Beneath a Darkening Moon

  Savannah almost choked on her bread, and Neva grinned mischievously. How did you ever think you'd keep a secret like that away from me?

  No one else knows, do they?

  Hell, no. In this town, gossip like that would be all over the place in an instant.

  That was all too true. There was nothing this town liked more than a meaty bit of news, which made the fact they'd kept a lid on the murders all the more amazing. Even Matt had kept his mouth shut—a miracle in itself.

  Neva glanced back at the crowded café and sighed. “I guess I'd better start helping again.” She hesitated. “You're seeing him tonight, I gather?"

  Savannah nodded.

  "Then come for breakfast tomorrow morning, and we'll have a bitchfest about the man. That's always good for releasing residual tension."

  Savannah grinned. “I'm sure Duncan's going to love that."

  Neva airily waved a hand. “What he wants is irrelevant in this instance.” She hesitated, her expression suddenly serious. “Remember that when you're dealing with this man. It's what you want that's important. Not the past, and not him. You. And remember, too, that while you may be forced into the dance, in this case you can probably control the way events unroll."

  "Oh, I've already laid down the rules."

  Neva grinned and squeezed Savanna's hand again. “That's my girl.” She quickly finished the rest of her coffee and pushed to her feet with a groan. “No one told me pregnancy was a back breaker."

  As she waddled away, Savannah sipped her coffee and considered her sister's advice. As usual, Neva was right. To get through this, she not only had to keep to the ground rules she'd already set, but she also had to keep it just about the sex.

  Not emotion, not memories, just sex. Hard, fast, long or slow, it didn't matter, as long as it remained detached. All about body and lust and satisfaction, not about feelings or emotions.

  He'd done it the first time, and he'd done it so well that she'd thought it had been real. Until the last night. Until he'd shown his true colors with that one, unforgivable act.

  Now it was her turn to play the cad. To treat him as nothing more than a means to an end—or, in this case, a surefire cure from the moon fever.

  A bell chimed as the café door opened, and she looked up to see Ronan walk in. Though he didn't often dine here, she wasn't entirely surprised that he'd come here tonight. She'd been avoiding him most of the day, but it was inevitable he would catch up with her. Inevitable that he would demand answers.

  Because, thanks to the dreams he'd witnessed so often, he knew a little about Rosehall. He would have recognized the intent behind the words carved into the victim's back—would know those words had been aimed at her.

  She picked up her coffee, meeting his gaze squarely and watching him move through the tables. Ari caught him halfway, flirting more outrageously than she usually did. Ari had had the hots for Ronan for as long as Savannah could remember, but as far as she knew, he'd never returned the interest.

  He dragged out a chair and sat down opposite her. “So,” he said simply. “Explain."

  She did—briefly.

  "And Cade?” he asked.

  "Became sexually involved with me to get close to Jontee, and stop him."

  "So you were one of this Jontee's lovers?"

  "I was Sunday and Wednesday.” She grimaced. Though she hated the fact that she'd been involved with a killer, she couldn't actually regret the rest of her Rosehall experiences. If nothing else, it had been a wild and amazing ride. “Cade was under the impression that as one of Jontee's lovers, I had to know something about the murders. I didn't.” Something she'd told him over and over, but he'd never believed her. Never trusted her.

  "And the murders here?"

  "Suggest that someone from that time didn't take too kindly to his part in bringing Rosehall to an end."

  "And perhaps your part in it?"

  "Perhaps."

  He studied her for a minute, his expression caring and his gray eyes concerned. “And this Cade? What does his presence here mean?"

  She knew he meant on a personal level rather than a professional one. She sucked in a breath and blew it out slowly. “We made a promise to the moon at Rosehall. That promise still holds.” Her gaze caught his over the rim of her cup. “For the next five nights."

  He gave her a sweet half-smile. “I figured something was going on between you two.” He reached across the table and lightly pressed his fingertips against her hand. A brief but tender touch, and all they dared here in public. “He hurt you once. Don't let him do it again."

  She smiled, wishing she could just lean across the table and kiss him. Wished she was free to love him as he deserved to be loved.

  He leaned back in the chair, creating space between them once again for the sake of those who were undoubtedly watching.

  "If this madman is planning to come after you, you may need protection."

  "What I need is to catch this person before they can kill again."

  He nodded. “Still, I think I'll start looking at security precautions for your apartment, just in case."

  "Fine.” He'd do it anyway, even if she said don't bother.

  He rose. “You know my number if you need me."

  She smiled and nodded, watching him walk out the door. Why couldn't fate allow her to fall for someone like Ronan? Someone who had more caring and tenderness in his little finger than Cade had in his entire body? It wasn't fair. But then, who said life had to be fair?

  She glanced at her watch and grimaced. Time to go to her lodge and get ready to meet the man she couldn't quite hate.

  * * * *

  There were two bars in Ripple Creek, and Cade was surprised to discover that the murders were discussed in neither. Somehow, the rangers had kept a lid on the news, even though towns like this usually thrived on gossip.

  He finished his beer, taking his time as his gaze scanned the semi-crowded room and his foot tapped to the thumping beat of music. Everyone here in the Blue Moon seemed to be out for nothing more than a good time, either chatting in large groups or squeezing onto the already crowded dance floor. Besides himself, there didn't appear to be any loners, or even anyone his cop senses would have labeled suspicious. But then, in all his years as an IIS officer, he'd never had a suspect who actually looked suspicious. They'd always been average Joe or family man types. Someone who didn't beg more than a cursory look.

  Whether the same pattern would be followed here in Ripple Creek was anyone's guess, but events so far suggested they would. And he honestly couldn't be sorry about that. As much as he wanted this case solved before anyone else got killed, he was willing to spend more time in Vannah's arms. If they'd been well matched anywhere, it had been in the sack—and he had five nights of the moon promise owed to him.

  He placed his empty glass on the table and rose, nodding a good night to the cheerful female bartender as he strolled outside.

  Under the cold light of the barely-there moon, the heat in his veins seemed to sharpen until his whole body ached with the fierceness of desire. He glanced at his watch and cursed softly when he saw it was only eleven. He was tempted, very tempted, to call her and demand that she come meet him now, because he needed her so very badly. He could do it. The moon gave the male that power.

  But he'd made her a promise not to use the moon magic, and until it suited him to do otherwise, he intended to keep that promise.

  He turned right, heading for Meadows Road, even though he still had an hour to kill. If she was feeling the moon anywhere near as strongly as he, she'd be there already, waiting. And arriving early would give him more time to enjoy her luscious body.

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled down Main Street. Ripple Creek, unlike many of the other reservations, hadn't embraced the human ideal of progress and had kept much of its quaint architecture. And, if what he'd heard about the council was true, they'd also kept many of the old-style ideals when it came to sex. Which was odd, considering a
Sinclair pack lived on the reservation—and Sinclairs everywhere had a wild and hedonistic reputation that was thoroughly deserved.

  And it probably explained Levon Grant's popularity. Over the years, Cade had come to realize that licentious behavior often existed hand in hand with old-fashioned conservatism.

  It was hard to imagine Vannah being Grant's daughter, though. Especially since she'd been one of Jontee McGuire's mistresses, and her main duty at the commune had been to welcome newcomers and introduce them to the sexual ways of Rosehall. There'd been over one hundred people at that commune, and even though she'd apparently arrived there several months later than Jontee himself, that was still a lot of welcomes. Still a lot of men.

  He supposed that by Sinclair standards, it was pretty damn tame. Still, he'd put a stop to it pretty quickly once they were an item. But he'd never been able to stop her from going to Jontee. Sharing her had eaten at him, even if that was the only reason he'd been there—to share her, to read and know her thoughts, and through her, Jontee's.

  But there was no sharing this time. She was his, only his, and would remain so for as long as he was here in Ripple Creek. He turned onto Meadow Creek Road and made his way up the steep incline as the buildings and houses gave way to parkland. He walked past a music auditorium that looked more like a series of conjoined tents, and then he passed several large concrete structures that claimed to be the Ripple Creek School of Music. Trees began to crowd closer as the road narrowed, and without street lighting, the shadows became thick. With his breath condensing on the still night air, and the soft gurgle of water coming from his left, it was easy to imagine he was in an untouched wilderness rather than the outskirts of a thriving town. He passed several small roadside mailboxes that gave lie to the feeling, and finally came to one that said White Peaks.

  He stopped, looking up the steep driveway. No lights beckoned ahead, and there was no hint of exotic fruit or flowers warming the night air. She hadn't passed this way. Not yet. Annoyance, perhaps tinged with a little disappointment, swept through him. Still, there was no point in going back to town. She'd be here soon enough.

  He walked up the sharp incline. By the time he'd reached the top, his legs ached. He stopped, sucking in air as he scanned the rundown building. He'd been expecting a small house, but this was, in fact, an old ski lodge, probably capable of holding thirty or so couples. It was shaped like a flat-bottomed V, with the flat section the main office area, and the sides the accommodations. There was nothing pretty about it, though. Half the windows were smashed, the roof in the right wing had partially collapsed, and one side of the steps leading up to the main doors had all but pulled away.

  He caught soft flickers of orange reflecting through the cracked front windows, and anticipation surged. Because those flickers were flames. From a fireplace.

  She was here.

  He strode toward the main door, avoiding the steps and leaping directly onto the covered patio. His footsteps echoed across the stillness, and as he opened the door, a bell chimed softly.

  The front room was small, holding a reception desk on the right side and a curved staircase that led up to the first floor landing on the other. Straight ahead, through an open set of doors, was a huge communal room filled with sheet-covered sofas and chairs. At the end of the room was the fire he'd seen. The fireplace was huge, dominating half the back wall.

  The scent of dust and age teased his nostrils, but underneath it was the erotic aroma of woman. His woman.

  She wasn't in the immediate area, though. Her scent would have been far stronger if she were.

  "Vannah?” His voice seemed to hang in the quiet, a note of fierce longing and desire.

  "If you want me, wolf, you have to find me.” Her voice had a tinny quality, yet it still contained a low note that sent his pulse racing. He looked over his shoulder and saw the small two-way radio sitting on the window frame.

  He picked the unit up and pressed the button. “And what do I get when I do?"

  "As long as you're naked, whatever you want."

  The heat in his body just about exploded. He wanted her now, not in ten minutes. Not in two minutes. Now.

  "Why the games, Vannah?"

  "Why not? Don't expect it easy, Cade, just because I once was."

  There wasn't much he could say to that, simply because it was the truth. “When I find you, I intend to take you.” A floorboard squeaked, and he glanced at the first floor landing. She was moving. “Be ready for me."

  "The moon makes me ready.” Her voice was little more than a low, taunting murmur. “And if you don't hurry, I'll tend to my own needs.” She paused, then added, “Or find someone else to ease the ache."

  "You promised—"

  "And we both know how much esteem you place on promises, so you might want to hurry."

  Anger swept through him, anger that was basic, the anger of a wolf whose turf is being threatened. “You are mine, Vannah. And I'm coming to claim what I own."

  "You don't own me. You never have."

  Never will. The unsaid words seemed to form in the shadows, as powerful as the attraction that had always existed between them. But she was wrong. He did own her—at least for the next five nights. He kicked off his boots and socks, and then he padded barefoot up the stairs. At the top, he stopped, tasting the air, searching for the rich headiness of her scent. He'd expected her to be on the left, simply because that way was safer. As ever, she did the unexpected. Her scent was coming from the right.

  He followed the darkened hallway, passing closed doorways without bothering to stop and check them. She wasn't there. He'd feel her, smell her, if she was. The air got colder, the smell of dust and age gradually replaced by the crispness of the night. Ragged glimpses of sky appeared above him, and he slowed, knowing he was coming to the collapsed section. In the middle of the hall, highlighted by starlight, was a pale mauve bra.

  Lust surged through him, an ache so fierce he thought he was going to lose it then and there. God, anyone would think he'd been celibate for the last ten years.

  In some ways, he supposed he had. Certainly, since Vannah sex had never achieved the same intensity.

  He bent, grasping the bra and raising it to his nose. The silky material was still warm from the heat of her body, so rich with the luscious scent of her. He breathed in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance. It affected him in ways he couldn't even begin to describe, and it wasn't just her scent. It was her.

  He shoved the wisp of material in his pocket and pushed open the nearby door. It was a stairwell, leading down. He followed it and opened the door at the bottom.

  "You're not naked, wolf,” she said through the two-way. “I'm guessing you're not as eager as you claim."

  "You can see me."

  "Obviously."

  "Then watch and judge for yourself the state of my desire."

  He pulled off his tie and dumped it on the stained carpet. His shirt and pants quickly followed, then finally, his shorts. His erection slapped his belly, pulsing with heat and desire.

  He glanced at the ceiling, but he couldn't see any mirrors or cameras. She had to be somewhere close.

  Pressing the two-way, he said, “So what do you think?"

  "I think,” she said, her voice a low purr touched with amusement, “you'd better hurry. That thing looks ready to explode."

  Didn't he know it. He glanced right, watching the warm shadows cast by the fire dance across the darkness. That was the logical destination, because of the warmth, because of the sofas and chairs.

  He went left. Air stirred past his nostrils, tickling his senses with lush femininity. He grinned in anticipation. She was close. So very close.

  The hall was dark, but many of the rooms were open, allowing a whisker of moonlight to filter in and lift the gloom. The ceiling was lined with cracks, probably caused by the roof's collapse onto the floor above, but he had no doubt it was safe. She might want to kill him, but she wouldn't do it in a place that she owned, if only beca
use she wouldn't want the gossip it would cause.

  His gaze fell on another lacy wisp of material sitting in the doorway ahead, and the heat in his loins became an ache unlike anything he'd ever felt before. He picked up the panties, raising them to his nose as he had her bra, drawing in the rich scent of her desire.

  It only increased his own, and he hadn't thought that possible.

  The room beyond the door was empty, holding only dust and cobwebs. But there was an interconnecting door midway down the left wall, and it was open. The darkness beyond was lit by a soft golden light that flickered and gleamed like excited fireflies.

  He strode forward. The room beyond the door was small and heated by a fire set in the hearth at the far end. There was no furniture other than a large sofa, and Vannah leaned against its back. She was motionless, her arms crossed over her breasts, her honey-colored skin so warmed by the flames that she seemed nothing more than a glorious golden statue. He forced himself to stop and drink in the sight of her, even though every inch of him quivered with the need to lose himself in all that rich, golden warmth.

  She was so much more perfect than he remembered. Or maybe that was simply his cock thinking, not his brain.

  "So,” she said, a mocking glint in her green eyes. “You have found your prize. Do you intend to claim it, or are you just going to stand there like a useless prick?"

  A low rumble of annoyance rose up his throat. Useless, huh? She should know from experience that useless was not something he could be accused of—in the sack or out of it. A cool smile touched her lips, and she turned, presenting her back to him. Another deliberate taunt that only fueled the fire.

  While some part deep down recognized and acknowledged what she was doing, he was more than willing to play along. After all, he was here for sex, nothing more, and that's exactly what she was offering. It was absolutely perfect.

  He slid his arms around her waist, pulling her warm, naked flesh back against his. Her butt rested against his erection, teasing him with heat. He pressed forward a little, so that her cheeks wrapped around him, encasing him in warmth, tormenting him with possibilities he felt no temptation to explore. Not when heaven itself lay so close.