pleasure her more fully.
A howl sang through the night, the cry of a wolf in
trouble. But not just any wolf. His brother.
What? He broke off the kiss and stepped back. The
night was silent for several seconds, then the howl came
again. A long, demanding note.
René was either out of range, or simply too angry to
hear any mind contact.
“Trouble?” She rubbed her arms, her eyes haunted,
sad.
He touched a hand to her cheek and wondered what
she sensed. Even though he could feel only anger, the
golden wolves were powerful telepaths. She was probably
picking up a whole lot more than he—but she wasn’t from
his tribe. He had no right, no desire, to involve her in any
way. Even when it came to something as simple as a
question.
“I’m afraid so. Will you wait here, or would you prefer
to go to my rooms?”
She hesitated, and her reluctance washed around him.
She didn’t want to face the moon-hungry pack again, and
of that he was fiercely glad. He wasn’t in the mood to fight
tonight, though he would if another tried to usurp his
claim on her.
“Here.”
He touched her lips, outlining their kiss-swollen
sweetness. “I won’t be long.”
She nodded, her gaze searching his, green depths filled
with uncertain wariness. “Be careful.”
He raised an eyebrow, but again restrained the urge
to ask what she sensed and called instead to the wildness
within him. His body became liquid, flowing from one
shape to another, then he was on all fours and running
through the trees.
He found René just outside the main gates. At his
brother’s feet lay the mangled, bloody remains of what
once had been a woman.
Two
The minute he left the shuddering began. Neva slid
down the wall, hugging her knees close to her chest, taking
deep, careful breaths. It didn’t help the churning in her
stomach. Didn’t help the deep sense of loathing coursing
through her.
Everything she’d believed in, everything she’d been
taught, had simply slipped away under the raging of the
moon and the smooth skill of his hands. And he’d proven
her as wanton as any of those in the hall below, despite
the high ideals she’d spouted half her life.
A sob tore up her throat, followed quickly by bile. She
scrambled to her feet and raced out to the nearest tree,
where she lost what little she’d eaten for dinner.
When there was nothing left to lose, she made her
way back to the pavilion and sat on the steps.
Moons, what was she going to do?
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the
wall. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the whole episode
had been nothing more than a quick, heated mating in
which there’d been little pleasure. That was all she’d been
expecting, and something she could have survived. But
this man’s touch was like no other—his caress sang across
her skin, his kiss seared her mind. And his scent invaded
every pore, claiming her just as surely as his body had.
Lord, even thinking about him made her ache. And it
was that fact, more than anything, that frightened her.
Duncan Sinclair was the wildest of the wild. His
ferocious appetite for women and sex was renowned
through all the packs—a fact she’d been well aware of
when she had set out to seduce him. But she simply hadn’t
expected her own intense reaction to the man. Her cheeks
flamed as she remembered the way she pressed against
his hand, wanting, seeking, so much more than just his
fingers. She’d howled in pleasure when he’d thrust into
her, for moon’s sake. Howled. She, who’d once sworn to
give no wolf the satisfaction of her cries until she met the
one destined to be her life mate.
Duncan wasn’t that. Could never be that. By all
accounts, the longest he’d ever stayed with a mate was
one phase of the moon—which was the second major
reason she’d chosen him. A phase gave her enough time
to hunt down a killer then get out.
But after one, all–too-brief dance, she very much
suspected she wouldn’t want to leave after a week of his
caresses. A chill ran down her spine. What if she become
so addicted to the fever of his touch that she came back,
night after night, hungering for something he would no
longer give? What if she became just another rabid seeker
of pleasure, like so many others in the hall below?
She took a deep breath and tried to calm the frantic
direction of her thoughts. One night of pleasure—or two
or three—would not make her a slave of the moon. She
was stronger than that. It was stupid to believe the touch
of any man could so totally destroy her beliefs in such a
short space of time—no matter how good that man’s touch
was. Her fear, her uncertainty, were little more than the
shock of discovering she was as capable of yielding to the
wanton fever of the moon as anyone else here tonight.
It didn’t mean anything. Not unless she let her fear
and vague sense of humiliation override common sense.
She’d come here to do one thing—to find and destroy
the man who had attacked her sister. As long as she kept
that goal uppermost in her mind, she could survive
anything.
Even Duncan’s touch.
She pushed to her feet, retrieving her gown and quickly
donning it. Though it hid little, it at least offered the illusion
of clothing. Better than running around naked—especially
if she came across another hunter in the forest.
She couldn’t risk using telepathy, simply because
skimming the mind of a hunter like Duncan was dangerous
when she had secrets of her own to keep. She turned and
followed his scent through the trees. That howl had come
from near the main gate—and it had been filled with
anguish and anger.
Something bad had happened, and she had every
intention of finding out what.
***
Duncan shifted shape and came to a halt three feet
from the bloody corpse. The victim was on her back near
a melting drift of snow, a look of horror forever etched on
what remained of her face. Her throat had been torn out,
chunks of flesh were missing from her shoulders and
exposed breasts. Her skirt was rucked up, and her panties
torn, visible evidence of the violation he could almost smell.
“Moon’s, René, what in hell have you done?” As much
as he tried to keep his voice even, a hint of revulsion still
crept through.
René glanced up sharply. His face was a mottled red,
the vein in his neck visibly throbbing. “Do you think I’m
such a savage I’d do this? By the moon’s light—” He thrust
a hand through his dark hair. “I like it rough, true, but
not like this. Never like this.”
“Then
why the hell are you here?” He squatted on his
heels, studying the bloody rents on the woman’s pale skin.
The width between the bottom and top jaws was enormous,
indicating her attacker was a bigger wolf than normal.
Bigger than René, at any rate.
“I was looking for her. We were supposed to dance
after midnight. She didn’t appear, so I came searching.”
“You saw or smelled no other wolf close by?” Blood
still oozed from the wounds, its smell sharp, metallic. She
hadn’t been dead that long. His brother couldn’t have
missed the killer by more that a few minutes.
So why were there no footprints for them to follow?
Why was there no scent on the air beyond that of this
female and his brother?
René shook his head. “I heard nothing, saw nothing—
other than you and some pretty little hunter over near the
pavilion.” A mirthless smile touched his mouth. “Thought
you had no intention of participating in the dance this
time.”
He hadn’t. The only reason he was here in the mansion
at all was at the request of their sire, who’d wanted
someone he could trust to investigate these killings.
Someone within the family, who knew the system but had
no true loyalties to the police or justice. Duncan had
certainly seen the inside of more than his fair share of jail
cells in his youth, so he guessed it was fair to presume he
knew how the justice system worked.
He shrugged. “She made an offer too good to refuse.”
And at the very least, her presence by his side would
maintain his wild reputation and stop suspicions being
raised in the wrong quarters.
René snorted softly. “Certainly looked like it, too.”
Silver flashed in the short grass to the left of the victim’s
head. He shifted slightly, gaze narrowing. It was a hair,
short and bristly.
“What color wolf was the victim?”
He felt rather than saw his brother’s frown. “From the
red pack—why?”
“Then her attacker is silver—unless you were in hunter
form when you came here.”
“No. But you were.”
“I shifted before I reached the body. I doubt this is
from my coat.”
“It was one of our own?” Shock cracked his brother’s
deep voice.
“This hair would suggest so.”
“It could be a plant.”
“Could be.” Though he very much doubted it. The
rangers already knew it was a silver wolf behind these
attacks. Planting one hair didn’t make any sense—even
though a similar clue had been left at each of the other
crime scenes.
René cleared his throat. “Do you know this is the fourth
attack in as many weeks?”
“Yeah, I’d heard as much.” He rose and studied the
trees around them. There were three trails from the gate,
but all of them led to Ripple Creek. Had the killer continued
on to town, or had he simply turned back around and
rejoined the dance? There were plenty of fountains inside
the grounds where a bloody wolf might wash—though if
he were one of their own, slipping unseen into the mansion
was a simple matter. Every Sinclair in the pack knew the
locations of the secret passages—and there was one near
every gate.
“We’d better get the rangers out here.”
René grunted. “Damn horrible way to end the night’s
dance.”
Duncan raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first time
anything has stopped you enjoying the moon fever.”
“Yeah, but this is the first time I’ve seen one of my
chosen mates dead.” He shrugged. “But then, I haven’t
the tasty morsel waiting for me that you have.”
A tasty morsel whose delights he could not enjoy again
for a while yet. He had every intention of being here when
the rangers arrived. “Go call the cops. I’ll go tend to my
morsel.”
René stepped around the body and clapped a hand on
Duncan’s shoulder. “Don’t take long. I want you to back
up my story, or the rangers are likely to throw my tail in
jail. They’re desperate for a quick arrest on this one.”
“Even rangers can’t convict without evidence.” Though
he’d known one or two in his time who were certainly
willing to concoct it.
He returned through the gates and headed for the
pavilion. Jasmine stirred the air, and he stopped abruptly,
his gaze roaming the trees. She’d been here.
Listening. Watching.
Why?
He remembered the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty.
Remembered thinking she was not the usual type of
woman found at these moon dances.
Why had she been around the west side of the
mansion? It was far away from the dance, and generally
considered out of bounds for all but those belonging to
the Sinclair pack.
Something clenched deep in his gut. Disappointment,
perhaps. Certainly anger.
He was being played.
Someone obviously suspected why he was here. What
better way was there to keep an eye on him than to offer
something even his jaded tastes could not resist? Neva
was alluring, sensual, a wolf in the full peak of her sexual
prowess, and yet oddly, almost innocently, unaware of
that fact.
Anger surged through him. He’d taken the bait without
thought. Moons, what a fool.
Still, it was a game that worked both ways, now that
he was aware of it. Over the next couple of days, he could
push their union to the extreme and wait for her to reach
the breaking point. She would break, of that he was sure.
Their one brief mating had confirmed that while she wasn’t
innocent, she was certainly inexperienced. Sooner or later
she’d go running back to whoever was behind this,
desperate to end the charade. And once she did, he’d have
a suspect to follow.
He took a deep, calming breath, then continued on
through the trees.
She was waiting near the pavilion steps, but her
welcoming smile faded as he approached. He swallowed
his anger, knowing he had to be careful. The Sinclairs
might be strong telepaths, but the golden pack far
outstripped even them. He couldn’t give her the slightest
hint he knew her game—not yet. Not until he’d made her
desperate enough to run back to the man behind all this
rather than away from them both.
And he had to admit, he was rather looking forward
to the task. René was right—she was an extremely tasty
morsel. He wondered what she was being paid to seduce
him. It had better be a lot, because she was certainly going
to earn her money over the next couple of days.
“Problems?” Her voice faltered, and fear touched her
gaze as she backed away a step.
Perhaps he wasn’t controlling his anger as well as he
thought. “Afraid so.”
He caught her arm, stopping her retreat, pulling her
flushed with heat. The musky scent of her desire spun
around him, fueling the ache in his loins to greater heights.
They’d certainly chosen their bait well—even knowing
what she was, he still wanted her more than he’d wanted
any wolf in his life.
He cupped a hand to her cheek, holding her gaze as
his lips claimed hers. There was nothing gentle in this
kiss. It was filled with the ferocity that burned through
his body—a hungry, angry possession that took everything
she was willing to give and more.
Her eyes widened, and her fear deepened, until it was
something he could almost taste. Yet at the same time,
the scent of her arousal intensified. She wanted him, even
if she did fear him—or feared what he intended to do.
He touched her, caressed her, made her burn with
need. When he thrust deep, she moaned in pleasure, but
this was a mating that had nothing to do with that emotion,
and everything to do with anger and betrayal. It was hard
and fast, a union in which he took but did not give.
When he’d finished, he stepped back. She stared at
him, her chest heaving, her lips swollen and red, body
still flushed and quivering with unfulfilled desires. But it
was the anger, the reproach, in her wonderful eyes that
cut the deepest.
“Wait for me here,” he said curtly and walked away.
***
Neva clenched her fists and stared at his retreating
back. It took all her willpower not to pick up the fallen
tree branch near her feet and throw it at his stiff, uncaring
spine.
In the space of ten minutes, he’d gone from a warm
and generous lover to a detached, unfeeling rutting
machine. A man who cared for nothing but his own needs.
And she wasn’t sure why.
Nor could she read his thoughts or taste his emotions
to find out why. It was if a wall stood between them, a
wall so high and wide she half-suspected even he had lost
touch with his feelings. He was the first wolf she’d ever
met whose mind she couldn’t read, whose everyday
emotions could snap so suddenly beyond even her skills,
and it was more than a little scary. She had a bad feeling
she needed to know what was going on in that man’s mind.
She rubbed her arms, but it did little to ease the chill
racing across her skin. To think only a few moments ago
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