizes he can't get away from her.
There is an unusually strong bond between the centuries-old werewolf and the woman he seeks vengeance upon, and though he hates her for killing his wife, Julian is drawn to Alex in ways he'd never considered possible. He brings her with him to Alaska, where his pack lives a peaceful existence, hoping his scientist brother will be able to explain and break the growing bond he shares with Alex. Against her will, Alex finds herself adjusting to her new life. When a serial killer begins stalking the humans in a nearby village, Julian and Alex must join forces and find the killer living in their midst before the Jager Suchers get wind of the pack's location and destroys them all.
Lori Handeland's MARKED BY THE MOON is the latest Nightcreature novel, and my favorite to date. Alex and Julian are both strong, take-charge characters who constantly butt heads despite the inexplicable attraction they feel for one another. The back and forth interaction between these two, including some hot, hot sex, moves the story along at a fast, entertaining pace. The growth of these characters as they move from ruled-by-their-emotions characters who've allowed their pasts to bring them to a place they'd never imagined being, to a united couple fighting together for the greater good makes for good reading. Ms. Handeland's fans are in for a treat in this hard to put down story.
SUMMARY
Tough-as-nails Alexandra Trevalyn does what most people
can't: She kills werewolves. Once part of an elite group of
hunters, she's going rogue these days, though no less
determined to rid the world of bloodthirsty beasts...once
and for all. That's why Alex had no choice but to kill
Julian Barlow's wife - and will have to pay the price.
Julian's brand of vengeance is downright devious, and now
he's turned Alex into a member of his pack. It's only a
matter of time before she falls under his spell. With the
wild freedom of the wolf in her veins, Alex can't deny that
Julian wakes her most primal passions...and draws her that
much closer to the moon's call, where evil lies in wait.
ExcerptShe’d been following the man for a week. She’d been
after him for a month. Werewolves weren’t that easy to
find.
They weren’t that easy to kill either, but she managed.
Once upon a time Alexandra Trevalyn had been a member of an
elite special forces monster-hunting unit known as the
Jager-Suchers. Then they’d gone soft, and she’d gone
rogue.
Night had fallen over LA hours ago. Once she might have
stared at the sky, dreaming about . . . Well, she really
couldn’t remember what she’d dreamed. Seeing her father
die at fifteen had turned any dreams Alex had ever had into
nightmares. Tonight she was just glad the moon was full
and soon the guy would shape-shift. Then she’d shoot him.
But, as usual, nothing ever went according to plan.
Suddenly the man appeared before her. Her heart gave
one quick, painful thud before she controlled the panic.
Werewolves drank the smell of fear like vampires drank
blood, gaining both pleasure and sustenance.
"Hey, Jorge," she said. "Que pasa?"
His eyes narrowed. "Why you followin’ me, puta."
"Nice. You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"My mother is dead."
"Since you killed her, I guess you’d know."
"You a cop?"
"You wish."
Confusion flickered over his face. "Why would I wish
that?"
"Because a cop wouldn’t know how to kill a werewolf."
He growled, the sound no longer quite human. But
instead of shifting into a wolf, he grabbed her, too intent
on pawing her breasts, squeezing them as if he was checking
for the best set of melons in the local produce section, to
watch her hands.
"Little girls who come looking for the big bad wolf,
usually find him," he muttered in a voice that hovered
between beast and man.
"I always do," she said, and fired the gun she’d slipped
from the back of her pants while Jorge was squeezing the
melons.
Fire shot from the wound, a common reaction whenever a
werewolf met silver. Alex tore herself away from his still
clutching fingers and patted at the flecks of flame dotting
her black blouse. Then she emptied the rest of her clip
into his body, just to be sure, and watched him burn. It
was her favorite part.
Luckily they were in a section of LA where gunshots
didn’t draw any notice. Jorge had led her here, and she’d
followed gladly.
Still, she probably should have waited for the change
before she’d shot him. The powers that be wrote off
barbequed beast a whole lot easier than barbequed man.
However Jorge hadn’t given her much choice. She certainly
wasn’t going to let him kill her. Or worse.
"You think shooting a dead man more than once will make
him any more dead?"
Alex spun toward the voice, beneath which she could hear
the familiar trill of an inhuman growl. A man lounged
against the nearest abandoned building as if he’d been
there for hours.
Except he hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. No one
had.
He was big—probably six-three, about two twenty and
dressed in loose black slacks, a black long-sleeved shirt,
his hair covered with a dark knit cap. The outfit was a
bit warm for the balmy California night, but then so was
hers. The better to conceal guns and knives and other
shiny things, the easier to slink with the shadows or even
disappear into them.
Alex couldn’t determine the color of his eyes beneath
the moon and the smog induced shadows, but she thought they
might be light like hers, blue perhaps instead of green.
She’d never seen him before; she’d remember, but that
didn’t mean anything. There were werewolves all over the
place.
He strolled toward her as if he had all the time in the
world, as if he had no fear of the gun, and that made Alex
twitchier than him being here in the first place.
What man didn’t fear a gun? What beast didn’t fear the
silver inside it?
Then in a sudden flash that made her stomach drop and
her head lighten, Alex remembered . . .
She’d used every last bullet on Jorge.
She went for a clip, and his arm shot forward, blurring
with speed. She braced for the punch that could knock her
ten yards. Instead, he touched her with a metal object.
She had one thought--stun gun--before she fell.
He leaned over her, and she knew she was dead. She
waited for the violence, the pain, the blood. Instead,
there was a sharp prick; then everything went black.
She awoke to a small room lit by a single bare bulb.
She ached everywhere, and her mouth was as dry as an August
wind. Her clothes were still on, but she couldn’t detect
the weight of any weapons—no gun, no ammo, no silver
stiletto blade. Without them, Alex felt naked anyway.
Her shoulder-length light brown hair had come loose from
the tight twist she preferred when working and now covered
her face. She moved only her eyes as she took stock of the
surroundings--four walls, a door and the man who’d done
this to her seated at a rickety wooden table nearby.
Alex was tied to a cot, and though she wanted to yank at
the bonds, see how strong they were, instead she lay still,
breathing slowly and evenly, in and out. She knew better
than to let on that she was awake before she figured out
everything she could about where she was.
She studied her kidnapper through the curtain of her
hair as he leaned his elbows on the table, staring at
something between them. From the sag of his shoulders he
seemed sad, almost devastated, but she’d never known a
werewolf to feel bad about anything, unless it was missing
a kill.
He’d removed the knit cap, and his golden hair shone
beneath the light. He’d drawn the length away from his
face with a rubber band to reveal sharp angles at cheek and
chin, as well as the shadow of a beard across his jaw.
He turned his head. His eyes were the shade of the sky
right after the sun has disappeared—cool and blue, dark
with vanished warmth. For an instant Alex could have sworn
she saw a flash of russet at the center, which made her
think of the flames of hell that awaited him just as soon
as she got her gun back.
Hey, everyone has their fantasies.
"Alexandra Trevalyn," he murmured, getting slowly to his
feet. "I’ve been waiting for this a long time."
He crossed the short distance between them and pushed
her hair out of her face, then grabbed her chin, holding on
tightly when she struggled.
"Look at her," he said in a voice that chilled despite
the heat in his eyes.
He dangled whatever he’d been looking at in front of
her. One glance at the photograph--a woman, pretty and
young, blond and laughing—and Alex closed her eyes.
Ah, hell.
"You know her?" His fingers tightened hard enough to
bruise.
Alex knew her all right. She’d killed her.
* * *
Julian Barlow could barely stomach putting his hands on
the murdering bitch. He was torn between an intense desire
to release her and an equally strong urge to crush her face
between his fingers, listen to the bones snap, hear her
scream. But that would be too easy.
For her.
He had something much better planned.
She tried to jerk from his grasp, but he was too strong,
and she only ended up hissing in a sharp, pained breath
when he tightened his grip even more.
"Her name was Alana," he said, "and she was my wife."
Alexandra’s nose wrinkled in distaste. "She was a
werewolf."
"She was a person."
"No." Her eyes met his, and in them he saw her utter
conviction. "She wasn’t."
Just as all people weren’t the same, all werewolves
weren’t either. Some were evil, demonic, out of control
beasts. But his wife—
Julian’s throat tightened, and he had to struggle
against the despair that haunted him. He’d do what he’d
come to do; then maybe, just maybe, he’d be able to sleep.
Julian drew in a deep breath and frowned. He didn’t
smell fear. His eyes narrowed, but all he saw on
Alexandra’s face was a stoic resignation.
"Get it over with," she said.
"What is it you think I brought you here to do?"
"Die."
"You wish."
Alexandra’s teeth ground together as he repeated the
words she’d used to Jorge. He released her with a
dismissive flick of the wrist. Best to get it over with as
she’d said.
Lifting his fingers to the buttons of his shirt, Julian
undid them one after the other, then let the dark garment
slide to the floor. Her eyes widened, and she let her gaze
wander over him. Wherever that gaze touched, gooseflesh
rose. He didn’t want her looking at him, but he didn’t
have much choice.
Julian lowered his hands to his trousers, and her eyes
followed. But as soon as he unbuttoned the single button,
they jerked up to meet his. The sound of the zipper
shrieked through the heavy, waiting silence.
She started, paled, and it was then that he at last
smelled her fear.
"Dying doesn’t scare you," he murmured as he eased his
thumb beneath the waistband of the black pants and drew
them over his hips. "Let’s see what does."
"You’re going to have a mighty hard time raping me with
that," she sneered, lifting her chin toward his limp member.
"Rape?" He yanked the tie from his ponytail and let his
hair swirl loose. "Not my style."
Confusion flickered over her face. "Then what’s with
the striptease?"
Instead of answering, he threw back his head and howled.
The scent of her fear called to his beast. He’d dreamed
of this, of her, planned it, lived for it. He wanted
Alexandra Trevalyn to understand what she had done, suffer
for it a very long time, and there was only one way that
could happen.
Julian’s body bowed as his spine altered. Bones
crackled, joints popped; his nose and mouth lengthened into
a snout. Hands and feet became paws, claws sprouted where
finger and toenails had been. When he fell to the ground
on all fours, golden hair shot from every pore. Last but
not least a tail and ears appeared as he became a wolf in
every way but two—human eyes in an inhuman face, human
intelligence in the guise of an animal.
"No one can shift that fast." He swung his head toward
the woman, who stared at him wide eyed.
Having once been a Jager-Sucher, she had to know the
basics. To paraphrase Shakespeare: There were more things
in heaven and earth than could ever be dreamt of.
And Julian was one of them.
He had been born centuries ago, and with age comes not
only wisdom but talent, at least to a werewolf. The older
Julian got, the faster he changed.
He stalked toward her on stiff legs, ruff standing on
end, upper lip pulled back. Her jaw tightened as she tried
not to cringe, but her body wouldn’t obey her mind’s
command. His hot breath cascaded over her arm, her neck,
her face. She was helpless. He could do anything that he
wanted. She knew it, and her fear whirled around him like
a mid-summer fog.
Had this been what Alana felt in the moments before she
died? Or hadn’t she had a chance to feel anything before
this child had shot her with silver, then watched her
burn. A growl rumbled in Julian’s throat.
The girl tensed and shouted, "Do it!"
So Julian sank his teeth into her shoulder.
* * *
Alex refused to scream even though the pain was worse
than anything she’d ever known. Multicolored dots danced
before her eyes; then the world wavered, shimmered and
disappeared.
Hours, moments, seconds later, she came awake
sputtering. Someone had thrown water into her face.
The werewolf, now in human form--he’d even gotten
dressed--leaned over her, empty plastic bottle crunched in
his huge hand. "Soon," he murmured, "you’ll understand."
Her shoulder on fire, she was weak, dizzy, feverish, but
she remembered everything, and the horror of it almost made
her retch.
"You bastard!" Alex shouted, pulling at her
bonds. "You bit me."
"You told me to," he said.
"I didn’t. I’d never—"
"Did you or did you not shout, ‘Do it!’"
"I meant tear out my throat. Kill me."
If a werewolf bit a human, the human become a werewolf.
If the ravenous beast ate and/or killed the victim, blessed
death was the result.
Her tormentor tilted his head, and his long hair slid
across his neck, spreading outward like a golden
fan. "You’d rather be dead," he murmured, "than a
werewolf."
"Damn straight."
"And my wife would rather have been a werewolf than
dead." He shrugged, unconcerned. "I guess you’re even."
Frustration and fury welled within her. She yanked on
her bonds again, and the cot rattled as she lifted first
one side, then the other from the floor. She was already
getting stronger.
"Let me go." He did nothing but laugh. "Why are you
doing this?"
"I want you to understand what you’ve done."
"I killed monsters. Evil, demonic creatures that
belonged in hell."
"You killed wives and husbands, mothers and fathers,
someone’s children. You think we don’t love? You think we
don’t mourn?"
"Animals don’t feel."
He grabbed her by the chin again. "You’re wrong."
Alex should have a huge bruise from when he’d
wolfhandled her before. His touch should hurt, but it
didn’t. She was already healing faster than humanly
possible.
He let go of her with a flick of his wrist, as if he
couldn’t bear to have his skin in contact with hers for one
second longer than necessary--she knew the feeling--and
walked away. Alex had to crane her neck to watch him
disappear out the door.
"Hey!" she shouted, then paused. Would she be better or
worse off if he left her behind?
The question became moot when he reappeared carrying an
inert body, which he placed on the floor.
"Don’t worry." He walked to the door again, drawing it
closed behind him. "He’s a very bad man."
As soon as he was gone, Alex fought to get loose in
earnest.
He’d bitten her instead of killing her, then tied her
down and left her in a room with a helpless human being.
She had to pull free and run, then find a silver . . .
anything and kill herself before she changed. Because as
soon as she did, she’d need human blood, and there was some
right here.
Her struggles only served to make her sweat. The room
had no air conditioning, no window. She pulled on the
restraints so hard her wrists bled. The scent of blood, of
man made her stomach growl.
Once bitten a human shifts within twenty-four hours.
Traditionally werewolves can only change between dusk and
dawn--except that first time. Then it doesn’t matter--day
or night, full moon or dark, a new wolf becomes. They have
no choice.
Suddenly the room vanished, and Alex ran through a dense
forest. Warm sun cast dappled shadows through the
branches. The cool air seemed to sparkle. The scent of
pine surrounded her.
She burst from the trees onto a rolling plain. Here and
there patches of snow shone electric white against just
sprung grass threaded with purple wildflowers. In the
distance loomed piles of ice that appeared as high as a
mountain.
A sense of freedom, of utter joy filled her. She wanted
to run across this land forever. It was . . .
Home.
Except Alex had no home. She’d been born in Nebraska--
not many mountains there, ice or any other--they were a
little short on forests too. And she hadn’t lived in one
place for longer than a month since she was five.
She caught the scent of warm blood, of tasty meat and
turned tail—she had one—to return to the forest. Something
flashed up ahead, crashing through the brush in terror.
Wham!
Alex fell back into her body, still lying on the cot in
the horrendously hot, horribly small room. She wasn’t any
closer to being released, but from the way her skin felt,
too small to contain her, she was much closer to being
inhuman.
"Collective consciousness," she muttered. "God."
Once infected, the lycanthropy virus invades the victim,
changing him from human to beast. He begins to remember
things that have happened to others—the thrill of the
chase, the love of the kill, the taste of the blood.
"It’s coming," Alex said in a voice that no longer
resembled her own. Deeper, garbled, she’d heard the sound
before.
From the mouths of the soon-to-be-furry.
The pain became more of an itch, a need to burst forth.
Alex tried to fight that need but couldn’t. Her dark jeans
and black blouse tore with a rending screech; her boots
seemed to explode as her feet turned to paws.
Her nose ached; her teeth were too big for her mouth.
Then suddenly that mouth became part of the nose, and those
teeth felt just right.
The bonds restraining her popped. She writhed,
contorted, snarled, moaned, and when she at last rolled to
the floor, she was no longer human but a wolf.
Alex stared at her paws, covered with fur the same shade
as her hair, she didn’t need a mirror to see that her own
green eyes stared out of an animal’s face.
The world expanded--sounds sharp as the blade of a
knife, smells so intense her mouth watered with desire, she
could see every mote of dust tumbling through the air like
snowflakes of silver and gold.
Hunger blazed, a pounding pulse in her head. If she
didn’t eat soon, if she didn’t kill something, she thought
she might go mad.
Then she saw him—there on the floor, trussed up and
still. What was his name?
Oh, yeah. Brunch.
Alex took one step forward, and the door crashed open.
The silhouette of a man spread across the floor. She
skittered back, startled, growling, then lifted her snout
and sniffed. Recognition flickered, just out of reach.
She knew him, yet still the hair on her neck lifted as the
growl deepened to a snarl.
The urge to attack warred with the clawing hunger in her
belly. Her head swung back and forth between the two men
as her human intelligence weighed the possibilities.
The bound one could wait; he wasn’t going anywhere.
Once she took down the newcomer, there’d be twice as much
to eat and a lot less to fear.
Her muscles bunched, and she leaped. Before her body
began the downward arc that would send her sailing directly
into the man in the doorway a sharp pain bloomed in her
chest. Her limbs felt weighted with sand but strangely her
mind cleared, and as she tumbled to the ground, she
remembered who he was.
Edward.
Now she was definitely dead.
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