she’d been worried about hungering for his touch so badly
that she’d want to remain in this den of darkness. What a
fool’s thought that had turned out to be.
She wasn’t about to wait here for more of the same.
She may have agreed to be his for the remainder of the
moon phase, but enough was enough for one night. With
the discovery of the fourth victim, this place would soon
be crawling with rangers. It was better she leave now,
before anyone recognized her. The last thing she wanted
was one of them reporting her presence to her parents.
That would cause a scene of atomic proportions.
And they certainly wouldn’t understand her reasons
for coming here. They were old school and believed the
dance should be saved until you’d found that one mate.
But as much as she wanted to go home right now, she
couldn’t. Not until she’d taken a closer look at that body—
before the rangers took away whatever clues there might
be to find. It was doubtful they’d let her go unescorted
into Savannah’s office a second time.
She donned her skirts then resolutely turned and made
her way back to the gate.
The stench of death almost overpowered her. She took
a deep breath, trying to control her stomach’s chaotic
churning. Her twin faced this type of thing regularly. Surely
she could do this once.
She bit her lip and moved closer, stepping in old
footsteps so her own wouldn’t show. This death was the
image of the photos she’d studied in Savannah’s files—
right down to the bite marks on the woman’s shoulder
and breasts. But it was the damage to their faces that
Savannah had ringed and questioned. Why such
destruction? None of the women had been extreme
beauties—just pleasant. Ordinary. None of them were
similar in any way—they all had different colored hair,
eyes, and facial structures. All belonged to different packs.
Yet the man behind this went to great pains to smash in
their faces almost beyond recognition. It certainly
suggested there was some sort of connection—but if
Savannah’s notes were anything to go by, the rangers had
no idea what. And if the Sinclairs knew, they certainly
weren’t telling anyone.
Her gaze slipped down, stopping at the rucked up dress
and torn panties. Her stomach turned, and she fought
the sudden urge to run from such a brutal representation
of invasion. Lord, it was all too easy to imagine the horror,
the fear...She swallowed heavily. The visual evidence might
indicate rape, but the coroner’s report on the last three
victims certainly didn’t suggest forced sex. All victims had
had numerous partners during the night, but there was
nothing to indicate rape during death. Which Savannah
had again questioned. Why was the killer depicting rape
if he wasn’t actually violating them? It was a puzzle to
which there were no answers—as yet.
She raised her nose, tasting the air. Beneath the scent
of death lay a myriad of other aromas. Pine and balsam
were heavily entwined with the rich bouquet of snowbound
loam. Beyond that, a lingering caress of warm spices and
freshly cut wood stirred her pulse. Duncan’s scent. His
brother, who’d been here longer, was a warm touch of
muskiness. Beneath that, blood, sharp and metallic. And
something else—a scent she couldn’t pin down but one
that seemed vaguely familiar.
She frowned and walked across to the nearest path.
No footprints here, either. Nothing to indicate anyone had
traveled past here recently. Only that nebulous scent. She
studied the path for several moments, weighing her need
for answers with her need to escape, then sighed. Closing
her eyes, she reached for the wildness. It came in a rush
of power that blurred her senses and numbed the pain as
it reshaped and changed her body.
Then it was gone, and she padded through the trees
on four legs rather than two. The scent led her halfway
down the mountain before it disappeared. She sniffed air
and ground, trying to find it again, then noted a flash of
silver caught in the branch of a small aspen just off the
path. Hair from a silver coat. Paw prints flirted with a
slight drift of snow beyond that then disappeared again.
The scent no longer lingered. She nosed about a bit more,
but knew it was now a worthless quest.
She glanced over her shoulder, contemplating going
back for her clothes. But there were voices up at the top
now. Maybe the rangers were here. Maybe Duncan and
his brother had returned. Either way, she had to get going.
The scent of jasmine would linger, and that could lead to
trouble if she wasn’t careful. Besides, nothing she’d left
in the mansion could be traced back to her. Jasmine was
a strong scent, which is exactly why she’d chosen it. Not
even the strongest of noses would be able to track her
true scent through the clothes she’d left up there.
She moved back to the trail and continued down until
she hit the stream, then followed that upwind. The water
was icy against her paws, but unless she did this, they
would trace her too easily back home.
As she continued padding through the water, she
reached out, briefly touching her sister’s thoughts. No
response, no change. She sighed. At least some good had
come out of the night. She’d achieved her aim—she had
breached the inner circle of the mansion and attached
herself successfully to Duncan. Nor did she have to worry
about hungering for his touch. For whatever reason, he’d
become as unfeeling and as unresponsive as she could
ever want.
So why did she feel such a deep sense of loss?
Moon madness, surely. She ducked into a small
waterfall, washing the scent of jasmine from her coat, then
continued on home.
***
Two hours later, Duncan made his way through the
mansion. The arrival of the rangers had killed the dance,
and there were very few people occupying the shadows in
the hall. But they would be back tomorrow night. They
always were.
He took the stairs two at a time and tried to ignore his
vague sense of disgust. He’d taken part in more than his
fair share of dances—was still taking part in them, in fact—
so he had no right to judge others.
Or were his own actions behind that vague, unsettling
emotion?
He frowned. Damn it, she’d come here with the sole
purpose of seducing him—he was certain of that, if nothing
else. He owed her no right to pleasure. And if anything,
her willingness to take whatever he dished out without
comment proved her guilt. His actions were not in the
spirit of the dance, and she had every right to be furious.
But she hadn’t said anything. Why? Because she was
being paid to stay by his side. Because she would do
&
nbsp; whatever it took to remain there.
While he had no regrets about his actions, the reproach
in her green eyes haunted him. He’d never been like René.
He didn’t like roughhouse tactics, found no thrill in fear.
Yet tonight he’d tasted both and had enjoyed it.
And it was something he would have to continue. He
couldn’t play the gentle, caring lover with this woman—
not if he wanted to stop these murders sooner rather than
later. He had to push her, and keep pushing her, until
she could take no more.
He stopped at the door at the end of the hall and rapped
his knuckles on the wood. A gruff voice bid him to enter.
He walked inside and slammed the door shut.
Zeke stood near the window, tall, broad and straight
of spine, despite seeing more than a century pass him by.
He turned as Duncan entered, one steel-grey eyebrow
raised in query. “I would gather from your entrance that
the meeting with the rangers did not go well?”
Duncan walked over to the bar and poured himself a
stiff drink. “Quite the opposite. René’s not a suspect, and
they found skin and blood under the woman’s fingernails,
which they believe might belong to the killer.”
“It was Mariata who was killed, wasn’t it?”
He nodded and downed his drink in one swift gulp.
The liquid burned its way down his gullet and sat like a
weight in his gut.
“Mariata liked pain—and liked inflicting it. I wouldn’t
be surprised if they find the flesh of more than one wolf
under her nails.”
Duncan cast a sharp glance his father’s way. “You
danced with her? Tonight?”
Zeke sighed and turned around. Scratches marred his
shoulder blades. “I may be old but the fever still burns
through my veins. She and I are old partners.”
Just what he needed to hear right now—especially with
the rangers insisting on checking all family members for
wounds. He poured himself another drink. “Did you dance
with any of the other victims?”
“No.”
“And my brothers?”
“The first was one of Tye’s regular mates, the third
one of Kane’s.”
Tye the oldest of the four of them, Kane the youngest.
René was born between him and Tye. He took another
drink and felt the anger begin to slip away. He knew alcohol
offered no real solutions, but right now it drowned the
vague sense of self-loathing. Of that, he was glad.
“Someone’s targeting the lovers of you and your get.”
“So it would seem.”
“Any idea why?” He hesitated. “You haven’t pissed off
any females or their families of late, have you?”
His father’s smile was wistful. “My wild days are behind
me, I’m afraid. I’m more staid than many of my mates
would wish.”
But not too staid, if those marks were anything to go
by. “Have you told many people I’m here to investigate the
murders?”
Zeke shook his head. “None. News spreads fast in a
tribe this size, and I didn’t want to risk warning the killer—
if indeed it is someone from our immediate pack.”
“Then you’d better get these rooms swept for bugs,
because someone knows.”
“I did—yesterday.” Zeke hesitated, dark eyes touched
with concern. “Why would you think that?”
“Because I’ve been set up with a mate, and I think
she’s intending to keep a very close eye on me.”
Zeke moved to the bar and poured himself a drink.
“So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged. “Nothing.”
“I could take her off your hands. Keep her locked away
and occupied.”
The thought of his father going anywhere near Neva
made his veins boil. She was his to deal with, and no one
was going to touch her except him.
“I’ll take care of her.” Despite his best effort to remain
calm, the hint of steel was evident in his voice.
Zeke raised an eyebrow. “Be wary of the bait, Son. It
might just turn around and snag you.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Zeke leaned a shoulder against the wall and regarded
him with amusement. “So, what are you going to do with
her—besides the obvious?”
“I’m going to force her to stay here for the next five
days.” He took another drink of whisky. “Then I’ll push
her, and keep pushing her, until she runs back to whoever
it was who set her on me.”
“The sort of wolf who’s willing to profit from the dance
is not one who would easily break.”
“This one’s new to the game. She’ll break.” And
hopefully soon. He had no taste for the game he was about
to play.
“And in the meantime?”
He raised his hand, refusing his father’s offer to top-
off his drink. “I’ll start talking to people. See what I can
dig up.” If this was some sort of revenge killing aimed at
his brothers, then someone, somewhere, had to know why.
As his father had said, a tribe this size held no real secrets.
“Did anything unusual happen before the first murder?”
“Not that I can remember. Of course, it’s hard to keep
a finger on every pulse.”
Duncan snorted softly. The day his father didn’t know
exactly what was going on would be the day death claimed
him. And the fact he truly had no idea why these murders
were happening only made them all the more mystifying.
“You’ve talked to my brothers?”
“As have you. I dare say the responses we got were the
same.”
They were—he’d surreptitiously listened in. René’s
shields were not as strong as they should be. “Will you be
able to get a copy of the autopsy report? We’ll see if
Mariata’s varies any from the previous three.”
Zeke nodded. “You do realize you may also be in their
sights?”
“If that were the case, why put a watch on me? The
mere fact that they have suggests they consider me some
danger.”
Zeke snorted softly. “Even the most insane wolf alive
would consider you a danger.”
He raised an eyebrow, a smile touching his lips. “And
here I was thinking I’ve calmed down since my wild days.”
“You have,” his father said. “But it makes no difference,
because what you do now you do with a clear head.”
He thought of Neva, of the reproach in her beautiful
eyes. “I do what I have to do,” he said, with a trace of
bitterness.
“I know. And that’s precisely why you’re considered
so dangerous by just about everyone who knows you.”
Duncan finished the last of his whisky. It did little to
erase the sour taste in his mouth. “When do you think
you’ll be able to get your hands on that autopsy report?”
Zeke shrugged. “Tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. I
don’t want to push my source too hard, or he’ll start getting
a little jumpy.”
/>
“Then I’ll be back here tomorrow afternoon.”
He strode from the room and made his way through
the shadow-filled house. But when he reached the pavilion,
he wasn’t surprised to discover Neva had fled.
Three
Neva rose with the dawn and took a long, hot, scented
bath, hoping to erase any scent of Duncan that might
linger on her skin.
But she couldn’t so easily erase the throbbing in her
body, the needy ache that flicked fire through her veins.
She wouldn’t be surprised if his ears were burning right
now, because she’d cursed him long and loud during the
night as she’d tossed and turned, trying to find sleep.
And yet she knew relief would not come tonight. Not if
their second mating was any indication of his intentions.
She sighed. That was exactly what she’d wanted—a
quick, passionless rutting, easily forgotten once this phase
of the moon was over. She could hardly complain now
that she’d gotten her wish. And she probably wouldn’t be,
if he hadn’t first given her a glimpse how truly
extraordinary their mating could be.
She closed her eyes and pushed him from her
thoughts. His pack belonged to the night, and that’s where
all thought of him should remain. She would not let him
wreck her days as well.
Besides, she had far more important people to worry
about.
She reached out, carefully touching her sister’s
thoughts. Though there was no response, the sensation
of death hovering all too close had fled. And pictures were
beginning to unroll through the darkness of her sister’s
mind, like fractured images of a violent movie viewed
through a broken projector. Relief surged, and tears
blurred Neva’s vision. Savannah was going to live. And
she was beginning to remember what had happened.
Maybe consciousness wasn’t that far off after all.
Neva hoped so. She didn’t like this endless silence.
Didn’t know if she’d want to go on without having Sav’s
warm, cheerful presence in her mind.
She dressed, swept her hair into a ponytail, then
clattered down the stairs to grab a quick breakfast of toast
and coffee. Then she snagged her leather jacket from the
arm of the chair and made her way outside.
The day had dawned crisp and clear, but the smell of
Arthur, Keri - Beneath a Rising Moon.txt Page 4
