by Keri Arthur
“Tell me.”
She yawned, then said, “Betise’s hair salon. Had to
ask her some questions, remember?”
He’d forgotten he’d asked her to do that. “I didn’t order
you to go out in the middle of a snowstorm.”
He hooked his thumbs around the waist of her jeans
and panties and pushed them down. She stepped free then
flopped back onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo.
“Come here,” she said, patting the bed beside her.
He again resisted the desire to do just that. “Roll over
onto your left side.”
She raised her eyebrows and did as he asked.
“Planning a little side-on adventure, are we?”
“Maybe.” A doozey of a bruise was beginning to appear
on her rump, but there were no skin lacerations, and she
seemed to be moving her legs without flinching. He
carefully checked the rest of her, but could find no other
signs of injury. “Did you drink anything at Betise’s?”
She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about her.”
“Neither do I, believe me. Did you drink anything?”
“Coffee.” She reached up, grabbed his shirt and
dragged him close, green eyes dancing with devilment as
they searched his. “Kiss me.”
“Love to.” And he did. Long and slowly. Tasted her,
savored her, until he knew every inch of her mouth as
intimately as he knew the rest of her. When he finally
broke away, his breathing was harsh, and the desire to
take what she was so freely offering pounded through his
veins.
“How much coffee?” he asked hoarsely.
She gave him a vixen smile and trailed her fingers
down his chest. “Not even half a cup.”
If Betise had put something in the coffee, at least Neva
hadn’t taken all of it. She was probably safe from an
overdose, though he’d certainly have to keep an eye on
her for the next couple of hours. He flipped back the bed
covers. “Climb in. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
“I don’t want some hot chocolate.”
She brushed her fingers up and down the front of his
jeans, teasing, but not quite touching his erection, which
seemed to press even more painfully against the restriction
of the denim. A shudder ran through him. Right then, he
didn’t want any hot chocolate, either. He patted the pillow.
She sighed and climbed rather gracelessly under the
covers.
“Care to join me?”
“Yes. But later.” He tucked the blankets around her.
“Did Betise say anything of interest?”
The amusement fled her face, and her eyes searched
his. “She told me you were soul mates. She told me you
refused to acknowledge it.”
Anger flashed through him, warm and bright. The
woman was more delusional than he’d thought. He knelt
down beside Neva and touched a hand to her cheek. “Betise
is not my soul mate. We shared one dance, nothing more.”
He paused, staring into Neva’s beautiful eyes, trying to
make her believe him. Trying to make her see. “I have no
fear of acknowledging my soul mate.”
Tears touched the green depths, but she blinked them
away. “Then why—”
He put a finger against her lips. “I don’t know why.
And right now, I don’t care.” He hesitated. “What else did
she say?”
“She lied about my dad.”
That he’d discovered for himself. “And?”
“She gave me a brief description of the man who
attacked her. It’s no more than what we already know.”
No surprise there. He very much suspected Betise
hadn’t actually been attacked, but rather had been playing
a game in wolf form that got a little too rough for her
liking. Why else would she refuse to give them a proper
description? She must have seen her attacker—she had
scratches on her face. Scratches that had come from either
fingernails or claws, not teeth, like the other victims.
“Nothing else?”
She shook her head and yawned yet again.
“I’ll get the chocolate. You stay here.”
Her sigh followed him down the stairs. By the time
he’d made them both some hot chocolate and carried the
mugs back up the stairs, she was asleep.
He stopped in the middle of the room, his gaze on her
face, and his heart doing weird things in his chest. He
finally acknowledged what he’d known the minute her pain
had echoed through him and she’d begun siphoning his
strength. This was more than just the power of the moon
and the need for the dance. Far more.
He placed both mugs on the bedside table closest to
her, then tossed teddy bears off the nearby chair and
dragged it closer. Propping his feet on the bed, he picked
up a mug and sipped at the drink slowly as he let his gaze
rest on her serene and beautiful features.
He hadn’t lied to her. He had no fear of acknowledging
his soul mate.
What he feared more than anything else in the world
was that she would refuse to acknowledge him.
Eleven
There was a madman in her head. A madman with a
big hammer, continually bashing away at her skull. Neva
groaned softly and rolled onto her back. Pain flared in the
region of her rump and curled up her side.
The truck, she thought. Then she felt the caress of
cotton sheets against her skin and realized she was no
longer lying in the snow but in bed. Her bed, if the tang of
citrus in the air was anything to go by.
She opened her eyes and looked toward the window.
It was dark outside, and the storm no longer raged. Snow
continued to drift past the glass, the flakes briefly
glistening silver as the lamp near the window caught them
with its light. She reached out for her watch, wincing
slightly as her side protested the movement. It was six
o’clock. Four hours had slipped by. Four hours she
couldn’t remember.
Frowning slightly, she eased upright. Duncan had been
in her room, but not in her bed. The air carried his warm,
woody scent, but it didn’t linger on the sheets. Two cups
sat on the bedside table. She picked one up, sniffing it
lightly. Chocolate. She certainly couldn’t remember
drinking it.
Her last memory was of the blue truck swiping her
and sending her sprawling. She frowned, trying to reach
past the haze in her mind, sure something important had
happened between that point and now. Vague memories
of being stripped rolled through the fog in her mind,
followed by the flush of remembered passion. Yet, they
hadn’t danced. Of that she was certain.
Neva? Her sister’s voice winged into her mind, warm
but concerned. You okay?
I think so. She climbed out of bed and realized she
was completely naked when the warm air caressed her
skin as gently as a lover’s sigh. She grabbed her robe and
quickly put it on.
What happened last night? I tried contacting you,
but
you were off on another planet.
I’m not sure what happened. I got swiped by a truck
coming home from Betise’s and can’t remember much after
that. She hesitated at the top of the stairs. Though the
hall was dark, light peeked out from under the kitchen
door. If the delicious aroma beginning to drift upwards
was anything to go by, Duncan was cooking dinner.
Savannah’s sharp gasp echoed down the mental lines
between them, and Neva winced.
Are you okay? Why aren’t you in the hospital?
It barely touched me, and I didn’t want to go to the
emergency room. Not that she could actually remember
saying that. Have you arranged twenty-four seven
protection, like I asked?
Yes. And we pulled several hairs off that doctor’s coat
you found in the trash can. They match the hair we found
at two of the murder scenes.
Black hair?
Black hair, Savannah confirmed softly.
Neva sighed. No wonder her sister was so convinced it
was a Sinclair—they might not be able to lay sole claim to
the silver coat, but they were the only pack in Ripple Creek
with black hair. And while there were quite a few humans
living here who also had black hair, none of them would
get anywhere near the mansion during the phase of the
full moon let alone be able to overpower a wolf.
Then the murderer was definitely coming after you.
Maybe you were closer to something than you’d thought.
Maybe. Savannah’s doubt echoed down the line
between them. Tell me about the truck that hit you. I’ll
have Steve and Ronan look out for it.
Your deputies have more important things to do.
Besides, the storm was a bitch, and the driver probably
didn’t even see me. Yet she remembered the sound of
laughter and wondered if that was true.
He would have felt the bump as the truck hit you.
He didn’t hit me that hard, so I doubt it. She hesitated.
Have Mom and Dad been in to see you yet?
Yeah, and dad’s furious. He didn’t say anything, but I
think he knows you were up at the mansion. I’d avoid him
for the next couple of days and give him a chance to cool
down.
That would take weeks, not days. She rubbed a hand
across her eyes and turned tail, heading into the bathroom
to grab some painkillers. After she’d taken them, she told
her sister everything she’d learned over the last couple of
days. It didn’t take long, because she hadn’t really learned
that much.
I’ll send Ronan over to Betise’s place. I wish the damn
fool had reported the attack immediately. We might have
been able to pull some connecting evidence off her gown.
She hesitated. If you’re right about lovers being the targets,
we’ll have to convince the brothers to give us a list and
arrange protection.
I suspect that’s now being handled within the pack.
Probably. And just so you know, we’ve got a warrant
to search the Sinclair mansion, and we’ll be requesting
hair samples from everyone who’s there. You’d better make
sure you stay away tonight and tomorrow.
I can tell you now it wasn’t René behind the last attack,
and it certainly wasn’t Duncan.
I’m not saying it’s one of Zeke’s get.
No, she wasn’t. But she wasn’t really considering
anyone else, either, and Neva had a suspicion they were
all playing into the murderer’s game-plan, whatever that
plan was.
Give me a reason to suspect someone else and I will,
Savannah chided. Right now, I can only work with what
I’ve got.
She could remember a time when Savannah had
worked with nothing more than guesswork and intuition.
But all that had changed after she’d come home from an
extended break five years ago. Neva wondered again what
exactly had happened to so completely change her sister’s
method of policing, but now was not the time to ask.
I hope you’re not planning to be up at the mansion
running the whole shebang.
Savannah’s mental snort was derisive. Goddamn
doctors won’t let me get out of bed. Threatened to tie me
down if I tried to leave. I should have the lot of them thrown
in jail and see how they like being confined.
Neva grinned, though she could easily imagine her
sister following through with her threat. You need to rest,
Sav. Push it in a couple of days, when you’re feeling
stronger.
Savannah sighed. I guess you’re the one person I can’t
lie to.
Exactly. If I uncover any other information, I’ll tell you.
In the meantime, catch some sleep. And make sure Steve
checks who’s coming in and out of the room rather than
flirting with that pretty young nurse.
How did you know it was Steve at the door?
Elementary, my dear. You said you’d send Ronan out
to Betise’s. Bodee is usually home by now looking after
the kids, and you can’t stand Ike. That leaves Steve.
Ike’s got the midnight shift, Savannah grumbled. I told
the nurse if he so much as twitches my way, she’s to beat
him over the head.
Neva’s grin grew. It was a well-known fact that Ike
had been lusting after her sister ever since his transfer to
Ripple Creek. He was nice, in a boring sort of way, and
just the sort of man their parents would approve of.
Savannah’s method of dealing with his lust was to simply
ignore it, but all that seemed to have done was inflame
his determination.
I have no intention of ever again mixing business with
pleasure, Savannah said. And no, I’m not going to explain
that statement right now.
Damn.
The warmth of her sister’s smile spun through her.
Remember, don’t go near the mansion tonight. I’ll talk to
you later.
Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Or Ike, as the case may be.
Savannah made the mental equivalent of a rude
gesture and closed down the link. Still grinning, Neva made
her way down the stairs.
Duncan looked around as she entered, and she noted
his shutters were back in place. Odd. For some reason,
she’d half expected to see them gone. What on earth had
happened between them last night? What couldn’t she
remember that she should remember?
“Hope you like pumpkin risotto.” His voice was neutral,
almost careful, but his gaze swept down her body—a
heated touch that wasn’t, and one that left her tingling all
over.
“Never tried it.” She walked over to the drawer to grab
some cutlery to set the table. The silk of her gown caressed
her skin as enticingly as a kiss, and suddenly she was all
too aware of the amount of flesh she was exposing as she
walked and that she wore nothing beneath it.
His quick intake of breath suggested he was just as
aware of that fact. “Then you haven’t lived.”
No, she hadn’t. No
t until she’d stepped into his world
and had been forced to acknowledge the wolf within. A
wolf she no longer wanted to keep fully leashed. Not when
he was around, anyway.
She set the table then walked over to the refrigerator.
“You have the fine choice of soda, homemade lemonade
or water.”
“I’ll chance the lemonade.”
“A wise choice. The soda’s open and probably flat.”
She poured them both a drink then sat down as he brought
over the two bowls of creamy rice. She picked up her fork
and tasted a bit. “Hmmm,” she murmured appreciably.
“Delicious. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
He shrugged. “I got bored cooking steak and eggs every
night for dinner, so I bought myself some cookbooks.”
“What, no scrumptious little wolf hanging around to
cook for you?”
He studied her for a moment, expression totally
unreadable. “Occasionally,” he said after a moment. “But
mostly I was alone.”
She picked up her glass and took a sip as she
considered him. His mood was restrained, subdued almost,
and yet there was an undercurrent she couldn’t quite pin
down. And like her, he had his shields fully up, which
was really no surprise, given what she’d done to him
earlier.
Speaking of which... “Why did you really say those
things about my parents? Especially if you knew they had
no bearing on the case?”
“I still don’t know if your mother’s past has any bearing
on this case. I suspect it might, though I don’t think your
mother is actually involved.”
That wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been searching
for. “How would an attack on the Bitterroot Sinclairs over
thirty years ago be connected to the murders happening
here now?”
“When I discover the connection, I suspect I’ll discover
the murderer.” He hesitated. “How are you feeling this
morning?”
She had a suspicion the question wasn’t asked out of
concern for her health, but rather something else. “I’ve
got the mother of all headaches and a sore butt, but other
than that, I’m fine. Why?”
“Are you up to a little breaking and entering?”
Her heart skipped then began to race. “Where?”
“Betise’s hair salon.”
Surprise flitted through her. “Why?”
“Because I suspect she slipped some sort of sleeping
