Beneath a Darkening Moon

by Keri Arthur

  With their bodies pressed so close, she couldn't help but be intensely aware of every part of him. From the rapid rise and fall of his chest pressing against her breasts and aching nipples to the heated hardness of his erection. Part of her longed to arch into that hardness, to press it firmly against that part of her that throbbed so fiercely, to rub it back and forth until heat and desire burned both of them so badly that lust and the moon's madness took over.

  The saner part, the part that ached from past hurts rather than desire, was very glad that he hadn't rescinded the order to stop, simply because she couldn't follow lust's path and therefore make a fool of herself.

  He broke their kiss and stepped back with a suddenness that surprised her. But for too many minutes, his gaze bored into hers, his breath a rasp that flowed over her skin like a fierce summer storm. And though she could have broken their eye contact, she didn't, simply because she needed him to see she was not that silly teenager any more. That this time she knew him for the bastard he was and would not be fooled by pretty words or the lies of tenderness in his kiss or his touch.

  "So, was it?” she said, forcing a note of indifference into her voice.

  He frowned. “Was it what?"

  "As good as you remembered?"

  His smile was almost grim. “Yes. And you can move again."

  Energy tingled across her skin, unlocking the force of his earlier command. Her fingers clenched against the doorhandle, and for an instant, she debated the pros and cons of punching him out. If it weren't for the fact that she loved her job and didn't want to risk losing it, she might have let it fly.

  She flung open the door instead, and then she stopped, unable to let the moment pass without at least saying something. So she met his gaze squarely and said. “If you ever, ever, use the moon's power on me like that again, I'll report you to your superiors and make damn sure you're never again allowed out on field investigations."

  As threats went, it was far better than anything physical, simply because all he cared about was field work and catching his man. He'd proven that long ago.

  He snorted softly. “You think I'd be transferred to desk work because of one minor event like a kiss? Step into the real world, Vannah."

  "I am.” She climbed into the truck and glanced back at him. “Oh, and by the way, my father is Levon Grant."

  The smug, condescending amusement fled his face. Her father might be considered a bit of a joke in certain sectors here in Ripple Creek, but he had some pretty damn powerful friends—friends that had spread his stupidly puritan views far and wide. Friends who were highly placed in many government departments, including, she believed, the IIS.

  And while she might disagree with her father's views, she wasn't above using his contacts if Cade didn't heed the warning.

  He didn't say anything, just spun on his heel and walked around to the passenger side of the truck. Once he'd climbed in, she started the engine, turned the truck around, and drove back to Ripple Creek.

  The air in the truck was thick with tension and simmering anger—his and hers—but underneath it, desire still burned unchecked. It was a force that would not be ignored, nor would it let them free. They'd made a promise to the moon, and the moon demanded that such promises be fulfilled. And obviously, it didn't matter how many years had passed—a promise made was not forgotten.

  Which meant, she thought grimly, now that this man had stepped back into her life—no matter for what reason or how briefly—she was obligated to dance with him. Or face the consequences.

  And moon madness—a condition of insanity that afflicted wolves who ignored the moon and promises made, and one that was generally responsible for most of the attacks on humans—was not something she cared to risk.

  She grimaced. The truth was her reaction—attraction—to Cade was as strong as it ever had been, so dancing with him wasn't going to be a hardship.

  But it would dredge up memories and emotions she'd much rather forget, and that would be a problem.

  "What are we going to do?” she said, as the stoplight ahead changed to red and she braked.

  He glanced at her, something she felt rather than saw. “As I said, we need to talk. Is there somewhere decent to eat?"

  "Yeah.” Several places, including her old man's diner. But there wasn't a snowflake's chance in hell she was taking him there. Not only because Ari would be all over him like a wolf in heat, but because Neva would be hitting her with all sorts of telepathic questions. Right now, she wasn't feeling up to confronting either woman. “But in case you've forgotten, small towns have big ears, and what is being forced between us is not something I want the world to know."

  "Ashamed of me?” he asked dryly.

  "No. Ashamed of the fact that the stupidity of my past is coming back to slam me. I may have to dance with you, Cade, but I don't have to like it.” She met his gaze squarely. “Or you."

  His lips, whose touch she could still feel, twisted bitterly. “I'm no happier about the turn of events than you, believe me."

  "So why did you push the kiss?"

  He stared at her for a moment longer, his expression giving little away. “Because,” he said eventually, as he looked away, “I had no choice."

  "Bullshit. The moon heat isn't that strong.” Not yet, anyway.

  He grimaced. “Not everything I say is a lie."

  She resisted the urge to bite back with another bitchy comment and swung the truck into the ranger's station parking lot. The building was dark—Kel and Ronan were long gone, and it was Bodee's week to handle any night calls. “We can get takeout,” she said, as she stopped the truck, “and talk without fear of anyone overhearing."

  "Or suspecting,” he said, bitterness and anger entwined in his rich voice, “that the head ranger and the head of the IIS investigating team have a little moon madness going."

  She climbed out of the truck and locked the door. “Precisely."

  He followed her to the main doors, the heat of his body pressing into her spine even though several feet separated them. She unlocked the doors and switched on the lights. Then she walked across to the phone and dialed the nearby burger joint. “What do you want?"

  He shrugged, and walked over to the bulletin board, the tension riding his shoulders giving lie to the air of casualness he was attempting to project. “A couple of burgers and some fries."

  She ordered the same for herself and asked Joe to have one of his boys to bring them over. “They'll be ten minutes,” she said, after she'd hung up. “The conference room is the second door down on the right. You want to head there while I make coffee and wait for the food?"

  "Feel the need for breathing room?"

  "Yes,” she said bluntly. “It's not every day I have the thrill of my worst nightmare stepping back into my life."

  Amusement gleamed briefly in his eyes, and his mouth curved into a bittersweet smile that flicked longing through her veins. But he didn't say anything, just shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered down the hall.

  She blew out a breath and got down to the business of making decent coffee. By the time she'd finished, the delivery kid had arrived. She paid him, adding a good tip, and locked the door behind him. No sense taking a chance of someone walking in—especially since she had no idea what would happen between her and Cade over the next few hours.

  She collected the steaming coffee mugs and carefully made her way into the conference room. Cade was studying the mug shots of everyone who worked at the station and the brief histories underneath.

  "This is an unusual idea,” he said, without turning around.

  She didn't answer immediately, letting her gaze linger on the tight fit of his shirt across his shoulders and the way his muscles rippled under the soft material. Then she gave herself a mental kick and said, “Yeah, but it's a good way of introducing everyone."

  "So every time a new boy comes in, he or she hits the wall?"

  "Yes.” She placed his burgers, fries and coffee in front of the chai
r nearest him, and then she retreated to the safety of the far end of the table.

  "There hasn't been much of a staff turnover since you took over."

  "No.” Because they all got on extremely well. “And that's not what we're here to discuss."

  "I guess not.” He sat at the table, and tackled his burger and fries with a gusto that suggested he hadn't eaten in a while.

  Even though she was no less hungry, she ate at a slower pace. With the way tension was riding her body, she'd probably have indigestion if she gulped down food.

  When he'd finished his burger and fries, he picked up his coffee and leaned back in his chair. Surprise flickered through his eyes at the taste of the aromatic liquid. “Decent coffee."

  "A rare thing in this ranger station if you piss off our admin assistant,” she replied, tossing the last of her fries in the trash can. “So, are you going step away from this investigation or not?"

  His smile was wolfish. “You'd love me to, wouldn't you?"

  "Yes.” She returned his look steadily. “And isn't there some sort of protocol that prohibits an IIS officer from being intimately involved with a reservation's rangers during the course of an investigation?"

  "It's one of those unwritten rules—and before you ask, I have inquired as to whether there is someone else to take over if problems arise."

  Unwillingly, she remembered the thick hardness of him pressed against her groin. Problems had arisen, all right, but not quite in the manner he'd undoubtedly intimated. “And their answer?"

  "They'll get back to me in the morning."

  Hopefully, that answer would be that there was someone else. Someone who didn't make her body sing with desire. “What's the other problem you mentioned?"

  He pushed away from the table and rose. “Hart, the third member of my team, called me this afternoon with the results of his own autopsy on the first victim. He found something the medical examiner didn't."

  She raised her eyebrows. “What?"

  "A sliver of paper inserted into the index finger of the victim's left hand."

  "The finger that was offering the world a one finger salute?"

  He nodded and began to pace back and forth. His steps bought him close to her end of the table, washing the scent of tangerine and desire across her senses as he turned and retreated. Something inside her trembled, and warmth fled south. In such a confined space, his energy and lusty masculine aroma were almost overwhelming. Temptation wasn't just rising, it was galloping towards her. Because of the moon. Because of her own treacherous hormones.

  "Hart actually thought it might have been a sliver of wood when he first pulled it out.” His gaze caught hers briefly. “Miniature crosses had been inserted into the same finger of the original victims."

  "I didn't know that."

  "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

  She let the maliciousness in his voice slide by. “What did the note say?"

  "Vengeance tastes sweeter when the cooking is slow."

  She raised her eyebrows. “So our nutter is poetic?"

  "Apparently so."

  "Jontee wasn't.” Crazier than a dog in heat, maybe, but not poetic.

  His gaze speared her again. She sipped her coffee, trying to retain an air of indifference while the two halves of her soul raged a war as to whether it was better to run or seduce.

  "Jontee McGuire is dead."

  "You're sure of that?"

  "Yes. I watched them bury him."

  "Then tell me how this murderer is copying those murders so precisely?"

  He stopped at her end of the table, placing his hands on the wooden surface as he leaned towards her. His scent swamped her, washing across her skin like a fire that was about to rage out of control. She wouldn't last another five minutes in his presence, let alone a couple of hours. Passion had always been a madness that flared to life between them as quickly as a summer storm, and in many ways, it was just as dangerous. Nothing this fierce, this powerful, could be without consequences, and she really had no intention of letting him stick around until those consequences were revealed.

  Until he did leave, she had no choice but to face up to the results of her actions so long ago. But there was one thing she was sure of—any dance they shared would be on her terms. Not his, and not the moon's.

  "I thought it wasn't for you to judge with the IIS here."

  She resisted the temptation to bare her teeth. “I wasn't judging. I was commenting."

  "And yet you said before that you knew nothing."

  "But I never said I hadn't seen anything.” She gave a bitter laugh. “But you never asked that question, did you? You just charged right in and took what you thought you needed."

  "I was trying to stop a murderer."

  And in the process had destroyed something so very fragile, so very rare. Or so she'd thought at the time. Truth was, she was the only one who'd thought what was happening between them was worth anything.

  "Then I guess you got what you wanted, didn't you?"

  He stared at her for too many minutes, his navy gaze so intent, so full of heat and anger, that she felt like a mischievous school kid under the glare of a stern principal. And that only raised the bar of her own fury. Damn it, she'd done nothing wrong ten years ago. If he could accuse her of anything then it was naivety.

  She pushed away from the table and stood. He straightened with her, and though the table was still between them, he was far too close. But retreat was the one thing she wouldn't do. This was her turf, her home, and she would not give him the upper hand this time. “I understand why the moon heat will cause problems for us working together, but why do you think the murderer leaving notes will?"

  "Because they're not general notes. They're personal ones, aimed at the two people who were at Rosehall."

  She raised an eyebrow. “There were lots of us who lived in Rosehall. It was a commune, for God's sake."

  "But not everyone there believed in the free sex ideals. Some of them had a taste for blood."

  "Only one,” she corrected. “And stop using that condescending tone. If I remember correctly, you were more than ready to enjoy those free sex ideals."

  "I still am,” he said, reaching for her.

  She stepped back and punched his hand away. “So you're saying that this murderer could be going after people who were in Rosehall?” She frowned. “I'm pretty sure the first victim, at least, was never there."

  He flexed his fingers, as if her punch had hurt him, which she hadn't intended to do.

  "What if these murders are merely a means of drawing together the two people responsible for bringing down the ideals of that place?"

  "I never—"

  "By association, yeah, you did. You claimed me, remember? And stayed with me."

  "Which just goes to show how young and stupid I truly was.” She finished her coffee and put the mug back on the table. “So we should be extra cautious until we understand the motive?"

  He nodded. “Do you live alone?"

  "Yes, and you are not spending the entire night with me.” That would suggest an intimacy that went beyond just sex, and she wasn't willing to step that far. Not with him.

  He gave her that bittersweet smile again, and it made her ache deep inside. “Once you would have begged me to stay."

  "Once was a long time ago, when I was young and stupid.” She hesitated, but she knew she had to lay down some ground rules before things progressed much further. “I may not have a choice in this, but I do have conditions."

  "Conditions?” He made a contemptuous sound. “How can you put restrictions on something neither of us has control over?"

  "Because I'd rather go mad than ever put myself at your mercy again."

  "It wasn't that bad, Vannah."

  "Savannah,” she amended angrily. “And yes, it was."

  He stared at her for a moment. Then he spun on his heel and returned to his pacing. “So hit me with the conditions."

  "No one knows about us. When we mate, w
e do so late at night and where no one can chance upon us."

  His nod was short and sharp. And as angry as his steps.

  "Second, do not touch me in any way, sexual or not, during the day."

  He gave her a savage glance. “You do what you must for the moon, but nothing more?"

  "Exactly."

  His lips twisted bitterly. “And the third?"

  "If there is another officer available tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, you walk away and let him take over."

  He came to a halt at her end of the table, pressing his palms against the wood and leaning forward again. “I'll agree to those conditions if you agree to two of mine."

  She raised her chin. “What?"

  "First, we dance tonight."

  She'd known that was coming. The lust that burned between them made it as inevitable as night following day. But as much as she wanted him, she also didn't want him. Didn't want to lie in his arms, because it was nothing more than a lie and the heat of the moon.

  "What else?"

  His sudden grin was all territorial, all wild wolf. “You lie with no other for as long as I'm here, or I'll report you and Ronan to your prudish little council. Then I'll stand back and watch the fireworks."

  Chapter Three

  Though Cade had expected an immediate and fiery response to his admittedly outrageous demand, she didn't say anything. She just stared at him with those coldly luminous green eyes of hers, making him feel like pond scum that wasn't even worth scraping off her shoe.

  Which is what he figured her opinion was of him right now.

  It shouldn't have mattered. He wanted her, she wanted him, and the promise they'd so stupidly made ensured the outcome would be gratifying for them both. What she thought about him, or what he thought about her, didn't enter into the equation.

  Yet for some reason, her opinion of him did matter.

  Maybe tiredness had addled his brain. Or perhaps the sun and the heat reflecting off the snow this afternoon had burned away a brain cell or two. Why else would he care about the opinion of a lying, cheating snippet of a wolf who had almost succeeded in getting him killed and letting a murderer go free?