Beneath a Rising Moon Page 3

  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

  close. Her body molded against his, her flesh trembling,

  flushed with heat. The musk
y 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

  she’d been worried about hungering for his touch so badly