by Keri Arthur
pressing it against his chest. “Don’t.”
He stopped, took her hand from his chest and lightly
kissed her fingers. “Don’t what?”
“You know what.” Her soft voice was a mix of
breathlessness and scorn. “We can’t, not with Betise this
close.”
“I don’t particularly care about Betise. Never have.”
Her gaze searched his, then she shook her head. “How
can you say that?”
“Easily. I open my mouth, and the words come out.”
“You haven’t got a heart in that chest of yours, have
you?”
“I certainly haven’t discovered one yet. Take off your
dress.”
Anger ran around him. “No.” She wrenched her hand
from his and crossed her arms.
He raised an eyebrow and reached for the power of
the moon again. She swore softly and vehemently, and
amusement swam through him. “And I thought the golden
tribe were such gentle souls.”
“We are, generally. Must be the company I’ve been
keeping of late.” She threw her dress on the ground then
crossed her arms again.
The moon caressed her golden skin, and her nipples
were taut with cold and arousal. He was as hard as hell
and wanted nothing more than to take her right there
and then. But that’s exactly what she expected him to do,
so it was the one thing he couldn’t.
He reached out, gently running a finger across her
breasts. She trembled under his touch, swallowing heavily.
Hate and desire warred in the emotive swirl that briefly
surrounded them both.
“How well do you know Betise?”
Surprise flickered briefly in her eyes. “She’s a regular
customer at the diner. Been going there for years.”
“Uncross your arms.” He made it an order, and she
bit her lip, her knuckles whitening as she battled the
command. It was a battle she had no hope of winning.
“So it’s a casual thing, not true friendship?” he added,
running his finger to the center of one breast and slowly
circling the engorged point. Goose bumps fled across her
skin, and the smell of her arousal was rich and sweet on
the strengthening wind.
“Yes,” she said, voice breathy, eyes angry.
“Why aren’t you afraid that she’ll report your presence
here to your parents?”
She snorted softly. “Betise hates my parents. They’re
against the moon dance, against everything the mansion
stands for.”
Which made Neva’s decision to come here all the more
suspicious. “But what about other friends? Might she not
mention it to them?”
She hesitated, and fear flickered through her pretty
eyes. “Maybe.”
“Then why didn’t you avoid her?”
“Maybe I was just so desperate to see a friendly face.”
He shifted his touch to her other breast. She trembled,
her skin flushed and hot under his fingertips. “And maybe
you had some information for her to pass on.”
She frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking
about.”
He sensed no lie in her words. Whatever the reason
for Neva being here, Betise wasn’t a part of it. He reached
for the moon power again then said, I want you to question
her about her attacker, and I want you to report every word
back to me, and only me.
And by using the moon power, he’d ensure she couldn’t
go running back to her employer with any information
Betise might give her.
Her eyes practically spat fire. He smiled and slid his
hand down her stomach. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m a
bastard.”
He gently delved the golden triangle of curls. Lord,
she was so hot, so moist. He probed deeper, sliding through
her slickness, until her muscles pulsed around one finger,
then two. Her whole body quivered, and the smell of her
need stung his senses, testing his strength, his will. He
wanted her every bit as badly, but right now the need to
push her into revealing what she knew and who employed
her to watch him was stronger than the need to dance
with her.
Though he wasn’t entirely sure it would remain that
way.
He kept stroking her, until her skin was flushed with
heat and the fine sweat of desire, and the tremors in her
body indicated she was close to the edge.
At that moment, he withdrew his touch and stepped
away.
Heat climbed into her cheeks, and she clenched her
fists. “Why are you doing this to me?”
His smile was tight. In many respects, he was
punishing himself as much as her. “Anticipation is half
the pleasure.”
“Believe me, it’s not.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should see.”
She studied him warily—an aching, golden angel he
desperately wanted to lose himself in.
“What do you mean?”
“Go up to my room and climb into bed. You will wait
there until I return, and go nowhere else until then.”
He made it a command, and she swore again. Her
eyes narrowed slightly, and he hastily raised his shields
to full. Even so, the trickle of fury that got through nearly
blasted his mind. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said he’d
have to watch himself. With that sort of power, she’d
probably be able to fry his brain.
“That could get awfully damn messy if I have to go
pee,” she muttered eventually.
“You can go to the bathroom. Nowhere else.”
“Isn’t that so goddamn generous of you?”
“Go,” he ordered. “Now.”
She picked up her dress and stomped down the stairs.
He watched her until she’d fled around the corner,
clenching his fists against the desire to go after her. Right
now, he had more important matters to tend to. Satisfying
his lust could wait.
He went back into the study. Martin glanced up and
gave a small nod, and Duncan relaxed a little. He looked
at Betise. As he’d guessed, her wounds were not as serious
as they’d looked.
“Are you staying for the remainder of the night’s dance
or going home?”
“Going home.” She arched an eyebrow, and her voice
became little more than a husky whisper as she added,
“Are you offering to escort me?”
He hesitated, but knew in reality he had little choice.
Not if she had been attacked by the murderer. “Yes.”
A smile touched her thin lips, and the smell of her
desire stirred the room—but not him. Neva’s scent clung
to him, and it was her he wanted, not this well-used dancer
who claimed to have some sort of past with him.
Her gaze switched to Martin. “Thanks, Doctor.”
The old wolf nodded. “You’re most welcome. Duncan,
I’ll talk to you later about that other matter.”
He nodded. Betise raised an eyebrow as she climbed
off the sofa. “Other matter?”
“Pack business,” he said flatl
y. “Are you changing
before you leave?”
Her fingers toyed with the gauzy material of her gown,
drawing his gaze down her body. She was very shapely,
but these days it took more than just a well endowed body
to catch his interest, though Neva had captured him with
little more than a wistful thought.
“I can’t see the point,” she said huskily. “Not when I
plan to come back tomorrow night.”
“Fine. Let’s go.” He pressed his fingers to her back,
ushering her out the door. Once outside, he dropped his
hand and ensured there was plenty of distance between
them.
She noticed. “I won’t bite,” she said softly. “Not unless
you want me to.”
He didn’t even glance at her. There was nothing about
this wolf that attracted him, and nothing he wanted from
her. Which was odd, given the hunger that boiled through
his blood.
“I don’t want you.” He kept his voice harsh and flat to
leave her in no doubt as to his feelings, and he felt rather
than saw her gaze slide down his body. It was a touch of
heat that left him itchy.
“Your body suggests otherwise,” she said.
They walked past the pavilion, heading for the main
gate, and he briefly wished Ripple Creek was a little closer.
He had no desire to be in this wolf’s company any longer
than necessary. “My body does little more than react to
the power of the moon. Believe me, it’s not you I want.”
“Neva.”
She practically spat the words, and he frowned. “Neva
is nothing more than another dancer I’m spending time
with this moon cycle, and she certainly has nothing to do
with my lack of desire for you.”
They passed through the main gates and headed for
the trees. He paused, allowing her to go first down the
narrow path.
“You have changed your tune over the years, haven’t
you?” she growled. “There was a time when the opposite
was true.”
“You and I both know we did little more than share
one dance,” he bit back. “And I’d like to know what you
think to gain by stating otherwise.”
She glanced back at him, pale eyes gleaming with fury.
“We shared more than one dance.”
They hadn’t. He was more positive of that than ever.
But why was she so adamant that they had? “Either way,
it doesn’t matter. The past is something I have no wish to
relive.”
She snorted. “You’re as bad as your bastard brother.”
He smiled grimly. “Which one? I have three.”
She hesitated. “René. You all make promises in the
heat of moon passion, but when the sanity of the sun
returns, you renege.”
He very much doubted that René had made any
promises. His brother enjoyed his freedom and the dance
far too much. Still, at least it was one thing he could check.
René didn’t drink and would certainly remember what he
had—and hadn’t—said. “I take it that you’ve danced with
Tye and Kane as well?”
Her voice was bitter as she all but spat, “Who hasn’t?”
She had a point. None of them were exactly reluctant
when it came to enjoying the pleasures of the moon dance,
though it was unusual for all four of them to have mated
with the same dancer. Their tastes in women were very
different.
“So you’re not exactly sorry that the Sinclairs are in
trouble at the moment?”
“Oh, I’m sorry all right—sorry the murderer is taking
out innocent dancers rather than you lying pack of
bastards.”
He smiled grimly. Must be his night for being called a
bastard. They walked through the remainder of the trees
in silence, and the lights of Ripple Creek eventually came
into sight. The town was quiet, which didn’t surprise him,
given the somewhat puritanical hold the golden tribe had
on the place. Those who truly wanted to celebrate the glory
of the moon did so in private or at the mansion.
Betise lived in a small, somewhat rundown house on
the outskirts of town. He walked her to the front gate then
stopped.
She swung around. “You’re not coming in?”
The heat was back in her eyes, the smell of her arousal
thick and heavy on the air. Yet two minutes ago, she’d
been wishing him dead.
“I have no desire for you,” he repeated.
She caught his arm and stepped close, wantonly
pressing her body against his. “A wolf with experience
can give you far more pleasure than an uptight bit of fluff
like Neva.”
Anger surged through him. Neva was more wolf than
this bitch would ever be. He grabbed her shoulders and
none too gently pushed her backwards. “Go inside and
lock your door. And if I hear you’ve mentioned Neva’s
presence at the mansion, I’ll ensure you never again attend
another moon dance.” And for a wolf so hooked on the
pleasures of the moon, that was a threat worse than death
itself.
Her pale eyes glittered silver in the night, and for an
instant, it seemed sanity had fled their depths and all
that was left was hate.
“Bastard,” she muttered.
“So I keep getting told.”
She spun and walked away, but halfway up the path,
she hesitated and looked over her shoulder.
“There’s something you should know. Three weeks ago,
Levon Grant pulled me aside in the diner and began asking
questions about who was dancing with whom up at the
mansion.”
Shock rippled through him. Neva’s father had been
asking about the mansion? Why? While it was obvious
Levon Grant had no liking for the dance, he’d never been
one of those who spoke out against it, either. Duncan had
been under the impression that while Levon might hate
what the dance represented, he also understood that the
mansion provided a secure outlet for the moon-spun urges
and kept Ripple Creek safe for human and werewolf alike.
But maybe he’d been wrong all along. Maybe Levon
had just been waiting for the right opportunity to take
matters into his own hands.
But if that were the case, why was Neva at the
mansion? Would a wolf so against the mansion’s moon
dance force his daughter to join them?
Given what he’d seen of the man, he doubted it. And
yet, the niggle was there. He couldn’t say for certain, and
that was worrying. Maybe he was being played more than
he realized.
“You’d better watch what you do over the next couple
of days, wolf.” Betise’s cold words seemed to echo his
thoughts. “It might just turn out that you’re dancing with
the murderer’s not-so-sweet accomplice.”
Seven
Duncan rapped his knuckles against the wooden door
leading into his father’s suite, then entered without being
asked. Zeke wasn’t in the main room, but he could hear
&nb
sp; soft voices in the bedroom. He strode over to the bar and
poured himself a large bourbon. A habit he’d have to watch,
he realized, even as the liquid burned down his throat.
The last thing he wanted was a return to the bad old days.
He leaned against the bar and listened to the murmurs
of conversation in the other room. While he couldn’t hear
many words, one thing was obvious. His father’s source
was female, not male.
A cold breeze whistled around his ankles, indicating
the French doors had been opened. Two seconds later his
father entered the room, wearing little more than a black
silk robe.
“No wonder you didn’t want me appearing before five,”
Duncan noted dryly. “You knew you’d be busy paying off
the messenger.”
Zeke smiled and didn’t refute the accusation. He
poured himself a drink, then slapped a folder on the bar.
“There’s the report. There don’t seem to be any variances
from the other attacks.”
“Did they find any more coat hair?”
“Other than that one you saw, no. But one hair is all
they need to place a suspect at the scene.”
“If they had a suspect.”
“True.” Zeke paused and took a drink. “My source did
drop one interesting revelation that’s not in the reports.”
“What?”
“While the coroner’s report couldn’t confirm whether
sexual penetration had occurred during the attack, the
rangers themselves believe none of the women were raped.
They believe it’s only being made to look like they were.”
If that were the case, the murderer was damn good at
make believe. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
“You might as well ask me why the murderer is
targeting these women,” Zeke replied dryly. “When we
know why, we’ll find our killer.”
Duncan glanced down at his drink for a moment.
“What do you know about a wolf named Betise?”
His father’s lip curled. “She’s a dance addict and has
been well-used over the years. I’ve never danced with her,
but I believe René and Kane both have. And you.” Zeke
hesitated, dark eyes glinting with sudden amusement. “But
then, you did have a reputation to live up to.”
He grimaced. There was no use regretting his past,
and there was certainly nothing he could do to change it.
“She was claiming tonight that we were an item for nearly
