As far as anyone who'd been on the team at that time knew, their felon had worked solo. And no one, outside those in the IIS, knew the smaller details, such as the fingers. So how could a man who'd been dead for over eight years be here in Ripple Creek, taunting them with new victims?
Cade sat back on his heels and glanced up at Vannah. “Was there anything carved into the flesh of the first victim?"
She crossed her arms. He couldn't honestly say whether or not she recognized the importance of the message, because there was nothing to be read in her expression or her eyes. But she had to understand it. She'd been at Rosehall, for God's sake.
"No. It would have been in the report, otherwise."
He nodded and glanced back at the coroner. “Roll him over."
No other messages. No other marks. He rose and stepped back so the kid could get clearer shots of both the victim's back, and the blood that had seeped from the cuts and stained the soil.
From the clearing below came the roar of an engine.
"That'll be the ambulance,” Ronan said. “You want me to bring them up?"
"Yes."
Ronan's gaze flicked to Vannah, whose nod was almost imperceptible. No guessing were his allegiance lie or who he'd be taking orders from, Cade thought. But again, he'd faced that sort of response many times on many reservations. At least the rangers here were more circumspect about it.
He turned, his gaze searching the surrounds. Half a dozen small flags dotted the ground, indicators of possible evidence Ronan had found. He began a search of his own, but after an hour or so, he had discovered nothing more than what had already been marked. Despite his earlier aspersions of Vannah's people, they obviously knew their job.
He rose and stretched the kinks out of his back. There wasn't much more he could do here until Trista and Anton showed up with their equipment. The site just needed to be guarded, and any of the rangers were more than capable of that. What he needed was decent coffee—which seemed to be seriously lacking at the ranger station—and a burger or two.
Though an icy beer wouldn't go astray, either. The sun had risen towards noon, and the heat and light reflecting off the nearby snow was extensive. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and glanced down to the tree line where Vannah stood talking to Ronan.
And saw Ronan briefly touch her face in an intimate, caring way.
Anger crashed though him, territorial and instinctive. A growl rumbled up his throat. Before he even realized what he was doing, he'd taken several steps toward them. He forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. Then he released it slowly, as he flexed his fingers and tried to retain some control.
But he knew, as he stared down at the two of them, that he was in deep, deep trouble.
Because the promise he and Vannah had made to the moon so long ago was obviously still in force.
And the sheer ferocity of his response suggested that the moon was not going to let them escape their promises so easily a second time.
Chapter Two
Savannah glanced at her watch and tried to contain the surge of irritation. Pick me up at five, he'd said. We'll discuss any developments on the case while you drive me to my hotel.
Well, it was nearly six, evening had fallen—along with the nightly chill—and he was still a no-show. What was she, a chauffeur with nothing else to do? It was bad enough that he and his team had basically banned them from entering the murder site, but to have one of her own men guarding the main path—and the kid at that—was goddamned infuriating.
She blew out a breath and pushed away from the side of the truck. It was getting too cold to stand there any longer, and besides, the fall of night seemed to have woken an odd sort of restless in her. It was almost as if the moon stirred heat through her system. Yet, tonight the moon would rise in the end of its waxing crescent phase, as far away from the full moon and its accompanying wildness as it could possibly get.
But the restlessness stirred, flicking through her veins like a fire about to erupt.
Strange. Very strange.
However, there was nothing she could do except ignore it. With Cade in town, she wasn't about to risk crossing the line with Ronan, and there was no one else she actually fancied enough to dance with.
She walked across to where Ike squatted. He rose, his expression one of frightened determination. “Boss, I've been ordered to stop you or anyone else going up the trail."
"Did he tell you to stop anyone entering the forest from an area well away from the trail?"
Ike frowned. “Well, no, but the intent—"
"I'm not talking about intent. And if I don't use the path, you're technically obeying orders, aren't you?"
"I suppose.” His voice was filled with the doubt she could see in his expression.
"You won't get into trouble,” she assured him. Even if she had to stand in front of him to protect him from the firing squad.
He nodded, accepting her word. She ducked through the trees and began to climb. Now that night had closed in, the shadows were thick and deep under the autumn clad trees. Leaves crunched beneath her feet, a soft, crisp sound that echoed across the stillness. From up ahead came the soft murmur of voices—Cade's rich tone, entwined with a soft, feminine lilt. One of his officers, at least, was female.
Another sound stirred the evening—another footstep, one out of sync with her own.
She stopped, every sense alert as she listened to the gentle stirring of the wind. The person ahead had obviously stopped too, because the only sound she could hear now was the rhythmic rise and fall of the voices ahead. She waited, trusting what she'd heard, knowing she had nothing to lose by simply standing there. After all, that's what she'd be doing down at the truck.
Five minutes passed.
Then, from up ahead and to her right, the steps began again, edging closer to the soft conversation coming from the murder scene. Those steps were too light to be human, meaning it was either a wolf or something else—something with the intelligence or natural cunning of a hunter.
She was betting on a wolf.
Still, she didn't move. As a member of the golden pack, she was gifted with strong telepathic abilities, and while her abilities were far outstripped by her sister, Savannah had more than enough skill to read the mind of almost anyone she chose to. And though it was a gift she didn't often use—simply because it went against all ethics—there were times, like this, when it was simply easier to reach out and discover what she was up against before she charged in.
She carefully lowered her shields and reached out telepathically to the person ahead.
Only to be hit so hard by a seemingly unending wall of hate and violence that she staggered backward and let out a small sound of shock and pain. She quickly shored up her defenses, only to hear the soft steps moving away from the murder scene. She knew the hunter had heard her soft cry of distress.
Still shaking from the force of the other person's hatred, she quickly called to the wolf within. Power rushed through her, an electric feeling that numbed sensation as her body reshaped, reformed. In those brief few seconds, she was without sight, without sound, and vulnerable to attack, which is why she'd chosen to change here rather than closer to whoever was up ahead. Better safe than sorry. In her alternate form, she leapt forward, seeking the scents in the air as she ran, pinning down the few that were different, foreign. Musk and mint.
Relief snaked through her. It wasn't the smell of anyone she knew, though why she'd expected to recognize it she couldn't honestly say.
She dashed through the darkness, following the faint aroma trail, chasing the rush of footsteps across the night. The other wolf was fast, but with each step she drew closer.
Then came the sound of a car door slamming, and two seconds later, the roar of an engine. She cursed, but the words came out as a little more than a rumble of anger as she surged forward. The car had sped away long before she came into the small clearing, and all that was left was the settling dust.
Cursing
again, she stuck her nose to the ground and hunted around for any scent or track clues. There wasn't even a decent tire track to be found. She moved back into the forest to see if she could find a footprint, but the thick cover of autumn leaves made that all but impossible. Annoyed, she turned tail and headed back for her truck.
The rhythmic murmurs of voices were no longer coming from the murder site, meaning Cade and his crew had probably shut down for the night. Meaning she was undoubtedly in trouble for not being where she was supposed to be.
But hey, if she had been, she might never have uncovered the fact they had a watcher.
She shifted shape as she neared the end of the aspens, and in human form, strode into the clearing. Cade was leaning against the side of her truck, his arms crossed and his stance radiating annoyance.
A man very unimpressed with tardiness, Kel had noted. For once in her life, it looked as if Kel had actually understated that fact, because he was certainly more than merely unimpressed.
"I hope you didn't reprimand Ike. He was only obeying my orders,” she stated, coming to a halt five steps away from him, out of immediate arm's length. But she was still within range of his heady, masculine scent, and it twined through her senses as sensually as a caress, causing the wildness within to stir in greater agitation.
She glanced at the night-blanketed sky. What the hell was going on? She shouldn't be getting this sort of reaction now—not when the moon was half way through its cycle.
"My orders should have countermanded any of yours.” His voice was edgy, roughened, as if he were feeling the heat of the moon as much as she. “This is my investigation, not yours."
She snorted. “And here I thought we could work as a team."
Something glittered in his eyes—something she couldn't quite catch. Or maybe it was simply the reflection of starlight. “We have several problems on that front."
"Yeah, you think I'm a no-good slut, and I think you're a lying, devious bastard.” And right now, she wasn't inclined to tell him anything. He'd need to know about their watcher, but now that night had hit, there was nothing more he or his team could do, and she didn't need to give him another reason to yell at her. Which he undoubtedly would later anyway.
His anger touched the air, a heat thick enough to burn. “True. But I wasn't talking about either of those problems."
She raised an eyebrow. “Then what the hell were you talking about?"
He hesitated. “I prefer not to discuss it here."
"Why? You scared of the dark?” Taunting him probably wasn't a good idea, but the inner bitch just couldn't let the moment pass. And after all, wasn't he the reason the bitch was there in the first place? She might have been a rebel before she'd left Ripple Creek and headed to Kansas and Rosehall, but she'd been a sweet one. Or so Neva had declared. If she couldn't trust her twin to give an honest opinion, who could she trust?
"And shouldn't I be?” His gaze ran down the length of her, a slow, sensuous perusal that sent heat flaring across her skin and desire rushing though her veins. But when his gaze finally rose to hers again, the dark depths were touched with a bitterness that almost outshone the lust. “After all, I learned the hard way that devils mostly come at night, and the most dangerous of them all is the one who looks like an angel."
"I wasn't the one who went into our relationship lying all the way, Cade, so don't get all high and mighty with me."
His expression was contemptuous. “But you quickly learned to lie, didn't you?"
"If I did, it was because I had a damn good teacher.” She crossed her arms, refusing to back down, even though common sense was screaming to just give up and forget about it. “All those pretty words; all those promises made in the dark. All of them lies. But I guess you're right. I guess I did tell the biggest lie of all."
His anger lashed at her, as fierce as the gleam in his dark eyes. Yet that gleam wasn't bitterness now. It was simply desire. And it burned as savagely as it ever had, crashing through her like a storm, making her tremble deep inside.
God help her, she wanted him. Wanted him as fiercely as she had back when she was a stupid teenager doing nothing more than rebelling against the restrictions of her childhood. Obviously, some things never changed, no matter how much time and hurt had passed.
"And which of your many lies was the biggest one?” he asked.
That he didn't even remember the words she'd said just before he'd torn everything apart hurt more than she ever thought it would. But then, how stupid was she to even think he would remember? She'd always been nothing more than a means to an end.
"It doesn't really matter now, does it?” Had never mattered to him. She shrugged and turned away, suddenly tired of arguing. No matter how much she might have dreamed of letting all her frustration, all her anger, loose on him, now that the dream had become a reality, it didn't feel as cathartic as she'd thought it would.
All she was really doing was dragging up old hurts, old pain, and it simply wasn't worth it. He wasn't worth it.
But she'd only gone three steps when his hand caught hers and spun her around.
"Don't ever walk away from me when we're in the middle of something,” he said harshly. “Not again."
"I didn't walk last time; I ran.” She pulled her hand from his, her fingers tingling from the contact and the warmth of his flesh still lingering against hers even though he no longer touched her. “And I'll do whatever I want. You are not my boss."
Or lover. Or friend. Or anything else important, she thought, spinning on her heel and walking around the back of the truck.
"That's where you're so very wrong,” he said. “Want me to prove it?"
"I don't want anything from you.” Her gaze met his over the back of the truck. “Nothing but a quick result so you can get out of my town."
"There are forces in place that are preventing that, despite how much either of us might wish otherwise."
"I don't care for excuses. Just get it done and get out."
"Savannah, stop."
His voice was so soft she barely heard it. And yet his words seemed to hang in the air, surrounded by an energy that whisked across her skin and burned into her mind, becoming a compulsion she had no choice but to obey. And even though she fought the order with every ounce of strength she had, her feet stopped and her hand stilled on the doorhandle.
She knew what it was. Knew that he was using the promise—which was a pledge of commitment made to the moon and enforced with magic—they'd made so long ago against her now. How that promise was viable after all the years between them she had no idea, and in truth, it didn't really matter. Fury burned through her, momentarily obliterating the desire. “Bastard."
He gave her a lopsided smile that tugged at her memories and snagged old hurts. God, how she'd loved that little boy smile...
"I never forced you into that promise, Vannah."
"Savannah,” she bit back. “And you're forcing it now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
He walked around the truck, each step such effortless grace that he could have been walking on air. Which was what made him a good IIS officer, she reminded herself fiercely. He could sneak up on people all too easily, and just as easily misinterpret what he'd heard.
But he wasn't sneaking now. He was boldly going where few men had dared go before, and there wasn't anything she could do to stop it. Not right now, anyway.
But later, he would pay. Somehow, she'd make sure of it.
In the darkness his handsome features were shadowed, and his eyes were little more than obsidian stone, though the occasional spark of navy gleamed.
That spark was so hot. So hungry.
And it echoed through every inch of her, until her whole body felt stretched taut with desire. Part of her wanted to run, to somehow break the bonds of magic and just flee. But that other part, the wild part that had been contained for so long, wanted to stay and savor the delights this man could offer. Had offered in the past. She had no idea which part would have won
, simply because the choice had been snatched from her. And that, more than anything, was what infuriated her. If she was going to leap into the abyss, she wanted it to be of her own free will.
His gaze swept down her body, lingering on her breasts far too long, making her nipples grow taut, making them ache. Then his gaze slipped further, following the curve of her waist, stopping again on her groin, as if he could actually see the heated desire pooling there. But he didn't really need to see it, because the scent of her arousal hung on the air, an aroma as sweet as the fierce musk of desire emanating from his skin.
His smile, when his gaze finally rose, was that of a predatory wolf who had his prey in his sights. A male who knew that the prey was ready to be brought down and consumed.
"Don't do this,” she warned, even as part of her screamed for the warmth of his caress and the heat of his body on her skin and deep inside.
He stepped closer, until all she could feel was his warmth and all she could smell was the heady aroma of lust and man. “Do what?"
He raised a hand, his fingers brushing her cheek. His touch was a fire that burned through skin and muscle and bone, until it seemed her very soul quivered in fear of it.
"Don't use force,” she somehow said. “Not again. Not in any form."
"I'm not forcing you to respond, Vannah. I never have."
"Savannah,” she corrected. But it came out little more than a husky whisper as his face drew closer. Then his lips brushed hers, a kiss so sweet, so full of memories, that tears touched her eyes.
She squeezed them shut, battling to breathe, fighting the desire coursing through her limbs. Praying for the sanity to resist his seduction, when all she wanted to do was return the tenderness of his touch and take it further. So much further.
"Using the moon magic is force, because you leave me no choice."
"True.” His breath brushed her lips as he spoke, sending a warm shiver of anticipation down her skin. “But I can't let you go without seeing if our kiss is as good as I remember."
With that, he wrapped his arms around her, crushing her close as his lips found hers almost savagely. It was a kiss as wild as she remembered, as erotic as those she'd shared in her dreams. It was also a very unapologetic affirmation of what he wanted. What he intended to do.