Beneath a Darkening Moon

by Keri Arthur

  I don't know, she thought. I just don't know.

  But one thing she was sure of—they couldn't stand here like dummies, and if they weren't going to make out, they might as well discuss the past. And better here where her emotions had to be restrained than alone.

  Frowning at her own cowardice, she glanced down to check Denny was still where she'd left him, and said, “We need to talk."

  "About what?"

  Cade wasn't looking at her, but scanning the crowd below. His stance was casual, yet tension touched the corners of his eyes and rode his shoulders. Residual anger over her comment, she thought, rather than any real concern about what she wanted to say.

  She took a deep breath, gathering courage. “About Rosehall. About what happened between us."

  He glanced at her briefly, his expression closed, giving no hint as to what he might be thinking or feeling. “What's there to talk about? We both know what happened."

  "Maybe. But we've never talked about how it affected us."

  He snorted softly. “It was a long time ago. Why drag it up now?"

  "Because, one way or another, that past is still affecting the both of us."

  "The only affect it's having on me is the fact that you're mine, and only mine, until I say otherwise.” He gave her a grin that was all wild wolf, all territorial. “And you had better believe that this time, I will defend that right."

  She raised her eyebrows at the anger so evident in his soft words. “Did you hate sharing me with Jontee that much?"

  "Yes."

  "But wasn't that why I was targeted? Because I was sharing Jontee's bed?"

  He looked away. “Yes."

  His answer came out clipped, as if she were tearing the words from his lips forcefully. “Then your anger makes no sense."

  "We shared a moon promise."

  "A moon promise that had Jontee as the exception."

  "Yes,” he all but growled.

  She stared at him for a moment and said, “If I didn't know you better, I'd say that you were jealous of Jontee."

  He gave her a brief look that could only be described as dark. “Don't be ridiculous."

  Amusement, and perhaps just a touch of elation, ran through her. Maybe the emotional side of their relationship wasn't as one-sided as she'd thought. She turned to face him, propping her hip against the railing. “You were jealous.” Then and now.

  "I was there to do a job. Sharing you was part of that job."

  "That doesn't answer the question of jealousy."

  "But it is the only answer that matters."

  "Not to me."

  His gaze searched hers. “Why?"

  Because I loved you. Because I need to know if you even really liked me. She shrugged, feigning a casualness she suddenly didn't feel. “Because jealousy suggests I was more than just a means to an end."

  He didn't move, didn't seem to react in any way. Yet the air between them suddenly crackled with tension. “And why does it matter to you?"

  She stared at him for a moment, wondering how any man could be so obtuse. Did he really not know how she'd felt? Had he never really heard any of the things she'd said to him? “Because you were more than just another dancer to me."

  His sudden and all too brief smile was edged with a wistfulness that made her soul ache. He reached out and brushed her cheek. His touch was a fire that seemed to burn deep into her flesh, and his eyes filled with an intentness that made her legs feel weaker than water.

  "Do you know how you were chosen as my target?” he said softly, moving his hand down her neck and across her shoulder.

  "No.” Her voice came out breathless. She could barely even breathe, let alone talk, because every inch of her thrummed with desire. She needed him, and it wasn't the heady atmosphere of the club or the demands of the moon. It had never been the moon, not for her. Not then, and if she were honest, not now. It was the man.

  "My boss handed me twelve folders. Inside were photos and information about each of Jontee's harem.” He slid his hand around her waist and tugged her towards him, crushing her close. Heat pooled where his fingers pressed, where their bodies met.

  "So you could have chosen anyone?” She briefly closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the night, and the way the air conditioning brushed her skin with fleeting moments of coolness. Enjoying the caress of his fingers across her spine and the way his body seemed a perfect match for hers, touching all the right places with heated hardness.

  "Twelve beautiful women and I had to choose only one.” His lips were so close that his breath whispered across her lips, making them tingle, ache, for the touch of his. “But for me, there was only one choice."

  Her gaze rose to his again. “Why?"

  With his free hand, he caught several strands of the wig's short black hair, tugging on it lightly. Amusement ran fleetingly across his luscious lips. “Because I loved the look of your hair. And because there was something in your eyes that spoke to the wildness in me."

  "It was just a photo."

  He nodded. “A luscious photo of a nymph on a balcony."

  "So it was lust at first sight?"

  He hesitated. “What else could there be?"

  What else indeed, she thought. And even though she'd known what his answer would be when she'd asked the question, his words still scraped old hurts. “Then why agree to the moon ceremony?"

  He shrugged. “I wanted you to be mine, and only mine. At least as much as possible without endangering my mission there."

  "And there was nothing more than desire and an alpha's need to possess behind your decision?"

  "There was no time for anything else."

  They'd had two weeks together—which was more than enough time if everything felt right. It had for her. “And if we'd had the time?"

  He shrugged again. “Who knows?"

  "Then you would have continued seeing me, if things hadn't happened the way they'd happened?"

  "If you hadn't disappeared off the face of the Earth, you mean?"

  "I mean, if you hadn't abused my trust the way you did."

  He snorted softly. “I only read your mind. Hardly an abuse of trust."

  She pulled out of his arms. The night felt cooler without his touch. As cool as his expression. “You really have no idea, do you?"

  He reached for her again, but she slapped his hand away. He sighed, a sound filled with annoyance. “An idea of what?"

  "Are your parents or pack telepathic?"

  "I cannot believe we keep coming back to this.” He crossed his arms. “And no, none of my immediate family is telepathic. What has that got to do with anything?"

  "Nothing, other than the fact no one has taught you common courtesy."

  "I'm an IIS officer. Part of my job is carefully entering the minds of others to read them. I've done it lots of time, and believe me, even when I've read other telepaths, they've been none the wiser."

  She raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Those other telepaths being the people who've trained you?"

  "Yes. And what difference does that make?"

  "They were ready for you, Cade. Had to be, because believe me, when a telepath raids another telepath's mind, it's never pretty and it's never easy."

  "Unless you have the training."

  "Training?” She gave a short, sharp laugh. “I was raised in one of the strongest telepathic wolf packs there is, for Christ's sake. Even my low-end shields are stronger than the average telepath's. What you did was nothing short of brutality."

  "Quit being so melodramatic. I didn't force my way in, and I didn't rip through your shields because there weren't any."

  "Really? Are you willing to bet on that?"

  His eyes narrowed at the challenge. “Yes."

  "Right here, right now?"

  "Yes.” He uncrossed his arms and flexed his fingers.

  She imagined he was doing the same mentally. Not that it would do him much good. She might not have Neva's mental strength, but she was still a product of her fath
er, and her father was the head of their pack simply because he was the strongest.

  "And what price would you be willing to pay?” Her sudden grin undoubtedly had a nasty edge, because right at that moment she was feeling particularly nasty. “How about if I'm right, you revoke your little addition to the moon promise?"

  "No.” His answer was immediate and obviously instinctive.

  She felt like baring her teeth and growling in frustration. Why did this man always take, without ever being willing to give, even just this once? “Afraid you'll lose?"

  "You're mine, Vannah, and you will remain mine until I say otherwise."

  "If you were so damn sure I belonged to you, you'd be letting me make the choice. But you aren't sure, are you?” She snorted softly. “I never took you for a coward—"

  She stopped, glancing down as movement near the door caught her eye. A big-busted blonde had entered the club. Dressed in a short skirt, a white tube top that flared brightly under the strobe lights, and what looked to be six-inch stilettos, the blonde definitely fit the wet-dream image Denny had given them.

  She mentally cursed the woman's timing, but she looked back at Cade and said, “I think our quarry just entered."

  He made a low rumble that sounded as ominous as thunder, but he glanced downstairs. “She fits the description."

  She nodded, briefly watching the woman as she teetered on the edge of the steps. “How do you want to play this?"

  The dark look he cast her way suggested that this was the last game he wanted to play right now. “We wait until she makes contact with Denny."

  She nodded and leaned on the railing, her arms crossed as she watched the woman totter around the bar side of the dance floor. “Stilettos aren't that woman's natural footwear."

  "What makes you say that?"

  "The fact that she looks ready to topple over at any minute."

  "Well, it can't be easy walking with breasts that bountiful,” he commented, his voice flat yet somehow hinting at amusement. “And given her tight buns, the front to back weight ratio is way out of kilter."

  Savannah looked at him. Laugh lines crinkled the corners of his eyes, lending his profile a sudden warmth. Though still angry with him, she couldn't help smiling. “You're a breast man?"

  "Any man is a breast man, and don't let them tell you otherwise.” His gaze slid from her face down to her chest. Her nipples puckered under his scrutiny, and warmth flushed across her skin. “However, I have always been of the opinion that a nice, plump handful is all that a man really needs."

  "Just as well, seeing that a plump handful is all you're going to get when it comes to me."

  He raised an eyebrow. “Have I ever complained?"

  "No.” She frowned as the blonde stopped and reached into the small bag slung over her shoulder. “But you've never complimented, either."

  "Remiss of me."

  "Very."

  He glanced downstairs, then back at her. “What if I say you have the most luscious breasts I've ever seen?"

  "I'd say you were full of shit."

  His sudden grin was unexpected and made her heart do an old, familiar dance.

  "Is that the cop speaking or the woman?” he asked, voice so low it seemed little more than a warm vibration across her skin.

  "Both.” The blonde had gotten out her phone and was searching the upper balconies as she talked. Looking for Denny, or someone else? Savannah frowned as the woman's gaze seemed to hesitate on her and Cade, lingering for too many seconds before moving on. “We've been made."

  "What?” He looked down. “How?"

  The blonde was still talking on the phone, and though her gaze seemed to be on the dancers in front of her, the sudden tension in the way she stood suggested she was ready to flee given the slightest reason. And that reason would undoubtedly be a movement from Cade or Savannah. “I don't know, but she's seen us. Or me, at least."

  "Odd that she answered the phone before she apparently made us.” He glanced at Savannah. “It suggests an accomplice."

  "Or that the person behind the threats is in this room.” Yet if Tane didn't recognize her, why would anyone else here, especially dressed up as she was? “Shall we wait or move?"

  Before Cade could answer, the woman made the decision for them, slipping her phone into her bag as she turned around and headed toward the door. “You go left; I'll go right,” he said, thrusting away from the railing.

  She nodded and headed left. Her stilettos clattered against the metal stairs as she ran down them, making enough noise that the dancers closest to her glanced up. Though Denny was one of them, there was no recognition in his eyes. At least that meant he'd probably still be here if she and Cade missed their quarry.

  Ahead, the blonde was climbing the stairs and walking towards the door. She didn't seem to be in a hurry, meaning they either had the wrong woman, or she knew she had plenty of time to escape. Savannah was betting on the latter. If this woman was involved in the murders, then there would have been provisions for something to go wrong. The fiend behind the recent murders was too well organized to leave anything to chance.

  Savannah ran along the edge of the dance floor, dodging the occasional overenthusiastic dancer or alcohol-affected patron. By the time she got to the steps, the blonde had already left the building. Cade was two steps behind her as she pushed the door open and ran out.

  "There,” he said, pointing left towards the flare of reversing lights.

  They ran towards the truck as it reversed out of the parking spot. Savannah glanced at the plates, noting the number and the fact they were from Arizona. Before they could get any closer, the truck sped off, leaving them coughing in a cloud of burnt rubber and exhaust fumes.

  Cade swore and thrust a hand through his hair. “Our first solid connection to the murders, and we let her get away."

  "I wouldn't call her a solid connection as yet,” she said, her words wheezy as she tried to catch her breath. “And at least we can track down the truck via the plate number."

  "Not when it was wearing false plates."

  She raised her eyebrows. “How do you know that?"

  "Because the second plate wasn't stuck on too well. Saw the corner of the real plate sticking out on the right edge."

  She grimaced. “At least we still have the truck.” Even if that make and color was one of the more popular ones in Ripple Creek. She tugged off her wig and scratched irritably at her scalp. “Of course, the question is what—or who—tipped her off?"

  Cade glanced at her. “Did anyone see you coming over here?"

  "I was in wolf form, so it wouldn't have mattered."

  "Maybe they were watching your apartment."

  She frowned. “They could just as easily have been watching your rooms. It'd be no state secret now that the IIS is in town, even if no one really knows why."

  "I would have noticed a shadow."

  Irritation swept through her. “Meaning I wouldn't have?” Her voice rose several notches without her meaning to.

  The guard glanced their way. “Keep it down,” Cade said, as he waved a reassuring hand toward the guard. When he looked back at her, Cade's expression was a mix of annoyance and frustration. “Meaning, you've had less experience in being tailed than me."

  "Less experience doesn't mean no experience,” she bit back. “And I wasn't followed."

  "Then how the hell did that woman—who I've never met and I presume you haven't—make us?"

  "I don't know."

  "Someone must have followed one of us."

  No one had followed her. She was sure of it. So what had given them away? She frowned, remembering the way the blonde's gaze had lingered on them—or, more particularly, her. It suggested that she'd been the one recognized, rather than Cade. But how? With the wig and the costume, she looked nothing like herself. Someone from Rosehall might have recognized the shoes, but the darkness of the club precluded that.

  Rosehall...

  Oh, shit. She'd never worn this costum
e at Rosehall, but she had gotten it there.

  "Someone recognized what I was wearing,” she said, her voice void of the anger boiling within. Anger aimed at herself, at her own thoughtlessness. Yet, how could she have known, realistically, that there was any chance of the costume being recognized?

  "What?"

  "This outfit,” she said, lightly flicking the chains wrapping the skirt. The resulting chimes sawed at her nerves and deepened her anger. “It was given to me at Rosehall."

  "By who? Jontee?"

  If only. “No. Besides, Jontee's dead and hardly in a position to recognize anything."

  "Then who?"

  She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Nelle James."

  Chapter Eight

  Cade studied her for a long moment and then said slowly, “Nelle James gave you that outfit?"

  "Isn't that what I just said?"

  Her voice held a mix of anger and defiance, and he smiled grimly. There was no need to reprimand her for her stupidity, because she was kicking herself hard enough. “Meaning she's here in town?"

  "I would have told you if she was,” she snapped back, her green eyes flashing like a cat's in the darkness that surrounded them.

  "Would you? I'm not so sure.” After all, how well did he actually know her beyond the realm of the bedroom? The report Oliver had given him had contained very little information, and she'd pretty much kept mum about personal details in the brief time they'd been together at Rosehall. The only thing he knew about her was the fact that she and Nelle had been very close friends. And close friends didn't rat on each other, did they?

  "I'm a ranger,” she said, voice deceptively calm given how white her knuckles suddenly were. “Don't you ever accuse me of not doing my job properly."

  "I didn't—"

  "Then what the hell do you think making an accusation like that was?"

  "I was trying to elicit an honest response, which I got."

  "Bastard."

  "I'm an IIS officer. That's what we do.” He reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone. “Why don't you go talk to Denny while I see if I can get that truck tracked down?"