Beneath a Rising Moon

  pressing it against his chest. “Don’t.”

  He stopped, took her hand from his chest and lightly

  kissed her fingers. “Don’t what?”

  “You know what.” Her soft voice was a mix of

  breathlessness and scorn. “We can’t, not with Betise this

  close.”

  “I don’t particularly care about Betise. Never have.”

  Her gaze searched his, then she shook her head. “How

  can you say that?”

  “Easily. I open my mouth, and the words come out.”

  “You haven’t got a heart in that chest of yours, have

  you?”

  “I certainly haven’t discovered one yet. Take off your

  dress.”

  Anger ran around him. “No.” She wrenched her hand

  from his and crossed her arms.

  He raised an eyebrow and reached for the power of

  the moon again. She swore softly and vehemently, and

  amusement swam through him. “And I thought the golden

  tribe were such gentle souls.”

  “We are, generally. Must be the company I’ve been

  keeping of late.” She threw her dress on the ground then

  crossed her arms again.

  The moon caressed her golden skin, and her nipples

  were taut with cold and arousal. He was as hard as hell

  and wanted nothing more than to take her right there

  and then. But that’s exactly what she expected him to do,

  so it was the one thing he couldn’t.

  He reached out, gently running a finger across her

  breasts. She trembled under his touch, swallowing heavily.

  Hate and desire warred in the emotive swirl that briefly

  surrounded them both.

  “How well do you know Betise?”

  Surprise flickered briefly in her eyes. “She’s a regular

  customer at the diner. Been going there for years.”

  “Uncross your arms.” He made it an order, and she

  bit her lip, her knuckles whitening as she battled the

  command. It was a battle she had no hope of winning.

  “So it’s a casual thing, not true friendship?” he added,

  running his finger to the center of one breast and slowly

  circling the engorged point. Goose bumps fled across her

  skin, and the smell of her arousal was rich and sweet on

  the strengthening wind.

  “Yes,” she said, voice breathy, eyes angry.

  “Why aren’t you afraid that she’ll report your presence

  here to your parents?”

  She snorted softly. “Betise hates my parents. They’re

  against the moon dance, against everything the mansion

  stands for.”

  Which made Neva’s decision to come here all the more

  suspicious. “But what about other friends? Might she not

  mention it to them?”

  She hesitated, and fear flickered through her pretty

  eyes. “Maybe.”

  “Then why didn’t you avoid her?”

  “Maybe I was just so desperate to see a friendly face.”

  He shifted his touch to her other breast. She trembled,

  her skin flushed and hot under his fingertips. “And maybe

  you had some information for her to pass on.”

  She frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking

  about.”

  He sensed no lie in her words. Whatever the reason

  for Neva being here, Betise wasn’t a part of it. He reached

  for the moon power again then said, I want you to question

  her about her attacker, and I want you to report every word

  back to me, and only me.

  And by using the moon power, he’d ensure she couldn’t

  go running back to her employer with any information

  Betise might give her.

  Her eyes practically spat fire. He smiled and slid his

  hand down her stomach. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I’m a

  bastard.”

  He gently delved the golden triangle of curls. Lord,

  she was so hot, so moist. He probed deeper, sliding through

  her slickness, until her muscles pulsed around one finger,

  then two. Her whole body quivered, and the smell of her

  need stung his senses, testing his strength, his will. He

  wanted her every bit as badly, but right now the need to

  push her into revealing what she knew and who employed

  her to watch him was stronger than the need to dance

  with her.

  Though he wasn’t entirely sure it would remain that

  way.

  He kept stroking her, until her skin was flushed with

  heat and the fine sweat of desire, and the tremors in her

  body indicated she was close to the edge.

  At that moment, he withdrew his touch and stepped

  away.

  Heat climbed into her cheeks, and she clenched her

  fists. “Why are you doing this to me?”

  His smile was tight. In many respects, he was

  punishing himself as much as her. “Anticipation is half

  the pleasure.”

  “Believe me, it’s not.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps we should see.”

  She studied him warily—an aching, golden angel he

  desperately wanted to lose himself in.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Go up to my room and climb into bed. You will wait

  there until I return, and go nowhere else until then.”

  He made it a command, and she swore again. Her

  eyes narrowed slightly, and he hastily raised his shields

  to full. Even so, the trickle of fury that got through nearly

  blasted his mind. She wasn’t kidding when she’d said he’d

  have to watch himself. With that sort of power, she’d

  probably be able to fry his brain.

  “That could get awfully damn messy if I have to go

  pee,” she muttered eventually.

  “You can go to the bathroom. Nowhere else.”

  “Isn’t that so goddamn generous of you?”

  “Go,” he ordered. “Now.”

  She picked up her dress and stomped down the stairs.

  He watched her until she’d fled around the corner,

  clenching his fists against the desire to go after her. Right

  now, he had more important matters to tend to. Satisfying

  his lust could wait.

  He went back into the study. Martin glanced up and

  gave a small nod, and Duncan relaxed a little. He looked

  at Betise. As he’d guessed, her wounds were not as serious

  as they’d looked.

  “Are you staying for the remainder of the night’s dance

  or going home?”

  “Going home.” She arched an eyebrow, and her voice

  became little more than a husky whisper as she added,

  “Are you offering to escort me?”

  He hesitated, but knew in reality he had little choice.

  Not if she had been attacked by the murderer. “Yes.”

  A smile touched her thin lips, and the smell of her

  desire stirred the room—but not him. Neva’s scent clung

  to him, and it was her he wanted, not this well-used dancer

  who claimed to have some sort of past with him.

  Her gaze switched to Martin. “Thanks, Doctor.”

  The old wolf nodded. “You’re most welcome. Duncan,

  I’ll talk to you later about that other matter.”

  He nodded. Betise raised an eyebrow as she climbed

  off the sofa. “Other matter?”

  “Pack business,” he said flatl
y. “Are you changing

  before you leave?”

  Her fingers toyed with the gauzy material of her gown,

  drawing his gaze down her body. She was very shapely,

  but these days it took more than just a well endowed body

  to catch his interest, though Neva had captured him with

  little more than a wistful thought.

  “I can’t see the point,” she said huskily. “Not when I

  plan to come back tomorrow night.”

  “Fine. Let’s go.” He pressed his fingers to her back,

  ushering her out the door. Once outside, he dropped his

  hand and ensured there was plenty of distance between

  them.

  She noticed. “I won’t bite,” she said softly. “Not unless

  you want me to.”

  He didn’t even glance at her. There was nothing about

  this wolf that attracted him, and nothing he wanted from

  her. Which was odd, given the hunger that boiled through

  his blood.

  “I don’t want you.” He kept his voice harsh and flat to

  leave her in no doubt as to his feelings, and he felt rather

  than saw her gaze slide down his body. It was a touch of

  heat that left him itchy.

  “Your body suggests otherwise,” she said.

  They walked past the pavilion, heading for the main

  gate, and he briefly wished Ripple Creek was a little closer.

  He had no desire to be in this wolf’s company any longer

  than necessary. “My body does little more than react to

  the power of the moon. Believe me, it’s not you I want.”

  “Neva.”

  She practically spat the words, and he frowned. “Neva

  is nothing more than another dancer I’m spending time

  with this moon cycle, and she certainly has nothing to do

  with my lack of desire for you.”

  They passed through the main gates and headed for

  the trees. He paused, allowing her to go first down the

  narrow path.

  “You have changed your tune over the years, haven’t

  you?” she growled. “There was a time when the opposite

  was true.”

  “You and I both know we did little more than share

  one dance,” he bit back. “And I’d like to know what you

  think to gain by stating otherwise.”

  She glanced back at him, pale eyes gleaming with fury.

  “We shared more than one dance.”

  They hadn’t. He was more positive of that than ever.

  But why was she so adamant that they had? “Either way,

  it doesn’t matter. The past is something I have no wish to

  relive.”

  She snorted. “You’re as bad as your bastard brother.”

  He smiled grimly. “Which one? I have three.”

  She hesitated. “René. You all make promises in the

  heat of moon passion, but when the sanity of the sun

  returns, you renege.”

  He very much doubted that René had made any

  promises. His brother enjoyed his freedom and the dance

  far too much. Still, at least it was one thing he could check.

  René didn’t drink and would certainly remember what he

  had—and hadn’t—said. “I take it that you’ve danced with

  Tye and Kane as well?”

  Her voice was bitter as she all but spat, “Who hasn’t?”

  She had a point. None of them were exactly reluctant

  when it came to enjoying the pleasures of the moon dance,

  though it was unusual for all four of them to have mated

  with the same dancer. Their tastes in women were very

  different.

  “So you’re not exactly sorry that the Sinclairs are in

  trouble at the moment?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry all right—sorry the murderer is taking

  out innocent dancers rather than you lying pack of

  bastards.”

  He smiled grimly. Must be his night for being called a

  bastard. They walked through the remainder of the trees

  in silence, and the lights of Ripple Creek eventually came

  into sight. The town was quiet, which didn’t surprise him,

  given the somewhat puritanical hold the golden tribe had

  on the place. Those who truly wanted to celebrate the glory

  of the moon did so in private or at the mansion.

  Betise lived in a small, somewhat rundown house on

  the outskirts of town. He walked her to the front gate then

  stopped.

  She swung around. “You’re not coming in?”

  The heat was back in her eyes, the smell of her arousal

  thick and heavy on the air. Yet two minutes ago, she’d

  been wishing him dead.

  “I have no desire for you,” he repeated.

  She caught his arm and stepped close, wantonly

  pressing her body against his. “A wolf with experience

  can give you far more pleasure than an uptight bit of fluff

  like Neva.”

  Anger surged through him. Neva was more wolf than

  this bitch would ever be. He grabbed her shoulders and

  none too gently pushed her backwards. “Go inside and

  lock your door. And if I hear you’ve mentioned Neva’s

  presence at the mansion, I’ll ensure you never again attend

  another moon dance.” And for a wolf so hooked on the

  pleasures of the moon, that was a threat worse than death

  itself.

  Her pale eyes glittered silver in the night, and for an

  instant, it seemed sanity had fled their depths and all

  that was left was hate.

  “Bastard,” she muttered.

  “So I keep getting told.”

  She spun and walked away, but halfway up the path,

  she hesitated and looked over her shoulder.

  “There’s something you should know. Three weeks ago,

  Levon Grant pulled me aside in the diner and began asking

  questions about who was dancing with whom up at the

  mansion.”

  Shock rippled through him. Neva’s father had been

  asking about the mansion? Why? While it was obvious

  Levon Grant had no liking for the dance, he’d never been

  one of those who spoke out against it, either. Duncan had

  been under the impression that while Levon might hate

  what the dance represented, he also understood that the

  mansion provided a secure outlet for the moon-spun urges

  and kept Ripple Creek safe for human and werewolf alike.

  But maybe he’d been wrong all along. Maybe Levon

  had just been waiting for the right opportunity to take

  matters into his own hands.

  But if that were the case, why was Neva at the

  mansion? Would a wolf so against the mansion’s moon

  dance force his daughter to join them?

  Given what he’d seen of the man, he doubted it. And

  yet, the niggle was there. He couldn’t say for certain, and

  that was worrying. Maybe he was being played more than

  he realized.

  “You’d better watch what you do over the next couple

  of days, wolf.” Betise’s cold words seemed to echo his

  thoughts. “It might just turn out that you’re dancing with

  the murderer’s not-so-sweet accomplice.”

  Seven

  Duncan rapped his knuckles against the wooden door

  leading into his father’s suite, then entered without being

  asked. Zeke wasn’t in the main room, but he could hear

&nb
sp; soft voices in the bedroom. He strode over to the bar and

  poured himself a large bourbon. A habit he’d have to watch,

  he realized, even as the liquid burned down his throat.

  The last thing he wanted was a return to the bad old days.

  He leaned against the bar and listened to the murmurs

  of conversation in the other room. While he couldn’t hear

  many words, one thing was obvious. His father’s source

  was female, not male.

  A cold breeze whistled around his ankles, indicating

  the French doors had been opened. Two seconds later his

  father entered the room, wearing little more than a black

  silk robe.

  “No wonder you didn’t want me appearing before five,”

  Duncan noted dryly. “You knew you’d be busy paying off

  the messenger.”

  Zeke smiled and didn’t refute the accusation. He

  poured himself a drink, then slapped a folder on the bar.

  “There’s the report. There don’t seem to be any variances

  from the other attacks.”

  “Did they find any more coat hair?”

  “Other than that one you saw, no. But one hair is all

  they need to place a suspect at the scene.”

  “If they had a suspect.”

  “True.” Zeke paused and took a drink. “My source did

  drop one interesting revelation that’s not in the reports.”

  “What?”

  “While the coroner’s report couldn’t confirm whether

  sexual penetration had occurred during the attack, the

  rangers themselves believe none of the women were raped.

  They believe it’s only being made to look like they were.”

  If that were the case, the murderer was damn good at

  make believe. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “You might as well ask me why the murderer is

  targeting these women,” Zeke replied dryly. “When we

  know why, we’ll find our killer.”

  Duncan glanced down at his drink for a moment.

  “What do you know about a wolf named Betise?”

  His father’s lip curled. “She’s a dance addict and has

  been well-used over the years. I’ve never danced with her,

  but I believe René and Kane both have. And you.” Zeke

  hesitated, dark eyes glinting with sudden amusement. “But

  then, you did have a reputation to live up to.”

  He grimaced. There was no use regretting his past,

  and there was certainly nothing he could do to change it.

  “She was claiming tonight that we were an item for nearly