didn’t get the bastard first.
She glanced at him, amusement glinting in her silvery
eyes. “Seems to me the rangers haven’t a clue.”
Her tone was as amused as her look, and he raised an
eyebrow. “You don’t seem all that sorry about it.”
“The murders?” Iyona snorted softly. “I personally
think it should be you Sinclairs being taken out, not the
fools who choose to dance with you.”
Betise had said much the same thing. Maybe it was a
speech she’d learned from her mother very early in life.
But if that was the way she felt, why had she wasted more
than half her life attending dances? “You have a problem
with my family?”
Her look was scathing. “Yeah. All you Sinclairs are
nothing but a pack of lying bastards.”
Again, that was something he’d heard Betise say more
than once. But then, Neva had called him a bastard more
than a few times these last couple of days, and with good
reason. He frowned as he thought of her, and he had to
control the sudden urge to get up and go find her. He’d
promised not to go back until dusk. If he wanted to undo
the mess he’d made of everything and start making
amends, he couldn’t break that vow.
And the mere fact that he even wanted to make amends
surprised the hell out of him. She was his for the rest of
this moon phase. He could rightfully lose himself to the
pleasure of her body until the full moon finally rose and
forced them all into wolf shape. But he wanted more than
just that. He wanted to know her. Wanted her to smile at
him the way she’d smiled at her friend in the diner.
He wished he’d met her under more normal
circumstances, and beyond the time of the rising moon.
Maybe then he wouldn’t have destroyed any chance he
had with her.
At that moment pain flashed, rising from his hip and
spreading upwards like a flame, until his whole body was
encased in agony. Then as quickly as it came the sensation
faded, leaving only fear and a cold churning in his gut.
He fought the sudden urge to leave this stinking house.
It was crazy. Neva was safe at home. Besides, she had a
weapon more formidable than teeth and claws, and could
undoubtedly defend herself against most attacks.
He rose and began pacing the small room. “What has
my family ever done to you?”
Iyona snorted. “Your lot wrecked my life.”
“You’ve never danced at the mansion.” Though he
wasn’t sure why he was so certain. Iyona was old enough
to have been dancing long before he’d ever started.
“There’s more than one pack of Sinclairs isn’t there?”
she bit back. “You must have bred like damned rabbits in
the early years.”
Her words sent alarms off somewhere in the back of
his mind. He stared at her for a moment, then asked, “I
gather from that statement that you spent some time over
at the Bitterroot reservation?”
The smile that touched her lips sent a chill down his
spine. “No. But I wish I had been. I would have enjoyed
watching your lot burn.”
He sensed no lie, and yet he suspected she was doing
just that. “If you feel that strongly, why invite a Sinclair
into your house?”
She snorted again. “Because this is my daughter’s
house, and she seems to have a passion for your lot.”
And yet, she’d wished them dead not all that long ago.
Or was that merely an aftereffect of exchanging heated
words with René? He was definitely going to have to speak
to his brother when he got back to the mansion, if only to
uncover what sort of game Betise was playing. Especially
given the fantasy she had of being a long time lover of his.
Outside the house, a door slammed shut, then a
shadow whisked past the windows. Two seconds later the
back door opened, and Betise appeared. Her smile became
a look of surprise and quick excitement when her gaze
met his.
“Duncan,” she said, voice warm. “What a nice—”
“I’m here to ask a question,” he said quickly. “Nothing
more.”
Annoyance and perhaps a flash of anger flitted through
her grey-green eyes. She stripped off her coat and gloves
and tossed them on the back of the chair. “Let me guess.
You discovered my lie. Surprise, surprise.”
“Then why bother lying in the first place?”
She shrugged and sat down. “You seemed so damn
enamored with the virginal Neva, and I guess it just pissed
me off.”
Her tone had much the same effect on him as nails
down a blackboard. He shoved his hands in his pockets,
half wishing he’d never come here. “What does it matter
to you if I’m enamored with her? You and I shared one
dance, nothing more.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Something more than
anger. Something almost crazy. She yanked off her boots
and tossed them into the corner. “I knew you’d race back
and question her. Wish I could have seen her expression.”
He wished he hadn’t. Wished he’d resisted the urge to
voice his doubts. Wished he’d simply trusted her. “I
thought you and Neva were friends.”
She glanced at her mother, and the two shared a
strange sort of smile. “Acquaintances more than friends,”
Betise said. “We chat at the diner and the hair salon, but
it’s nothing deeper.”
And of that, he was extremely glad. He’d hate to think
that Neva hung around with someone as unsavory as
Betise. “So what did you hope to gain by lying?”
She raised an eyebrow, amusement touching her thin
lips. “What do you think?”
“If I had any idea, I wouldn’t be asking.”
She stared at him for a moment, eyes so bright they
were almost otherworldly. “You really don’t, do you?”
He glanced at Iyona, saw the same, almost maniacal
look in her eyes, and frowned. Something was going on
here, something he didn’t understand.
“Told you,” Iyona said, voice shrill. “They’re all no
good.”
“Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Betise’s voice was flat,
dead, and something in his gut clenched. The house might
be cold, but these two could have frozen hell itself.
“Look,” he said, meeting Betise’s gaze. “You and I
shared one dance, nothing more. I have no idea what game
you’re playing, but if you don’t stop your lies, I’ll have you
banned from the dance.”
Iyona snorted. “That’s a typical Sinclair response.” Her
voice was so full of venom he could almost smell it.
He glanced at her. With her thin arms crossed, angular
hips resting against the bench and eyes narrowed, she
really did remind him of a snake. Neeson might not have
any idea who was behind the animosity being directed at
his pack, but he certainly did. And he had a suspicion
he’d better find out why.
&
nbsp; He pulled his gaze away from her, concentrating on
Betise. “I’m warning you now, stay away from my
brothers.”
“Who made you pack leader?” she spat. “You can
hardly control your own damn actions, let alone your
brothers.’”
Which might have been true enough in times past, he
supposed, but not nowadays. Control was the one thing
he never lost—except, perhaps, when it came to Neva.
The itchy feeling that something was wrong with her
not only remained but was growing stronger. He had to
go. Had to.
“I’m speaking for my father,” he said curtly. “Watch
your step, or you’ll never take another inside the mansion.”
“René owes me. I want him to fulfil his promises,
nothing more.”
“René makes no more promises than I do.”
“Not even to the virginal Neva?”
“Not even.” Yet the words tasted sour on his lips. If
ever he could have made promises with someone, it might
have been Neva. “But while we’re on the subject of Neva,
quit telling her tales about you and me. There is no you
and me. There never has been.”
Her eyes glittered, but he wasn’t sure if it was tears or
merely the light catching the silver in her eyes. “You lie.
Look into your heart, Duncan.”
“I have looked into my heart.” And up until this moon
phase, he’d thought it incapable of any sort of emotional
depths.
“Bastard.” Her soft voice was filled with hatred.
“So I’m beginning to believe,” he muttered and turned,
walking out of the house and away from its crazy
occupants.
He stopped on the veranda and watched the storm.
The snow had eased, but the wind hadn’t, and the day
was still bitingly cold. Not the sort of day you wanted to
be out in.
Not the sort of day you wanted to find yourself
unconscious in.
For one second, he froze. Then he swore and dove into
the storm, running as if the hounds of hell were after him.
He didn’t feel the tempest blowing around him. Didn’t feel
the cold. Didn’t even feel the pavement pounding under
his feet. All he could feel was an odd sort of numbness,
creeping slowly through his body, as if his strength was
being sucked away by an unknown force.
Only it wasn’t truly unknown. It was Neva, siphoning
his strength to bolster hers.
He’d never truly feared before, but he did now. For
her.
For them.
Because if she could do that, then this thing between
them went far deeper than he’d thought, far deeper than
just a moon dance.
Wouldn’t it be the mother of all ironies if, in a matter
of days, he’d managed to destroy the one thing he’d spent
half his life searching for?
More than eight blocks separated Betise’s house and
Neva’s. He crossed them in record time, slowing only as
he reached her house. He opened the gate, then hesitated,
looking at the windblown whiteness to his right. She wasn’t
home. She was down there, somewhere.
He didn’t question his certainty. Didn’t dare. He swore
again, a growl of sound the wind quickly snatched away,
and hurried forward. The sullen gleam of a streetlight
became visible, indicating that he was approaching
another road. He stopped on the corner, glancing to his
left.
And saw her huddled against the curb, looking like
little more like a brightly-colored bundle of snow-covered
rags than a woman. His gut twisted, and for a second he
couldn’t seem to breathe. Then he was beside her, stripping
off his gloves and slipping his fingers under her woolen
ski mask, feeling for a pulse. It was there, nice and steady.
He checked her ears, then her fingers and her feet. All
were well covered. All were warm. Relief slithered through
him. Hypothermia didn’t appear to have struck yet.
He stripped off his coat, then his sweater, rolling it
lengthways and carefully placing it around her neck. As
improvised cervical collars went, it wasn’t the best, but it
was a hell of a lot better than risking moving her without
it. He carefully turned her over. No blood. That might be
good. Might be bad.
“Neva?” He lightly tapped her cheeks. Her color was
good, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through
the mask.
Her eyes fluttered, and a smile touched her lips. A
carefree, easy sort of smile that did strange things to his
heart’s rhythm.
Neva?
She giggled, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise. It
sounded for all the world like she was drunk. Are you
okay?
Okay? No. Perfect? Yes.
Her words made him smile. She was perfect, in almost
every way imaginable. He picked up his coat and tried to
wrap it around her, but she slapped his hands away with
a laugh. It was such a carefree sound he almost laughed
with her, despite the concern swamping him.
What happened? He managed to avoid her hands and
finally wrapped the coat around her.
A truck happened. Clipped me.
She seemed to be moving all right, and he could no
longer sense pain in her mind. Still, he’d better get her to
the hospital, just to be sure.
No. Take me home. Please.
Her mind speech was a little indistinct, yet he could
smell no alcohol on her breath. You need to go to the
hospital. There might be internal injuries.
No! Her words might be slurred but the alarm in her
voice was clear and forceful. I’m okay. My parents are there.
I can’t talk to them yet.
She touched a gloved hand to his cheek, her bright
eyes catching his. Her pupils were slightly dilated, but
not with desire. He suspected she’d been drugged. But
with what? And could he risk not taking her to the hospital
when she might have been overdosed?
“Please.” Her voice was soft. Imploring. “Just trust me
and do as I ask.”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was a
fool for even risking a compromise, but he opened his
eyes and said, “I’ll take you home and check you over. If I
think you should go to the hospital, you’ll go, okay?”
Her relief slithered through him, flame bright. “Okay.”
He picked her up, cradling her close. She rested her
cheek against his shoulder and sighed almost contentedly.
“Home, James,” she murmured, in a ritzy sort of way.
Her warm breath caressed his neck and breathed life
into the embers of desire. Moons, simply holding her felt
so good. So damn right.
He kicked open her front gate and hurried up the steps.
Her front door was unlocked, and he shook his head,
unable to believe any woman living alone in this day and
age could be so trusting. Even a relatively small town like
Ripple Creek had its fair share of creeps.
And she had probably cast hi
m as one of them.
He pushed the thought away and headed up the stairs
to her bedroom. Thankfully, she’d left the heat on, and
the house was warm.
“I like your thinking,” she said, as he placed her on
the bed. “No better way to warm up a cold body than a
good bout of sex.”
He squatted in front of her and carefully took off her
boots, then her woolen socks. Her feet and toes were warm.
“You know this for a fact?” he asked, glancing up with a
smile.
She sniffed and lifted her nose, her expression haughty
but green eyes twinkling. “I have been told,” she said in
the best impression of snobbery he’d ever heard.
“Extreme physical activity is not good for someone who
might have hypothermia.” He rose and unwound his
makeshift collar, then undid her coat and discovered
another one underneath. No wonder she was so warm.
“I haven’t got hypothermia.”
No, thankfully she didn’t. He tossed her coats to one
side and started undoing her shirt. “But you have been
hit by a car, and you’re probably under the influence of
some sort of drug.” He doubted she’d be in such a playful
mood otherwise. Not after what he’d said only an hour or
so earlier.
She touched a finger to his face, running it gently down
to his lips. It was a touch that burned right down to his
soul.
“How about we try some extreme physical activity right
now?” Her voice was low and so damn sexy heat shot to
his groin.
He ached to do just that. It might still be the afternoon,
and the moon might be on the other side of the world, but
right now he wanted her as fiercely as he’d ever wanted
anyone during the moon’s rush. But as much as he wanted
her, he didn’t want to take advantage of her. Not any more
than he already had. Her shirt joined her coats, followed
quickly by her bra.
“See anything you like?” She leaned back, all but
thrusting her wonderful breasts in his face.
Everything. But he resisted the urge to bury his face
in her bountiful flesh and twined his fingers through hers,
gently tugging her upright. “Where did you go after I left?”
He released her, but she swayed slightly, and he quickly
touched a hand to her waist to steady her.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him
a happy sort of smile. “What does it matter?”
Arthur, Keri - Beneath a Rising Moon.txt Page 20
