Beneath a Rising Moon

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,