Beneath a Darkening Moon

by Keri Arthur

"It was the same killer,” she said, glad her voice showed no sign of the shakiness growing inside. “Only she doesn't believe in the ritual. She just needs the thrill, the blood.” She hesitated. “It was Candy who did this."

  Cade looked up at her. “What makes you think that?"

  She hesitated again. “Clairvoyance. Instinct or whatever you want to call it. It hits at the weirdest times."

  "But it's usually always correct.” Ronan turned around to grab the cameras off Steve. “So, if this is the same killer, why the ritual on the other two?"

  "There are three killers, not one,” Cade answered, his gaze returning to the body. “The other murders were a lure to get me here. This looks more like need."

  She handed Steve the crime scene tape, then crossed her arms, trying to warm the chill from her body as Ronan began taking shots of Denny's body. “While Candy and Lonny are definitely involved somewhere along the line, we can't say the same about Anni."

  Cade glanced up at her again. “I wasn't talking about Anni. The third person is Nelle."

  "Nelle hasn't yet been spotted. Not by you and not by me."

  "She's here. I can feel it."

  Ronan moved around the circle to get shots from the other side of the body. She followed carefully, scanning the ground as she walked, looking for prints or anything else that would lead them to their killer. Killers. “Nelle wasn't involved in the Rosehall murders."

  "Why are you so sure that she wasn't?"

  "Why are you so sure that she was?"

  He raised an eyebrow as he rose and walked towards the body. The leaves covering the ground crunched softly with his every step, until it almost sounded like he was crushing bones. She shivered again and rubbed her arms.

  "Because I always believed Jontee wasn't working alone.” He squatted beside Denny's body. “Think about it. If he wasn't clear-minded enough to run the day-to-day operations of Rosehall, how would he be able to run something as meticulously planned as the murders?"

  She squatted beside him. “He couldn't,” she admitted. “So why convict him?"

  "Because all the evidence pointed to him. Plus, I saw him standing over the last victim with the knife in his hand. The blood was still fresh and running down his arm. And we had his subsequent confession."

  "So why did he do it?” That was the one thing she'd never understood. The Jontee she knew was sweet and caring—a powerful, magnetic soul who was almost childlike in some ways, and very adult in others. And she would have sworn either of his personalities wouldn't have hurt another person. And yet, there had been that darkness in him, a darkness that had seemed to be growing over the last few weeks at Rosehall. Certainly, he'd seemed a more frustrated and angry man during that time.

  "He said the impure needed the blood to cleanse their souls."

  "Impure?” She raised her eyebrows and looked at him. “What the hell does that mean?"

  His navy gaze was shuttered, giving little away, and yet she sensed the anger in him as well. Or was it frustration at knowing that they'd caught one killer but had possibly let others go free to kill again?

  "Jontee's harem was nearly all half-breeds.” His voice was flat. “Maybe they were the impure."

  She snorted softly. “Jontee was a half-breed too, so that theory doesn't hold, given you said he didn't drink the blood himself.” She pointed at Denny's body. “Whoever killed our first two victims lapped at the blood. That hasn't happened here, and from what I've read and seen, it didn't happen at Rosehall, either."

  He glanced at her sharply. “Seen?"

  She hesitated, and then she grimaced. “Via clairvoyance, not actually seeing."

  He shifted, his movements sharp and filled with anger. That anger swirled around her, thick and intense. “You never told me."

  "You never asked. Besides, I never knew, until that night when you raided my mind, that what I was seeing was actually happening."

  "So when did you have these visions?"

  Again she hesitated. “When I with Jontee."

  "For God's sake.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “Didn't it occur to you that what you were dreaming might not be clairvoyance, but real events you were picking up from Jontee's mind?"

  "How the hell could I? I had no idea they were happening, for a start.” She thrust to her feet. “I was eighteen, damn it."

  "That seems to be a very convenient excuse,” he retorted. “And it doesn't hold water in this particular argument. You could have told me once you knew why I was there."

  "When did I have the time? You ran off straight away to catch your bad guy."

  "Not straight away,” he cut back. “There was time enough to say what had to be said."

  Yeah, like I'm sorry. I love you. Stuff she'd ached to hear and to say. But she supposed, in this instance, he was right. Her age wasn't a good excuse for keeping silent about what she'd seen, nor was her anger at him. She'd known, even before he'd raided her mind for answers, that something was wrong at Rosehall. She just hadn't realized how wrong.

  But it was hardly fair of him to accuse her of not talking when he was guilty of the very same crime. “There was time enough for you to ask, you know. But you never could do that, could you? Taking was always easier."

  "It takes two to talk, Savannah."

  "People,” Ronan interrupted. “Argue later. Let's find what clues there are to find before that storm hits."

  She glanced at Ronan and saw the hint of censure in his eyes. She took a deep breath and released it slowly. “You're right. I'm sorry.” She glanced at her watch. “Doc Carson should be here any minute. Steve, you want go meet him, and fetch a tarp while you're there? It'll at least protect the body and the immediate area around it when the storm hits."

  He nodded and headed off down the path. She pulled on some gloves and glanced at Ronan to ensure he'd taken the shots of the body's position. When he nodded, she knelt and carefully lifted Denny's right hand.

  "There are abrasions along the knuckles,” she noted. “He hit something pretty hard."

  "Hopefully, Candy.” Cade shifted a little. “Look at the jaggedness of the genital wound—it looks ripped more than cut."

  "Maybe she was in a hurry."

  He looked at her. “Or she used something other than a knife."

  She closed her eyes for a minute, battling the surge of sick images that rose at his words. “A blood frenzy."

  It happened only rarely in the werewolf population, but it was the one event that had led to the still common human myth that werewolves became insane killers every time the moon bloomed full. Truth was, though the desire to hunt was an instinct every wolf possessed, it was one very well controlled. It had to be, because while wolves might be stronger and faster, the human population had always vastly outnumbered them.

  But just as there were humans who snapped the bonds of sanity and rationality to become killers, there were also wolves. Those wolves were the ones who hunted. And humans, with none of the natural cunning of a wolf's normal prey, were an easy target.

  Cade looked around. “If this was a blood killing, then it didn't happen here. There's no sign of a struggle. Denny might have been a kid in lust, but even he would have seen the frenzy come over her eventually."

  "Yes.” She hesitated, remembering the clairvoyant images. “But she did have a knife. She drove it through his spine."

  Cade's eyebrows rose, but he didn't comment as he rolled Denny onto his side. The knife wound was there, just as she'd seen.

  "The smell of the blood must have sent her into the frenzy,” he commented.

  Ronan walked up behind her and took some shots. “If this was a blood killing, why move the body and try to make it look like the others? It would have made more sense if she'd let us think this killing was unrelated. That alone suggests the frenzy wasn't all consuming."

  "There are some blood takers who learn to control it over time. Or at least long enough to get somewhere where they can't hunt humanity."

  "That still doesn
't explain this,” she said, waving a hand at the way Denny was positioned.

  Cade scratched his jaw, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe she was ordered to make Denny look like a ritual killing, but the frenzy started getting the better of her. Or maybe the approach of the hiker forced her to retreat or risk being discovered."

  "Either way,” Ronan said. “There's going to be DNA evidence, at least, on his body."

  "And it will be at wherever this murder actually happened.” She glanced up as rain began to sprinkle on them. The patch of sky visible through the trees was as black as coal. “That storm is about to hit. We'd better get looking. Ronan, you'd better wait for Steve."

  He nodded and handed her his spare camera. She and Cade rose and began a thorough search of the immediate area. When they found nothing, they broadened the search. About ten minutes later, the wind dropped, leaving the forest in an expectant hush—at least until the rain began to pelt down. The icy drops of moisture hit her hard, chilling her skin and slithering past her neck and down her spine. She shivered and flicked up the collar of her jacket, but it didn't seem to help much. The splats of water against the leaf-covered ground sounded as sharp as gunshots, and despite the cover of the tree canopy, the world had become gray.

  "Over here,” Cade called, his voice sounding close even if she couldn't see him through the trees and the wet gloom.

  She made her way toward the sound of his voice and found him squatting over a muddy footprint and a torn patch of ground just in front of a bunch of rocks that formed a small cave.

  She knew the cave. Most wolves who grew up in Ripple Creek did. Thanks to the council's views on the whole sex before marriage thing, it was often in places like this that teenage wolves first began exploring their sexuality. Certainly, she and Ronan had explored desire in a place very similar.

  Someone needed to oust her dad, she thought sourly, and start getting some common sense back into the community. Then maybe a kid like Denny wouldn't have been forced to use a place so perfect for his murder.

  "The struggle started inside the cave,” she said, her gaze following the scuff marks, “and continued out here."

  He nodded and pointed to an area where the soil was darker. “The amount of blood here indicates this might be were she tore at his genitals. I'll need to get a sample to be sure."

  She took some photos first, then handed him bags and gloves before heading into the cave. She paused in the entrance, allowing her eyes time to adjust before moving fully inside. There was more evidence of a fight here, though the drier soil failed to catch any worthwhile prints. There was no clothing, meaning Candy had come back here to clean up after being spooked by the hiker.

  Which definitely suggested the frenzy wasn't all-consuming. So did that mean Candy had become so accustomed to the attacks that she could, to some extent, control them?

  She didn't know. As far as she knew, they'd never had trouble with blood frenzies in Ripple Creek. Nor did they want it now. While the reservation didn't survive on the tourist dollar, there were some residents who did, and any attack by a wolf on a human tended to affect every reservation.

  She collected samples from several small areas of soil that looked darkened by fluid of some kind, carefully numbering and recording each one. As she rose to leave, a glint caught her eye. She walked over to the corner and brushed aside the dirt. The glint turned out to be a small, heart-shaped pendant.

  Exactly the same as the one Candy had been wearing.

  "Bingo,” she said softly, bagging the necklace and tagging the area before moving out of the cave.

  "What have you found?” Cade had moved to an area sheltered by overhanging rocks, but he looked around as she appeared.

  "A possible connection to Candy.” She showed him the necklace. “She was wearing one like this when I talked to her this morning."

  "It gives us a reason to pick her up, at least.” He rose. “I've found several pieces of human tissue scattered about, but not enough to cover what the boy is missing."

  God. Bile rose, and she closed her eyes, fighting it. “She's had more than enough time to clean up."

  "Maybe she didn't need to.” He cupped a hand to her cheek, and gently brushed his thumb across her rain-wet lips. “Have you ever seen a wolf in a frenzy?"

  "No, and it's not something I ever want to witness, thank you very much."

  "I have.” His dark eyes were distant. Troubled. “Five years ago. It took half a dozen of us to bring him down in the end, and none of us walked away unscathed.” He moved his hand and showed her his palm. For the first time, she noticed the pale, ragged scar stretching from one side to the other. “I was lucky. Some of them lost fingers, hands, and even whole arms. He tore and ate whatever he could get hold of."

  She swallowed back bile. “No wonder humans are scared of us."

  "Even wolves should fear those who are in a frenzy. Believe me, sanity has taken a back seat and blood and flesh is all they want. And they're not picky whose."

  Her phone rang, a shrill sound in the wet wildness of the storm. She started, her heart leaping into overdrive.

  Cade grinned, then leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her lips, his mouth like a furnace against hers. “Getting a little jumpy there, aren't you?"

  "Can you blame me?” She stepped back and answered the phone.

  It was Kel. “Just got a call from a couple doing the Fitness Freaks tour."

  Savannah ran a hand across her face. Fitness Freaks was a hiking group that regularly ran guided tours along the intermediate Red Mountain trail. Unfortunately, Kel just as regularly got rescue calls from hikers who weren't as fit as they thought they were. “Tell Marion I haven't got anyone to spare to come and pick up hikers who've changed their mind. Tell her this time they're going to have to walk back down."

  "This wasn't from Marion but from a couple of hikers who'd dropped a little behind. They said it sounds as if something is attacking the main group. There's a whole lot of screaming and snarling."

  Oh, fuck ... “I'll head there now. Call the paramedics out, too, Kel."

  She hung up and looked at Cade. “Sounds like Candy's still in the frenzy. There's a tour group being attacked not far from here."

  "Then we'd better get there. Fast."

  She nodded, slung the camera over her shoulder, and followed him back down the mountain. “Are we going to need help?"

  "Probably.” He had his phone out even as he answered her question.

  "What about tranquilizer darts?"

  "The last guy I mentioned? He took half a dozen darts and still managed to mutilate three people before he went down.” He paused to talk into the phone, rattling out commands in a sharp voice.

  Great. Just what they needed—to be going after a mad wolf armed only with darts that may have little or no effect.

  Ronan and Steve looked around as they came out of the trees.

  "What's up?” Ronan stood.

  "There's a tour group being attacked on the Red Mountain trail. We think it's Candy, so you'd better come with us.” She glanced at Steve. “You'd better stay here with the doc."

  "Hart, our forensics’ guy, is on his way here,” Cade said, as he shoved the phone back into his pocket. “Trista and Anton will meet us up there."

  "We can't afford to wait for them."

  Cade glanced at her. “No. You have those tranquilizer guns in your trucks?"

  "Yes."

  "Then let's go get the bitch."

  * * * *

  Despite the weather, the scent of blood seemed to hang in the air, thick and rich and ripe, which, Cade thought wearily, meant it was truly bad up ahead. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and half wished they could have done something, anything, to prevent this tragedy. Attacks like this didn't do the reservations any favors, especially since it was the human habit to blame all wolves for the actions of a few. They'd be paying for this for years, economically at least. Though Candy herself would pay with her life. There was no such thing as a second
chance for a wolf found guilty of murdering a human.

  He shut the truck door and flipped up the collar of his coat as he stared up the trail. There was no sound other than the howl of the wind and the smash of the rain against everything that stood in its path. Not even from the two white-faced women who emerged from the cover of several pines and ran towards them.

  The oldest of the two didn't stop until she'd hit him full on. He grunted in surprise and automatically wrapped his arms around her. Her entire body shook, and her skin was icy. The other woman stopped several paces away, a haunted, almost vacant look in her eyes. Exposure, combined with shock. Their first priority had to be getting them warm. He glanced at Savannah and raised an eyebrow. She nodded at his unasked question and moved back to the truck.

  "It's all right, Ma'am,” he said, briskly but gently rubbing the back of the woman hugging him so tight. “Can you tell me what happened?"

  "You've got to help them. Please.” Her voice was muffled by his chest and little more than a hoarse, shaky whisper.

  The strong scent of blood, and the fact that there was no screaming or howling coming from the trail ahead, suggested it was already far too late to help anyone up there. And he knew from past experience that it was better to sneak up on a wolf in a frenzy than to jump right in.

  He grimaced, and tried to keep his voice calm as he said, “Ma'am, we need to know what happened."

  "A big cream wolf just came out of nowhere and attacked us. It was crazy, just tearing and biting and ... oh God.” She started to cry softly.

  He gently squeezed her shoulder, feeling awkward and knowing such gestures offered little in the way of comfort. He doubted anything would right now. “How long has it been quiet?"

  "I don't know,” she said, alternating between hiccupping and crying. “Not long. A minute, maybe more. God, you've got to hurry. Please."

  She broke down completely, her sobs shaking her body and his. Savannah approached, wrapping a blanket around the woman's shoulders before gently prying her away. He couldn't help heaving a sigh of relief. He hated clingy women. Always had, which was probably why he'd fallen so hard for Savannah. He stopped the thought cold. Now was not the time for such things.