by Keri Arthur
where he’d first danced with Neva. He didn’t hear anyone
else speeding through the night, neither ahead nor behind
them—undoubtedly thanks to the wind blowing the sound
of the wolf’s screams away from the ballrooms. Of that he
was glad. Right now, they didn’t need an audience, and
they certainly didn’t need any more rumors circulating
around Ripple Creek.
The sound of soft sobbing broke through the night.
He couldn’t smell the presence of another male, only a
female. She was a hint of musk and sourness on the icy
wind—an odd, unpleasant aroma, and one that stirred
memories. He’d danced with a wolf who’d smelled like that,
though it was a long time ago, back in the hellion days of
his youth.
The old pavilion came into sight, and he slowed. Neva
wrenched her hand from his, but he caught her again
before she could run ahead.
“If this is another attack by the murderer,” he said,
before she could speak the rebuke he could see in her
expressive eyes, “then racing blindly into the situation
might well destroy any clues.”
Not that he really thought there’d be any to find. Even
this close, he couldn’t sense the presence of another wolf.
Only the female, though as they walked closer, it became
obvious she’d danced many times over the night. The scent
of many males stung her skin, and that in itself did match
previous attacks.
They found her sitting on the pavilion’s floor, huddled
next to a seat wrapped in shadows. She was willowy and
blonde, reminding him of the wolf he’d seen his brother
dancing with when he and Neva had first walked into the
ballroom.
She looked up. There were tears in her eyes, and the
hard planes of her face were gouged and bloody. The arms
she had wrapped around her drawn up knees were littered
with bite marks. Marks made by a wolf with huge jaws.
Neva made a strangled sound, then she tore herself
free of his grasp and went to the older wolf, kneeling down
beside her.
“By the moon’s light, Betise, what happened?”
“I was supposed to meet someone here, but he was
late.” The older wolf’s voice was little more than a broken
whisper, but one that grated against his nerves. And he
couldn’t say why—it certainly wasn’t all that unpleasant.
“Another wolf came out of the shadows...and he...he...”
If another male had been here, why couldn’t he smell
him? “Where did he go?” he asked, voice clipped.
The look Neva gave him was dark. “Does it matter right
now? Why don’t you give Betise some comfort—”
The older wolf placed a hand on Neva’s arm, silencing
her. “The last I saw of him, he was heading for the main
gates.”
“Stay here, both of you.”
He spun and shifted shape, running swiftly for the
main gate. The air was fresh and cold, the wind stronger.
He might have thought it possible that the weather had
blown away all aroma of the attacker, except for the fact
that the tang of balsam still rode the air, as did the flowery
scent of several females who’d obviously passed through
the gates recently.
Betise had obviously been attacked, but by whom?
And if the attacker hadn’t retreated this way, where had
he gone? Was Betise lying to protect him, or had she been
too confused and terrified to truly notice which way her
attacker had fled?
He suspected it was the former, though why he felt
this, he had no idea. But he’d learned long ago to trust
his instincts. Over the years, they’d gotten him out of more
trouble than he could remember.
Neva glanced up as he entered the pavilion again, the
rich and exotic mint of her eyes making the older wolf’s
seem almost silver in comparison.
“Do you have a doctor in this place?”
The scorn evident on the word place more than
emphasized her thoughts about the mansion, which only
confirmed his suspicion that she was here to watch him,
not dance.
“Yes.”
He squatted down beside her. The sunshiny, slightly
citrus scent of her spun around him, thankfully
overwhelming the other wolf’s unpleasant, very used smell.
He couldn’t really remember dancing with her, and it was
only the familiarity of her scent that told him he had.
Looking at her now, he had to wonder what had attracted
him. Beyond her hair, there was nothing even remotely
pretty about her, though that probably wouldn’t have
mattered when he was younger. A lust for alcohol and a
willing bit of tail was all he’d been interested in for more
years than he cared to remember.
“Can you describe the wolf who attacked you?”
She shuddered. “He was big...and silver-coated.”
So was the murderer, apparently, but that in itself
wasn’t much of a link. There were plenty of big silver wolves
in the mansion—a whole pack of them, in fact.
“And you didn’t recognize him?”
Betise shook her head, but something flickered in her
pale eyes, and he knew she was lying. Was she trying to
protect her attacker, or did she have other motives. He
intended to find out, and maybe he could use Neva’s
apparent friendship with this wolf to do that.
“Duncan, enough.” Neva’s voice was sharp. “She needs
medical attention.”
She did, though he suspected her wounds were not as
bad as they looked. “Can you walk?”
Neva’s expression got darker. “Of course she can’t.
Carry her, for moon’s sake.”
The last thing he wanted was this wolf’s scent on him
again. He frowned and suddenly wished he could
remember what had happened between them all those
years ago. At the very least, he could then warn René to
be wary of her—something he might do anyway.
“Her legs aren’t injured from what I can see,” he said
coldly. “I’ll go find the doctor. You help her to the study.
She knows where it is.”
“Bastard,” he heard Neva mutter as he walked away.
He smiled grimly. He was all that and more—and would
continue to be that way for as long as this murderer was
loose.
He strode past the rows of wind-tossed aspen and pine.
As he got closer to the ballroom, the music began to seep
through his blood again, and need rose. He ignored it,
but he wondered if that was going to be at all possible in
the coming nights.
He might have practiced restraint over the last ten
years, but coming back to the mansion seemed to have
loosened the control he had over his old habits. Part of
him ached to celebrate the rising of the moon as he had in
the past—to drink himself senseless and lose himself in
the pleasure of a female’s body, over and over and over.
Only right now, it wasn’t any female he hungered for but
one w
ith dark golden hair and leaf green eyes.
It was a need that was more than a little worrying. If
she wasn’t in jail by the time this was all over, then she’d
certainly hate him more than she already did. It would be
the mother of all ironies if, for the first time in his life,
he’d actually found a woman he wanted to spend more
than one moon dance with, and she couldn’t even stand
the sight of him.
Though undoubtedly fate would probably think it a
fitting retribution for his youthful unthinking and uncaring
behavior.
He walked into the ballroom, and the heat and the
smell of sex hit him like a punch to the gut. He took a
deep breath, half thinking of grabbing the nearest free
female to mate with, if only to ease the sharpness of the
moon-spun pain. He resisted the temptation and swept
his gaze across the rutting, sweating crowd. His father
and Tye were nowhere to be seen, but René and Kane
were both still here. After a second, he saw the doctor
heading out another side exit.
He pushed through the crowd. The associated scents
and sounds of lovemaking flushed heat across his skin,
and though he’d made love to Neva less than ten minutes
ago, he wanted her with a fierceness that made it difficult
to concentrate.
His father’s warning ran through his mind. He would
indeed have to watch the bait, or he really could end up
getting hooked.
He caught the doctor heading for the stairs leading to
the wing housing staff and guestrooms.
“Hey, Duncan,” Martin said with a smile. “Long time
no see.”
“Certainly has been.” In his heyday, Martin had been
responsible for the delivery of most of the Sinclair cubs,
but failing health and the odd, often long, hours of
obstetrics had forced him to retire just before Duncan had
left ten years ago. These days, he did little more than
ensure all male wolves attending the dance received the
injection that kept their fertility under control. Wolves
might only be fertile during the week running up to the
full moon, but given the number of partners many had,
Ripple Creek would quickly be overrun with cubs if he
didn’t.
And while the presence of werewolves might be
tolerated in the human world, human tolerance only went
so far. Ripple Creek had survived where many other
reservations had failed, simply because they kept their
numbers under tight control and didn’t push the
boundaries.
“I need you to do me a favor, Doc,” he said.
The old wolf raised a bushy white eyebrow. “What?”
“A female’s been attacked in the pavilion. She claims
she didn’t know her attacker, but I think she’s lying. I’d
like you to clean her wounds and, in the process, see if
you can grab a sample of saliva from them.” He hesitated,
then added on impulse, “and perhaps sneak a sample of
whatever lies under her nails.”
“A tall order.” Martin hesitated, dark eyes worried. “Is
this attack linked to the recent murders?”
“In some ways, it’s similar, but we can’t be sure.”
“And you’re not calling the rangers?”
“I can’t see the point, but if she wants to, we will.”
Though he very much doubted she would.
Martin nodded. “What do you want me to do with these
samples?”
He hesitated. His boss, Dave, had offered the use of
his contacts, and it was possible those contacts included
someone in the labs. “Keep them secure until I can arrange
for them to be tested.”
“I’ll just go get my medical kit. Where is she now?”
“I’ve put her in the study.”
“Is she bad? If so, it might be better if she heads into
the hospital—”
“Just scratches and a few bite marks on her arm.”
The old wolf nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”
Duncan spun on his heel and headed for the study.
Once the doc arrived, he’d have to keep Neva out of the
way just so she didn’t see Martin taking samples. If Betise
had been attacked by the killer, then the last thing he
wanted was Neva running back reporting to whoever had
set her on him.
Both women jumped when he thrust open the study
door. Neva stood, her expression hostile. But her gaze
slithered down his body, and awareness flashed between
them.
An awareness her clenched fists suggested she was
fighting. “Where’s the doctor?”
“On his way.” He glanced at Betise. The older wolf
was lying on the sofa, eyes closed and breathing even, but
he could feel the tension in her. Feel the anger. “We’ve
danced, haven’t we?”
The smile that tugged her thin lips was bitter. “Yes,”
she said, not opening her eyes. “We have.”
“I don’t remember.”
Neva gasped softly. Do you really enjoy being such a
callous bastard?
Neva’s thoughts were acrid and filled with anger.
Obviously, Neva knew a whole lot more than he
remembered. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. It’s
nothing more than the truth.
He’d had so many women since his first moon dance,
how could he possibly be expected to remember his time
with every one? That he recalled this wolf’s scent was a
miracle in itself.
You were with her for a year. Surely that in itself would
be a momentous enough event for a womanizer like yourself
to recall.
He’d never been with any wolf longer than the period
of one moon dance. Had never wanted to be, especially in
his youth. If she told you that, she lied.
A sound not unlike a disbelieving snort ran through
his mind. Or you’re lying, for whatever sordid reason you
might have.
I may be many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He
hesitated, then added harshly. Shame you can’t say the
same thing, isn’t it?
She blushed, but she held his gaze almost defiantly. I
haven’t lied to you.
She was lying now. Then tell me why you came to the
mansion.
To try the moon dance.
And?
I’m regretting every damn minute of it.
That, at least, was a truth, and one he did regret. It’s
a shame you’ve got four more nights to go, little wolf. Rest
assured I aim to enjoy every one of them.
Bastard, she said again.
He smiled grimly and switched his gaze back to Betise.
“When, exactly, did we meet?” Not that he really cared.
He was just puzzled as to why she’d bother lying.
“You were twenty-two.”
Which was a year before he’d left to go to Denver and
had ended up in jail while the police sorted out the mess
of his accident. While it hadn’t been one of his more sober
years, he was sure he’d remember having a semipermanent
mate. He’d never been like his brothers in that respect—
he�
�d never made half promises to the women he mated.
Even back in his hellion days, he’d been honest enough
to admit he was after nothing more than a good time, and
those he was with always knew that. So why this woman
believed he’d believe they’d been together more than one
moon dance was beyond him. Unless she thought he’d
been so drunk he wouldn’t even remember.
Even so, what would it gain her?
“And we were together how long?”
She hesitated. “Nearly the whole year.”
No way. He couldn’t stand this woman’s scent. Maybe
drunk he wouldn’t have cared so much, but even so, they
couldn’t have been together an entire year without him at
least remembering some part of it. He’d never been that
drunk. And he could recall most of the year—just not her
part of it, which to him implied she’d never played a major
part.
“Sorry, but I have no memory of you or our time
together.”
Moons, you’re such a cold—
Yeah, he cut in, oddly annoyed at Neva’s insistence at
believing her friend rather than him. I know what I am.
What I don’t know yet is what you are.
The door behind him opened, and Martin stepped
inside. “Ah, nasty wounds you have there, young lady.”
Betise’s smile held the first true hint of warmth Duncan
had seen, but it did little to wipe the hardness from her
face.
“I hardly think I can be called young anymore.”
Martin smiled as he placed his medical bag on the
table and opened it up. Duncan noted the small, empty
vials inside. “Compared to me, you’re little more than a
pup.”
Duncan glanced at Neva. “Why don’t you and I move
out to the balcony while the doctor looks after Betise?” He
made it an order, using the power of the moon bond to
force her into obedience.
Her eyes flashed and her fists clenched, but she had
no option other than obeying. She spun and all but
stomped out the French doors.
He followed her. She didn’t go far, stopping to the left
of the doorway. She crossed her arms and glared at him.
You’d better keep those shields of yours well up, because
the minute you lower them, you’ll pay.
Then he’d better make sure he did something worthy
of the pain she planned to inflict. He continued to advance
on her. Her face went pale, and she held out a hand,
