Beneath a Darkening Moon

  She stared at him for a second or two, her finger's flexing, as if she was debating whether to hit him or salute him. In the end she did neither, simply shoved the wig back on before walking away. He called Anton, but as he waited, his gaze was drawn to the enticing sway of her hips as she stalked toward the club. There was, he noted with amusement, something very alluring about the way a woman walked when she was angry.

  "Hey, boss,” Anton said, by way of hello. “What's up?"

  "I want you to head up to Main Street and cruise around for a dark blue truck being driven by a blonde in a sheer black dress. She'd be in her early to mid-twenties."

  "Not exactly an unpleasant task.” He paused, and Cade heard the sound of keys jingling and the quick murmur of conversation before a door slammed. “Why are we looking for the blonde?"

  "She was the woman who apparently asked the kid to leave the note on Ranger Grant's windshield."

  "And she spotted you? Dressed as you were?"

  "Either that or we were followed."

  "You didn't have a tail. Trista checked after you left."

  "Savannah swears no one followed her."

  "Boss, no offense, but she's a ranger. She doesn't have the experience to spot someone as crafty as our boy appears to be."

  So he'd tried to tell her, and he had earned a withering look and sharp words for his efforts. “What's Trista doing?"

  "Going back through the files, like you asked."

  "Good. Give me a call if you spot the blonde in the truck, but don't pull her over. Just tail her."

  "Will do."

  Cade hung up and called Trista, asking her to come down to the club's parking lot with the crime scene kit. Given the extreme smell of burned rubber when the truck had taken off, there'd surely be skid marks evident. Even if they couldn't pick up the tread pattern, they'd at least get an idea of tire width, which, in turn, might give them some idea if the tracks left in the forest were a possible match. As he hung up from Trista, Savannah walked out of the club. Just watching her had him hard.

  It was, he thought, a totally inconvenient situation. Yet one he couldn't—wouldn't—relinquish. Not this damn time.

  So, was it jealousy, like she'd claimed?

  He didn't know. How could he, when he'd never experienced anything remotely resembling this emotion before he'd met her? But if jealousy could be classified as wanting to be the only one holding Vannah, the only one caressing her, loving her, then her accusation was probably right on the money. He'd never been good at sharing, that was for sure. As many of his brothers would undoubtedly testify.

  She stopped well beyond his reach, but the cold night seemed to amplify her exotic scent. It touched his senses, warming him as quickly as any caress. Lord, it was just as well they'd taken the edge off the fever earlier; otherwise he'd be tearing off her clothes like some frenzied teenager new to the sport of loving.

  "I've asked Ike to come down and tail Denny.” Her voice was cool, professional, totally devoid of the heat he could see in her eyes.

  Cade nodded. “Could be he'll lead us to the blonde."

  "I wasn't worried about him leading us to her. I was worried about his safety."

  "I doubt he'd—"

  "You're willing to risk his life on a doubt?” she cut in, the heat in her eyes now anger rather than desire.

  "No.” He paused. “If that's the case, why use Ike to tail him? The kid's a little inexperienced, isn't he?"

  "Maybe, but he's also closer to Denny's age than any of the rest of us. He won't look so out of place at some of Denny's haunts."

  "People are going to recognize him, especially with that hair of his."

  "He'll wear a beanie pulled down over it. Quite the fashion amongst teenagers at the moment—or so he tells me."

  Cade wasn't convinced but he kept his doubts to himself. After all, she knew her people better than he did. “Did Denny have anything else to give us?"

  "He did say that I looked hot.” Amusement touched her lush lips, but it quickly faded. “And he didn't meet her at the club, but rather the burger joint on Galena Street. Said she'd worked the night shift there, off and on, for the last couple of weeks. Thought I'd head over there now and check it out."

  His gaze drifted down her leather-clad body, and his erection became positively painful as it pressed against the studs of his fly. Shifting his stance didn't help. “If you go dressed like that, they're never going to look at you the same way again."

  "And that could be a good thing,” she muttered, blowing out a breath that lifted the silky black strands from her forehead. “I'll change, naturally."

  "Good.” He didn't want anyone else ogling her any more than he wanted anyone else making love to her.

  Was that a wolf's natural predatory instincts, or something else entirely? He didn't know.

  Didn't want to know.

  Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Just because the moon is on your side, don't think you can control all my actions."

  "I wouldn't dream of it."

  She snorted softly. “Yeah, right."

  He glanced at his watch and saw it was barely eleven—thankfully, there was a lot of night left to sate his desire with her. “Shall we meet back at your lodge by two? That gives us a few hours before dawn."

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, then obviously thought the better of it and simply nodded. She walked away, calling to the wolf within even as she did so. He watched the fluid beauty of the change, as attracted to the golden wolf as he was the woman.

  When her form was finally claimed by the shadows, he walked over to where the woman's truck had been parked. Moisture gleamed wetly on the road surface. He squatted, and dipped a finger into the fluid. Oil. From the size of the puddle, the truck had a sizable leak. He scanned the rest of the immediate area, but couldn't see anything else of use.

  As he rose, lights swept into the parking lot, highlighting him in brightness. He threw up a hand to protect his eyes and tried to see if it was Trista or someone else.

  The vehicle cruised slowly towards him, as if intent on keeping him pinned in the light. He frowned, an odd sense of unease creeping up his spine. He took a step back. As he did so, the engine gunned, and with a squeal of tires, the truck came hurtling towards him. He waited until it was clear that the truck wasn't going to swerve, then threw himself sideways. His shoulder crashed into the side of a nearby car, sending a shockwave of pain down his left arm. The truck clipped the car, metal screeched and then the car was skidding in his direction, jarring his arm a second time. Pain swirled through him, but he ignored it and backed away quickly from the two vehicles. The truck swung away, and the high beam of the lights no longer pinned him. He caught a glimpse of wild brown hair, dark glasses and a small pinched mouth before his gaze focused on something else—the small crossbow hanging out the window. A crossbow armed with what looked like a wooden arrow.

  He swore, spun around, and ran for the back of the car. Almost immediately he heard the soft twang as the arrow was released, then the hiss of air as the deadly weapon hurtled towards him. He wasn't going to make it to the end of the vehicle, even though it was less than a pace away. He threw himself to the ground in the hope the woman had aimed high rather than low, and the arrow would simply go over his head.

  She hadn't aimed high.

  The arrow hit his flesh just below the back of his knee, cutting through skin and muscle even as he crashed onto the asphalt. Pain rose like a tidal wave, swamping him in agony. White ash. The thought cut through the pain as quickly as the arrow had cut through his body, and with it came the taste of fear. White ash was particularly deadly to werewolves and shapeshifters. With the arrow in his flesh, he couldn't move in human form, couldn't shift to his wolf form. He couldn't do anything but grit his teeth against the urge to scream at the fiery agony swamping his system.

  Yet, despite the pain, his senses were still working, because sound assaulted him. The deep rumble of the truck, which was still too close. Sho
uts coming from the direction of the club. Laughter, high and wild and oddly familiar. The growl of a wolf in attack mode.

  He forced his eyes open. Saw a golden wolf in mid-flight, high off the ground, arrowing towards the truck. Hallucinating, he thought, blinking to clear the image. It didn't. The wolf crashed into the driver's door and teeth flashed, shining white in the black night. Blood spurted, a warm rich scent his nose caught swiftly on the breeze. There was a yelp of pain then the engine gunned and the wolf dropped back to the ground as the truck disappeared.

  He closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the asphalt. Quick steps approached, but the pain was all consuming and he couldn't find the energy to force his eyes open a second time.

  Cool hands touched his forehead, and the smell of exotic flowers swamped him. It did nothing to ease the pain, but by God, he was glad she was here.

  Not that he could ever tell her that.

  "Tane's gone to fetch the medikit and to call an ambulance,” she said, her warm, sweet voice distant yet filled with concern.

  Tell him to hurry, he thought, then her words impacted on his drifting consciousness. Who the hell was Tane? No one he knew, that was for sure. “White ash,” he hissed, shaking his head a little to clear the sweat from his forehead and try to keep himself from sliding into unconsciousness.

  "I'm glad I managed to sink my teeth into the bitch,” she muttered. “At least the arrow missed everything vital."

  There was no such thing as missing something vital, and they both knew it. With the white ash in his flesh he was as helpless as a day-old pup, and if the wood remained in his skin too long, it would poison him as surely and as swiftly as arsenic.

  "Take it out,” he ground out between clenched teeth. God, why was she even hesitating?

  The chill of her touch had moved down to his leg. As much as he welcomed it, it was also excruciating. Even the gentle caress of her fingers against his jeans seemed to move the arrow deeper.

  "The arrow's barbed,” she said, her voice seeming to come from farther and farther away. “I can't take it out. I can only push it through."

  "Do it.” It had to be better than the burning touch of the wood.

  "You'll be maimed for days."

  "And I'll be worse than maimed if you don't goddamn remove it."

  "Cade, if one of the barbs breaks off—"

  I know,” he interrupted, his words little more than a gasp of air, his flesh running with sweat and feeling like a furnace. “Just do it."

  She took a deep, shuddering breath and said. “Tane, give me that knife you always keep down your boots."

  Tane again. He sure as hell was going to find out who this person was. Considering she'd supposedly never come here before, she seemed awfully familiar with the man.

  So, you are jealous, a voice whispered inside his mind.

  A female voice, familiar and yet not.

  No, he replied.

  Then why claim her as you have? Why react so protectively when she talks to another male?

  She is mine.

  She will never be yours unless she gives herself freely. And you are too afraid to allow it.

  Anger swept through him. Who the hell is this?

  Someone who will whip your ass if you hurt my sister again.

  You're Vannah's twin?

  Yes.

  How the hell did you get into my mind? He had shields. Good shields. Even those at the academy could never touch his thoughts unless he lowered some of his protection.

  A distinctly unfeminine snort ran through his mind. Your shields are little more than what a pup would have in the golden pack.

  But Savannah—

  Trusted you, which is why her shields were so low. And you abused that trust. For that pain alone I should whip you.

  Obviously, this woman had a thing about whipping. And does Vannah know you're in my head now?

  A chuckle ran through his mind, then another voice, as cool as the hands that were now on his flesh, joined the first.

  Goddamn it, Neva, you promised to behave.

  Vannah? Never, in all his time at training, had anyone told him it was possible to hold a three-way telepathic conversation.

  Yes. Now shut up and brace yourself. Ready Neva?

  Yes.

  Alarm ran through him. Hang on, ready for wha—

  The rest of the sentence cut off as a force swept through him, capturing his mind, his control, wrapping him in a net as gentle as silk, yet one through which there was no thought, no pain, just endless floating.

  Go, the gentle steel that was Neva's presence said.

  The fire that was the white ash sliced through his flesh. It should have left him a screaming mess. It didn't. Though he felt the arrow's tearing path, it was a distant thing. The cocoon around his mind shielded him from all hurt, all agony, all sensation.

  Vannah swore, but it was a far off sound that had no meaning. As were the words that followed. Cade, you have to shift shape to stem the blood.

  Shift shape? Why should he? He was content floating—

  He's out of it, Neva said. I've shielded him from the pain, but the shock is still there. You want me ... ?

  No. It had better be me. Vannah's voice held a grimness that sent a distant shiver of warning down his spine. He hates me anyway, so it won't matter.

  He doesn't hate you, Sis.

  Lust isn't like. It's quite possible to hate someone and still want them sexually, you know.

  Ladies, he wanted to scream, I am here. I can still hear you. But the words in that part of his mind that was still his never touched the void, never reached the two women.

  Do it, Neva said. It's getting harder to hold his mind.

  Do what? he wondered.

  Then suddenly, he knew. Because Vannah was in his mind, in his body, in his soul, invading his very essence as she called forth the wolf within. He wanted to rage against the intrusion, but his thoughts were still held in the cocoon of silky steel, and he could only scream in silent frustration as his body obeyed the call. Muscles and bone became fluid as his flesh shaped and reshaped itself. He'd barely even reached wolf form and Vannah was back, calling to the magic in his soul once again, bringing back the man.

  Sleep, she whispered, somehow making it an order he had no choice but to obey. Sleep for now. We'll talk later.

  You bet we will, he thought, and then sleep overtook him and he knew no more.

  * * * *

  Savannah took a deep, shuddering breath and sat back on her heels. Forcing him to change shape had a number of good affects—it had proven there were no white ash barbs in his flesh, and it had stopped the blood pouring from the wound. And the hole in his leg, while still bad, had at least partially knitted. Another change or two and he'd be able to put some weight on it. But for now, it was enough to get him to the hospital and have further tests done. She wouldn't put it past the bitch who'd fired the weapon to have tipped it in poison, just for the fun of it. Hell, what better way was there to make him suffer than to double the action?

  She brushed the sweaty strands of hair from her forehead and mentally reached for her sister. Thanks for the help.

  Anytime. But he's going to be angry.

  Nothing new in that.

  Neva's sharp snort made Savannah wince. She hadn't gone that deep into someone's mind in ages, and it had taken a toll. Her head was booming, she felt kitten weak, and sweat still dribbled down her forehead. All she wanted to do was go home and rest, and she couldn't see that happening for a while yet.

  Take care, Neva said. And remember to have full shields up when he wakes.

  I've had full shields up since he arrived.

  Good. Neva faded from Savannah's mind. She glanced at the still-slightly-shocked Tane. “Thanks for helping."

  "I didn't do much, except hold his leg steady.” Tane's gaze skated down her body then leapt away again. Heat flushed across his cheeks. “Damn, Savannah, you should dress like that more often."

  "Hardly practica
l for a ranger, is it now?” she said, gently reminding him of who she was. She reached for the coat he'd retrieved for her only minutes ago. “And since my reason for being here is official, I'll have to ask you to keep my presence here to yourself."

  He glanced past her for a moment. “We've drawn a crowd. Someone will figure out who you are.” He smiled slightly. “Especially given the way you yelled at them all to shut up and just get back."

  She smiled. “Since I'm dressed like a nasty biker chick, maybe not."

  He grinned. “You may be right. Want me to do anything else?"

  "Yeah, call the goddamn ambulance and ask them what's taking so long. And tell the crowd the action is over and to get back to dancing before the sheriff gets here and decides to arrest them all."

  He raised an eyebrow. “Would she do that?"

  "If she's pissed off enough."

  His grin widened. “Tell me again why we fooled around a little but never officially went out?"

  "Because you decided you preferred Genny with the legs that didn't seem to end."

  "More the fool me, then."

  He trotted off before she could reply, which was probably just as well. Glancing down, she brushed the sweaty hair from Cade's forehead, smiling a little when she saw the streaks of red staining his skin. The hair dye was coming out already, which was good, because she really did prefer his regular brown. On him, it was totally sexy. She let her fingers trail down his still heated cheek. Even in his sleep, he looked angry. Didn't the man ever relax?

  Her fingers dropped to his lips, her smile growing as she remembered the way he'd kissed her, devoured her, only hours before. What was it between them that made sex so far beyond just good that it was almost off the Richter scale? Hell, she'd always enjoyed sex, there was no doubting that, but with Cade there was something else. Something special.

  Lights swept into the parking lot, and she looked up. Relief ran through her when she saw it was the ambulance. A second car followed the emergency vehicle in, and her relief was replaced by annoyance as she recognized the gray Ford. Trista. That woman was not someone she wanted to see right now. According to Kel—the office's unofficial gossip collector—the relationship between Cade and his second was more than just the friendliness of constantly working together. If that were true—and Savannah wasn't sure that it was—how would Trista react seeing Cade bleeding and out of it?