Beneath a Rising Moon Page 4

  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

  whatever it took to remain there.

  While he had no regr
ets 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

  rain was in the air. The weather could change so quickly

  up here in the mountains, especially in the early days of