Beneath a Rising Moon

  eyes. “Seems to me the rangers haven’t a clue.”

  Her tone was as amused as her look, and he raised an

  eyebrow. “You don’t seem all that sorry about it.”

  “The murders?” Iyona snorted softly. “I personally

  think it should be you Sinclairs being taken out, not the

  fools who choose to dance with you.”

  Betise had said much the same thing. Maybe it was a

  speech she’d learned from her mother very early in life.

  But if that was the way she felt, why had she wasted more

  than half her life attending dances? “You have a problem

  with my family?”

  Her look was scathing. “Yeah. All you Sinclairs are

  nothing but a pack of lying bastards.”

  Again, that was something he’d heard Betise say more

  than once. But then, Neva had called him a bastard more

  than a few times these last couple of days, and with good

  reason. He frowned as he thought of her, and he had to

  control the sudden urge to get up and go find her. He’d

  promised not to go back until dusk. If he wanted to undo

  the mess he’d made of everything and start making

  amends, he couldn’t break that vow.

  And the mere fact that he even wanted to make amends

  surprised the hell out of him. She was his for the rest of

  this moon phase. He could rightfully lose himself to the

  pleasure of her body until the full moon finally rose and

  forced them all into wolf shape. But he wanted more than

  just that. He wanted to know her. Wanted her to smile at

  him the way she’d smiled at her friend in the diner.

  He wished he’d met her under more normal

  circumstances, and beyond the time of the rising moon.

  Maybe then he wouldn’t have destroyed any chance he

  had with her.

  At that moment pain flashed, rising from his hip and

  spreading upwards like a flame, until his whole body was

  encased in agony. Then as quickly as it came the sensation

  faded, leaving only fear and a cold churning in his gut.

  He fought the sudden urge to leave this stinking house.

  It was crazy. Neva was safe at home. Besides, she had a

  weapon more formidable than teeth and claws, and could

  undoubtedly defend herself against most attacks.

  He rose and began pacing the small room. “What has

  my family ever done to you?”

  Iyona snorted. “Your lot wrecked my life.”

  “You’ve never danced at the mansion.” Though he

  wasn’t sure why he was so certain. Iyona was old enough

  to have been dancing long before he’d ever started.

  “There’s more than one pack of Sinclairs isn’t there?”

  she bit back. “You must have bred like damned rabbits in

  the early years.”

  Her words sent alarms off somewhere in the back of

  his mind. He stared at her for a moment, then asked, “I

  gather from that statement that you spent some time over

  at the Bitterroot reservation?”

  The smile that touched her lips sent a chill down his

  spine. “No. But I wish I had been. I would have enjoyed

  watching your lot burn.”

  He sensed no lie, and yet he suspected she was doing

  just that. “If you feel that strongly, why invite a Sinclair

  into your house?”

  She snorted again. “Because this is my daughter’s

  house, and she seems to have a passion for your lot.”

  And yet, she’d wished them dead not all that long ago.

  Or was that merely an aftereffect of exchanging heated

  words with René? He was definitely going to have to speak

  to his brother when he got back to the mansion, if only to

  uncover what sort of game Betise was playing. Especially

  given the fantasy she had of being a long time lover of his.

  Outside the house, a door slammed shut, then a

  shadow whisked past the windows. Two seconds later the

  back door opened, and Betise appeared. Her smile became

  a look of surprise and quick excitement when her gaze

  met his.

  “Duncan,” she said, voice warm. “What a nice—”

  “I’m here to ask a question,” he said quickly. “Nothing

  more.”

  Annoyance and perhaps a flash of anger flitted through

  her grey-green eyes. She stripped off her coat and gloves

  and tossed them on the back of the chair. “Let me guess.

  You discovered my lie. Surprise, surprise.”

  “Then why bother lying in the first place?”

  She shrugged and sat down. “You seemed so damn

  enamored with the virginal Neva, and I guess it just pissed

  me off.”

  Her tone had much the same effect on him as nails

  down a blackboard. He shoved his hands in his pockets,

  half wishing he’d never come here. “What does it matter

  to you if I’m enamored with her? You and I shared one

  dance, nothing more.”

  Something flashed in her eyes. Something more than

  anger. Something almost crazy. She yanked off her boots

  and tossed them into the corner. “I knew you’d race back

  and question her. Wish I could have seen her expression.”

  He wished he hadn’t. Wished he’d resisted the urge to

  voice his doubts. Wished he’d simply trusted her. “I

  thought you and Neva were friends.”

  She glanced at her mother, and the two shared a

  strange sort of smile. “Acquaintances more than friends,”

  Betise said. “We chat at the diner and the hair salon, but

  it’s nothing deeper.”

  And of that, he was extremely glad. He’d hate to think

  that Neva hung around with someone as unsavory as

  Betise. “So what did you hope to gain by lying?”

  She raised an eyebrow, amusement touching her thin

  lips. “What do you think?”

  “If I had any idea, I wouldn’t be asking.”

  She stared at him for a moment, eyes so bright they

  were almost otherworldly. “You really don’t, do you?”

  He glanced at Iyona, saw the same, almost maniacal

  look in her eyes, and frowned. Something was going on

  here, something he didn’t understand.

  “Told you,” Iyona said, voice shrill. “They’re all no

  good.”

  “Seems that way, doesn’t it?” Betise’s voice was flat,

  dead, and something in his gut clenched. The house might

  be cold, but these two could have frozen hell itself.

  “Look,” he said, meeting Betise’s gaze. “You and I

  shared one dance, nothing more. I have no idea what game

  you’re playing, but if you don’t stop your lies, I’ll have you

  banned from the dance.”

  Iyona snorted. “That’s a typical Sinclair response.” Her

  voice was so full of venom he could almost smell it.

  He glanced at her. With her thin arms crossed, angular

  hips resting against the bench and eyes narrowed, she

  really did remind him of a snake. Neeson might not have

  any idea who was behind the animosity being directed at

  his pack, but he certainly did. And he had a suspicion

  he’d better find out why.

  He pulled his gaze away from her, concentrating on

  Betise. “I’m warning you now, stay away from
my

  brothers.”

  “Who made you pack leader?” she spat. “You can

  hardly control your own damn actions, let alone your

  brothers.’”

  Which might have been true enough in times past, he

  supposed, but not nowadays. Control was the one thing

  he never lost—except, perhaps, when it came to Neva.

  The itchy feeling that something was wrong with her

  not only remained but was growing stronger. He had to

  go. Had to.

  “I’m speaking for my father,” he said curtly. “Watch

  your step, or you’ll never take another inside the mansion.”

  “René owes me. I want him to fulfil his promises,

  nothing more.”

  “René makes no more promises than I do.”

  “Not even to the virginal Neva?”

  “Not even.” Yet the words tasted sour on his lips. If

  ever he could have made promises with someone, it might

  have been Neva. “But while we’re on the subject of Neva,

  quit telling her tales about you and me. There is no you

  and me. There never has been.”

  Her eyes glittered, but he wasn’t sure if it was tears or

  merely the light catching the silver in her eyes. “You lie.

  Look into your heart, Duncan.”

  “I have looked into my heart.” And up until this moon

  phase, he’d thought it incapable of any sort of emotional

  depths.

  “Bastard.” Her soft voice was filled with hatred.

  “So I’m beginning to believe,” he muttered and turned,

  walking out of the house and away from its crazy

  occupants.

  He stopped on the veranda and watched the storm.

  The snow had eased, but the wind hadn’t, and the day

  was still bitingly cold. Not the sort of day you wanted to

  be out in.

  Not the sort of day you wanted to find yourself

  unconscious in.

  For one second, he froze. Then he swore and dove into

  the storm, running as if the hounds of hell were after him.

  He didn’t feel the tempest blowing around him. Didn’t feel

  the cold. Didn’t even feel the pavement pounding under

  his feet. All he could feel was an odd sort of numbness,

  creeping slowly through his body, as if his strength was

  being sucked away by an unknown force.

  Only it wasn’t truly unknown. It was Neva, siphoning

  his strength to bolster hers.

  He’d never truly feared before, but he did now. For

  her.

  For them.

  Because if she could do that, then this thing between

  them went far deeper than he’d thought, far deeper than

  just a moon dance.

  Wouldn’t it be the mother of all ironies if, in a matter

  of days, he’d managed to destroy the one thing he’d spent

  half his life searching for?

  More than eight blocks separated Betise’s house and

  Neva’s. He crossed them in record time, slowing only as

  he reached her house. He opened the gate, then hesitated,

  looking at the windblown whiteness to his right. She wasn’t

  home. She was down there, somewhere.

  He didn’t question his certainty. Didn’t dare. He swore

  again, a growl of sound the wind quickly snatched away,

  and hurried forward. The sullen gleam of a streetlight

  became visible, indicating that he was approaching

  another road. He stopped on the corner, glancing to his

  left.

  And saw her huddled against the curb, looking like

  little more like a brightly-colored bundle of snow-covered

  rags than a woman. His gut twisted, and for a second he

  couldn’t seem to breathe. Then he was beside her, stripping

  off his gloves and slipping his fingers under her woolen

  ski mask, feeling for a pulse. It was there, nice and steady.

  He checked her ears, then her fingers and her feet. All

  were well covered. All were warm. Relief slithered through

  him. Hypothermia didn’t appear to have struck yet.

  He stripped off his coat, then his sweater, rolling it

  lengthways and carefully placing it around her neck. As

  improvised cervical collars went, it wasn’t the best, but it

  was a hell of a lot better than risking moving her without

  it. He carefully turned her over. No blood. That might be

  good. Might be bad.

  “Neva?” He lightly tapped her cheeks. Her color was

  good, and he could feel the warmth of her skin through

  the mask.

  Her eyes fluttered, and a smile touched her lips. A

  carefree, easy sort of smile that did strange things to his

  heart’s rhythm.

  Neva?

  She giggled, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise. It

  sounded for all the world like she was drunk. Are you

  okay?

  Okay? No. Perfect? Yes.

  Her words made him smile. She was perfect, in almost

  every way imaginable. He picked up his coat and tried to

  wrap it around her, but she slapped his hands away with

  a laugh. It was such a carefree sound he almost laughed

  with her, despite the concern swamping him.

  What happened? He managed to avoid her hands and

  finally wrapped the coat around her.

  A truck happened. Clipped me.

  She seemed to be moving all right, and he could no

  longer sense pain in her mind. Still, he’d better get her to

  the hospital, just to be sure.

  No. Take me home. Please.

  Her mind speech was a little indistinct, yet he could

  smell no alcohol on her breath. You need to go to the

  hospital. There might be internal injuries.

  No! Her words might be slurred but the alarm in her

  voice was clear and forceful. I’m okay. My parents are there.

  I can’t talk to them yet.

  She touched a gloved hand to his cheek, her bright

  eyes catching his. Her pupils were slightly dilated, but

  not with desire. He suspected she’d been drugged. But

  with what? And could he risk not taking her to the hospital

  when she might have been overdosed?

  “Please.” Her voice was soft. Imploring. “Just trust me

  and do as I ask.”

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was a

  fool for even risking a compromise, but he opened his

  eyes and said, “I’ll take you home and check you over. If I

  think you should go to the hospital, you’ll go, okay?”

  Her relief slithered through him, flame bright. “Okay.”

  He picked her up, cradling her close. She rested her

  cheek against his shoulder and sighed almost contentedly.

  “Home, James,” she murmured, in a ritzy sort of way.

  Her warm breath caressed his neck and breathed life

  into the embers of desire. Moons, simply holding her felt

  so good. So damn right.

  He kicked open her front gate and hurried up the steps.

  Her front door was unlocked, and he shook his head,

  unable to believe any woman living alone in this day and

  age could be so trusting. Even a relatively small town like

  Ripple Creek had its fair share of creeps.

  And she had probably cast him as one of them.

  He pushed the thought away and headed up the stairs

  to her bedroom.
Thankfully, she’d left the heat on, and

  the house was warm.

  “I like your thinking,” she said, as he placed her on

  the bed. “No better way to warm up a cold body than a

  good bout of sex.”

  He squatted in front of her and carefully took off her

  boots, then her woolen socks. Her feet and toes were warm.

  “You know this for a fact?” he asked, glancing up with a

  smile.

  She sniffed and lifted her nose, her expression haughty

  but green eyes twinkling. “I have been told,” she said in

  the best impression of snobbery he’d ever heard.

  “Extreme physical activity is not good for someone who

  might have hypothermia.” He rose and unwound his

  makeshift collar, then undid her coat and discovered

  another one underneath. No wonder she was so warm.

  “I haven’t got hypothermia.”

  No, thankfully she didn’t. He tossed her coats to one

  side and started undoing her shirt. “But you have been

  hit by a car, and you’re probably under the influence of

  some sort of drug.” He doubted she’d be in such a playful

  mood otherwise. Not after what he’d said only an hour or

  so earlier.

  She touched a finger to his face, running it gently down

  to his lips. It was a touch that burned right down to his

  soul.

  “How about we try some extreme physical activity right

  now?” Her voice was low and so damn sexy heat shot to

  his groin.

  He ached to do just that. It might still be the afternoon,

  and the moon might be on the other side of the world, but

  right now he wanted her as fiercely as he’d ever wanted

  anyone during the moon’s rush. But as much as he wanted

  her, he didn’t want to take advantage of her. Not any more

  than he already had. Her shirt joined her coats, followed

  quickly by her bra.

  “See anything you like?” She leaned back, all but

  thrusting her wonderful breasts in his face.

  Everything. But he resisted the urge to bury his face

  in her bountiful flesh and twined his fingers through hers,

  gently tugging her upright. “Where did you go after I left?”

  He released her, but she swayed slightly, and he quickly

  touched a hand to her waist to steady her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him

  a happy sort of smile. “What does it matter?”

  He kissed her nose, then began undoing her jeans.