Beneath a Rising Moon Page 14

  a year.”

  Zeke snorted. “Even at your drunkest, you had more

  sense than that.”

  “That’s what I figured.” He took a drink then said,

  “She was attacked tonight.”

  “By the murderer?”

  “I don’t know. She claimed it was a big silver wolf,

  and the bite marks on her arms certainly attest to the fact

  it was a big wolf.”

  “But you don’t believe her?”

  “I don’t disbelieve her, either. She was attacked.”

  “But?”

  “But if it was the murderer, then he’s breaking set

  patterns. It happened in the pavilion not near the gates.

  She was waiting for another dancer, not leaving the

  mansion. And there were no signs of bites on her breasts

  or neck. She had scratches on her face, and there were

  bites on her arms, but neither were very deep. I doubt

  they’ll even scar.”

  Zeke’s expression was thoughtful. “It is always possible

  the murderer has changed his pattern. There are no set

  rules governing that sort of thing, you know.”

  “I know. But he’s been so careful up to this moment,

  so why would he risk attacking a wolf who was obviously

  waiting for someone? It just doesn’t ring true.”

  “Maybe he thought he had no other chance.”

  “Maybe.” He picked up the bottle and half filled his

  glass. “I asked Martin to take some saliva and skin samples

  from her. I thought I could use Dave’s contacts to get them

  tested.”

  “I’ll get them tested. It’ll be quicker and easier.”

  Duncan nodded. The sooner they knew whether

  Betise’s attack was linked to the murderer, the better.

  “What do you think about Levon Grant?”

  Zeke snorted. “Why would I even bother thinking about

  him?”

  “Betise told me tonight that he’d been questioning her

  about the mansion and the dancers. From what she said,

  it happened just before the first attack.”

  His father frowned. “Levon’s many things, but I believe

  he understands the necessity of the dance.”

  “Neva’s his daughter.”

  “Then he surely doesn’t know she’s here, because if

  he did, he’d be here dragging her away by the scruff of the

  neck. He’s not that understanding. ”

  Which is exactly what Duncan had thought. Yet the

  itchy feeling that Neva was up to something still remained.

  And if she was here at her father’s request, she wasn’t

  going to admit it. He could force the information out of

  her, of course. But to do so would tell her he was on to

  her, and if she ran, he doubted it would be back to the

  person behind her presence here.

  He downed the rest of his drink and felt the liquid

  burn all the way down to his gut. It only fueled the fire

  already burning in his veins. “Even so, I think it’s worth

  digging around for information on Levon. Maybe his turn-

  the-other-cheek attitude is little more than a front.”

  “Maybe.” Zeke’s expression was doubtful. “What are

  you going to do about Neva?”

  “Keep pushing her. I’m sure she’s here for a reason,

  and I’m just as sure she’ll run very soon.”

  “Might be worth doing a check on her, as well. Maybe

  she’s got a sibling who was slighted by you or your

  brothers.”

  “I doubt she’d dance with me just to get a little revenge.”

  “You don’t know her well enough to guess what she’s

  capable of.”

  A truth he knew he would probably regret for the rest

  of his life. He put his empty glass on the bar. “I’m also

  going to run a check on the murdered women. See if there

  was any other link between them other than the mansion.”

  “I imagine the rangers would have already done that.”

  Duncan’s smile was grim. “They have to stick within

  the boundaries of the law to find their information. I don’t.”

  “True.”

  He glanced at the clock. “Time to go do a little more

  pushing. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”

  He spun and walked out. His rooms were in the far

  wing and a long way away from the main halls and the

  dancers. As much as he’d enjoyed the dance over the years,

  he enjoyed his solitude more. Always had.

  He wound his way through the dark hallways. He

  couldn’t smell anyone in the rooms he passed, but he

  wasn’t surprised. This wing was part of the old section

  and hadn’t yet been fitted with central heating. He doubted

  it ever would be. As big as the pack was, the mansion was

  bigger—a rambling network of rooms and halls that had

  once been filled to the brim with laughing cubs, but never

  would be again. Not these days. All the packs had to be

  watchful about birth control. Human law forbade any pack

  growing beyond a certain size. Werewolves and

  shapeshifters may have finally been acknowledged in the

  eyes of the law, but lawmakers the world over still feared

  the consequences of allowing them to breed unchecked.

  As if they could ever compete with human birth rates,

  he thought sourly.

  In the silence of the long halls, the wind seemed to

  howl, battering at the roof and windows. In the chill

  sharpness of the air he could smell snow. A Ripple Creek

  Special was definitely headed their way.

  He walked into his suite. The air here was almost icy,

  thanks in part to the row of French doors lining the outer

  wall. He closed the drapes then walked over to the fireplace

  and stoked the fire to life. If it was this cold now, they’d

  certainly need its warmth by dawn.

  When the fire blazed, he headed into the bedroom.

  Neva was sound asleep in his bed, and he stopped, caught

  by the sheer beauty of her. Her long hair was a river of

  gold that swept across her pillow. And in sleep, she looked

  so angelic, so innocent, it was hard to believe she could

  be anything else.

  But the fact was, she could be. She was here for a

  reason, and until he discovered that reason, he had no

  choice but to keep on pushing her.

  And it was certainly a task part of him did enjoy. Maybe

  he was more like René than he cared to admit.

  He stripped and climbed into bed. She stirred,

  murmuring something he couldn’t quite catch before

  turning away from him. He spooned behind her, pressing

  himself against the warmth of her skin and the richness

  of her scent. Her very closeness had the heat surging

  through his veins, and he wanted her so badly it was

  painful. Their lovemaking tonight would be hard and fast.

  It couldn’t be anything else when the fever burned so

  fiercely through his veins, and it was what he needed to

  do to keep on pushing her.

  He slid a hand down her belly to the triangle of hair

  between her thighs. She was still so gloriously wet with

  need, even though a couple of hours had slipped by since

  he’d touched her. She shifted under his caress, pressing

&nb
sp; back against him. It was a sleepy invitation he was more

  than ready to accept. He slid deep inside her, groaning at

  the sheer glory of it. She felt so good, so hot and firm.

  She woke. Though she didn’t move, a sound that was

  part pleasure, part surprise, and part anger whispered

  from her lips. He wrapped an arm around her waist,

  holding her still as he continued to thrust inside her. With

  the urgency of the moon driving him so hard, there was

  nothing gentle about it now. He claimed every inch of her,

  delving so deep, her taut muscles quivered against the

  entire length of him.

  The red tide rose, becoming a wall of pleasure he could

  not deny. He came, a hot, torrential release whose force

  tore a shout from his lips and sent his body rigid.

  But the moon and he weren’t finished yet. Not by a

  long shot. He withdrew and tugged her around to face

  him. Her eyes flashed with anger, but before she could

  say anything, he claimed her lips. He kissed her, caressed

  her, licked every inch of her, until her scent and her taste

  were imprinted on every fiber of his being, inside and out.

  Then he loved her.

  And continued to make love to her through the rest of

  the night and well into dawn.

  ***

  A constant rattling woke Neva many hours later. She

  groaned and flung the thick comforter off her face, then

  squinted in the general direction of the noise. Though the

  clock on the bedside table said it was nearly eleven, the

  day beyond the rattling French doors was dark and filled

  with a swirling whiteness. She blinked, but the image

  didn’t seem to get any clearer.

  It was a blizzard, she realized. And while Ripple Creek

  had a reputation for wild and sudden spring storms, this

  one looked like a doozey.

  But for once, maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it

  would keep the killer away and the dancers safe for one

  more night. Surely not even the most ardent dancer would

  chance weather like this.

  She yawned and rolled onto her back. Duncan wasn’t

  in bed with her, and she had no idea when he’d left. But if

  the lack of warmth on his side of the silk sheets was

  anything to go by, he’d been gone a while. Maybe even

  immediately after he’d finished loving her senseless.

  Heat flushed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. She

  had no idea what to think about this morning’s efforts.

  He’d been harsh and uncaring one moment, taking what

  he wanted and giving nothing in return. Then he’d turned

  it all around and become so generous, so caring and

  thoughtful, she all but melted for him. He’d pushed her

  through such a gamut of emotions in a few short hours

  that she felt burned out, physically and emotionally.

  She still didn’t know how she felt about him, other

  than the fact he confused her. Totally and utterly. She

  should hate him—every sane, rational cell in her body

  knew that. She wasn’t sure that she did, and yet she wasn’t

  sure that she liked him, either.

  And the fact she was so uncertain frightened her.

  As did the jealousy that had risen when she’d smelled

  Betise on his skin last night. For the briefest of moments

  she’d wanted to rip out the throat of the older wolf—a

  territorial emotion she had no right to, and no true desire

  for. Not when it came to someone like Duncan, a loner

  who was after nothing more than enjoyment.

  And in truth, she shouldn’t really have been surprised

  he’d enjoyed himself with Betise before coming back to

  her. Not if they were soul mates. The only truly surprising

  thing was the fact that he’d come back to her at all.

  She rubbed a hand across her brow. Her head ached,

  but it was probably nothing more than lack of sleep. She’d

  had little more than three hours overall, and given what

  had happened over the last few nights, it was nowhere

  near enough. Not that she was likely to catch up on any

  more sleep over her remaining days here. Duncan had

  certainly made that perfectly clear this morning.

  A tremor ran through her, and she wasn’t sure if it

  was excitement or trepidation. Maybe it was both. What

  she needed right now was someone sane to talk to.

  Someone like her sister. And while Savannah would

  probably go ballistic when she realized what Neva was

  doing, she was the only one who would understand. After

  all, Sav had done some pretty damn crazy things herself

  in the past.

  She reached out with her thoughts. Warmth sparked

  briefly through the fog of memories in her sister’s mind,

  then faded. Consciousness was close, but not yet close

  enough. Neva sighed. She was briefly tempted to call Ari,

  but she knew her friend would probably tell her to forget

  about feelings and just enjoy the dancing. Though Ari

  would have a fit if she realized Neva was at the mansion

  rather than tucked away safe and sound in boring old

  Eagle.

  Sighing again, she thrust aside the comforter and

  climbed out of bed. The chill hit her immediately, and she

  shivered, grabbing Duncan’s robe off the end of the bed.

  The black silk whispered sensually across her skin, and

  the scent of spice and forest enveloped her. Desire rippled

  through her. Why was she so attuned to his scent and his

  touch? Or was it simply a matter of her inexperience being

  totally overwhelmed by a man whose skills at the dance

  were almost legendary?

  Frowning, she thrust the question aside and headed

  out to the sitting room, wincing slightly at the ache in her

  muscles. No one had ever told her dancing could be

  so...active. But then, no one had ever told her it could be

  frustrating one moment and totally amazing the next. And

  the couple of mates she’d had before Duncan certainly

  hadn’t prepared her to be played by a master.

  She stoked the fire with more wood, then padded back

  through the bedroom and into the bathroom. To discover

  someone had very recently poured her a bath. Two towels

  had been placed on a chair at the end of the big old claw-

  foot bath, along with shampoo and soap. She picked up

  the bar of soap and sniffed it lightly. The faint scent of

  citrus teased her nostrils. Her favorite. She wondered how

  he’d known, given she’d been wearing Jasmine when they’d

  first met. Then she remembered he’d been in her house.

  And in her bed.

  Heat flushed through her again. Even thinking about

  the damn man made her want him. The moon, she

  thought, had a lot to answer for. And yet there seemed

  more than just the moon fever between them, which, in

  itself, was crazy thinking because it could never be

  anything more than what it was now. Because of Betise.

  Damn it, she didn’t even know if she liked the man.

  And why in hell was she even worrying about it? Once

  this moon phase was over, she’d never see him again.

  Which is what s
he’d wanted—planned—from the very

  beginning.

  Only she wasn’t so sure it was what she wanted now.

  Crazy. She was definitely going crazy.

  She stripped off the robe and climbed into the bath,

  sighing in pleasure as she eased into the hot water. She

  soaked in the sweet-smelling tub until the water began to

  cool, then washed. Climbing out, she grabbed the towels,

  wrapping one around her hair and using the other to dry

  herself. Then she padded into the bedroom to grab some

  fresh clothes from her bag.

  She was sitting on the bed brushing her hair when

  the sensation hit her. Heat flashed white hot across her

  skin and fear clawed at her, making it next to impossible

  to breathe. There’d only been one other time in her life

  when she’d felt something like this—like someone had

  reached into her chest and attempted to pull out her heart.

  It had happened when she was eight years old and

  Savannah had been about to get caught in an avalanche.

  The link between them had saved Sav’s life back then.

  Maybe it was about to save it again.

  She reached for her sister, but the response was still

  the same, and Neva thrust to her feet. Blizzard or not, she

  had to get down to the hospital. Now.

  She shoved on her shoes and ran to the French doors.

  She couldn’t chance going through the halls and running

  into Duncan. He’d undoubtedly stop her, and he’d

  definitely want an explanation—something there was no

  time for. She’d have to leap from the balcony and hope

  the snow was deep enough to cushion her.

  The wind ripped the doors from her hands, smashing

  them back against the walls. Snow swirled in, thick, fast

  and oh-so cold. She shivered and battled the storm to the

  balcony’s edge. The world beyond was a sheet of white.

  She couldn’t see the ground let alone the trees. She climbed

  over the rail, hanging by her fingertips for several seconds

  as the wind battered her sideways, then let go.

  She hit the ground with a grunt, falling backwards

  into a thick snowdrift. Wild flurries of white danced around

  her, quickly coating her body. She rolled onto her hands

  and knees and called to the wolf within.

  It came in a rush of power, and she leapt forward on

  all fours. But the snow was thick and soft under her pads,

  forcing her to bound rather than run, and the fear swelled.