Beneath a Rising Moon

  “Tell me.”

  She yawned, then said, “Betise’s hair salon. Had to

  ask her some questions, remember?”

  He’d forgotten he’d asked her to do that. “I didn’t order

  you to go out in the middle of a snowstorm.”

  He hooked his thumbs around the waist of her jeans

  and panties and pushed them down. She stepped free then

  flopped back onto the bed, arms and legs akimbo.

  “Come here,” she said, patting the bed beside her.

  He again resisted the desire to do just that. “Roll over

  onto your left side.”

  She raised her eyebrows and did as he asked.

  “Planning a little side-on adventure, are we?”

  “Maybe.” A doozey of a bruise was beginning to appear

  on her rump, but there were no skin lacerations, and she

  seemed to be moving her legs without flinching. He

  carefully checked the rest of her, but could find no other

  signs of injury. “Did you drink anything at Betise’s?”

  She sighed. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

  “Neither do I, believe me. Did you drink anything?”

  “Coffee.” She reached up, grabbed his shirt and

  dragged him close, green eyes dancing with devilment as

  they searched his. “Kiss me.”

  “Love to.” And he did. Long and slowly. Tasted her,

  savored her, until he knew every inch of her mouth as

  intimately as he knew the rest of her. When he finally

  broke away, his breathing was harsh, and the desire to

  take what she was so freely offering pounded through his

  veins.

  “How much coffee?” he asked hoarsely.

  She gave him a vixen smile and trailed her fingers

  down his chest. “Not even half a cup.”

  If Betise had put something in the coffee, at least Neva

  hadn’t taken all of it. She was probably safe from an

  overdose, though he’d certainly have to keep an eye on

  her for the next couple of hours. He flipped back the bed

  covers. “Climb in. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”

  “I don’t want some hot chocolate.”

  She brushed her fingers up and down the front of his

  jeans, teasing, but not quite touching his erection, which

  seemed to press even more painfully against the restriction

  of the denim. A shudder ran through him. Right then, he

  didn’t want any hot chocolate, either. He patted the pillow.

  She sighed and climbed rather gracelessly under the

  covers.

  “Care to join me?”

  “Yes. But later.” He tucked the blankets around her.

  “Did Betise say anything of interest?”

  The amusement fled her face, and her eyes searched

  his. “She told me you were soul mates. She told me you

  refused to acknowledge it.”

  Anger flashed through him, warm and bright. The

  woman was more delusional than he’d thought. He knelt

  down beside Neva and touched a hand to her cheek. “Betise

  is not my soul mate. We shared one dance, nothing more.”

  He paused, staring into Neva’s beautiful eyes, trying to

  make her believe him. Trying to make her see. “I have no

  fear of acknowledging my soul mate.”

  Tears touched the green depths, but she blinked them

  away. “Then why—”

  He put a finger against her lips. “I don’t know why.

  And right now, I don’t care.” He hesitated. “What else did

  she say?”

  “She lied about my dad.”

  That he’d discovered for himself. “And?”

  “She gave me a brief description of the man who

  attacked her. It’s no more than what we already know.”

  No surprise there. He very much suspected Betise

  hadn’t actually been attacked, but rather had been playing

  a game in wolf form that got a little too rough for her

  liking. Why else would she refuse to give them a proper

  description? She must have seen her attacker—she had

  scratches on her face. Scratches that had come from either

  fingernails or claws, not teeth, like the other victims.

  “Nothing else?”

  She shook her head and yawned yet again.

  “I’ll get the chocolate. You stay here.”

  Her sigh followed him down the stairs. By the time

  he’d made them both some hot chocolate and carried the

  mugs back up the stairs, she was asleep.

  He stopped in the middle of the room, his gaze on her

  face, and his heart doing weird things in his chest. He

  finally acknowledged what he’d known the minute her pain

  had echoed through him and she’d begun siphoning his

  strength. This was more than just the power of the moon

  and the need for the dance. Far more.

  He placed both mugs on the bedside table closest to

  her, then tossed teddy bears off the nearby chair and

  dragged it closer. Propping his feet on the bed, he picked

  up a mug and sipped at the drink slowly as he let his gaze

  rest on her serene and beautiful features.

  He hadn’t lied to her. He had no fear of acknowledging

  his soul mate.

  What he feared more than anything else in the world

  was that she would refuse to acknowledge him.

  Eleven

  There was a madman in her head. A madman with a

  big hammer, continually bashing away at her skull. Neva

  groaned softly and rolled onto her back. Pain flared in the

  region of her rump and curled up her side.

  The truck, she thought. Then she felt the caress of

  cotton sheets against her skin and realized she was no

  longer lying in the snow but in bed. Her bed, if the tang of

  citrus in the air was anything to go by.

  She opened her eyes and looked toward the window.

  It was dark outside, and the storm no longer raged. Snow

  continued to drift past the glass, the flakes briefly

  glistening silver as the lamp near the window caught them

  with its light. She reached out for her watch, wincing

  slightly as her side protested the movement. It was six

  o’clock. Four hours had slipped by. Four hours she

  couldn’t remember.

  Frowning slightly, she eased upright. Duncan had been

  in her room, but not in her bed. The air carried his warm,

  woody scent, but it didn’t linger on the sheets. Two cups

  sat on the bedside table. She picked one up, sniffing it

  lightly. Chocolate. She certainly couldn’t remember

  drinking it.

  Her last memory was of the blue truck swiping her

  and sending her sprawling. She frowned, trying to reach

  past the haze in her mind, sure something important had

  happened between that point and now. Vague memories

  of being stripped rolled through the fog in her mind,

  followed by the flush of remembered passion. Yet, they

  hadn’t danced. Of that she was certain.

  Neva? Her sister’s voice winged into her mind, warm

  but concerned. You okay?

  I think so. She climbed out of bed and realized she

  was completely naked when the warm air caressed her

  skin as gently as a lover’s sigh. She grabbed her robe and

  quickly put it on.

  What happened last night? I tried contacting you,
but

  you were off on another planet.

  I’m not sure what happened. I got swiped by a truck

  coming home from Betise’s and can’t remember much after

  that. She hesitated at the top of the stairs. Though the

  hall was dark, light peeked out from under the kitchen

  door. If the delicious aroma beginning to drift upwards

  was anything to go by, Duncan was cooking dinner.

  Savannah’s sharp gasp echoed down the mental lines

  between them, and Neva winced.

  Are you okay? Why aren’t you in the hospital?

  It barely touched me, and I didn’t want to go to the

  emergency room. Not that she could actually remember

  saying that. Have you arranged twenty-four seven

  protection, like I asked?

  Yes. And we pulled several hairs off that doctor’s coat

  you found in the trash can. They match the hair we found

  at two of the murder scenes.

  Black hair?

  Black hair, Savannah confirmed softly.

  Neva sighed. No wonder her sister was so convinced it

  was a Sinclair—they might not be able to lay sole claim to

  the silver coat, but they were the only pack in Ripple Creek

  with black hair. And while there were quite a few humans

  living here who also had black hair, none of them would

  get anywhere near the mansion during the phase of the

  full moon let alone be able to overpower a wolf.

  Then the murderer was definitely coming after you.

  Maybe you were closer to something than you’d thought.

  Maybe. Savannah’s doubt echoed down the line

  between them. Tell me about the truck that hit you. I’ll

  have Steve and Ronan look out for it.

  Your deputies have more important things to do.

  Besides, the storm was a bitch, and the driver probably

  didn’t even see me. Yet she remembered the sound of

  laughter and wondered if that was true.

  He would have felt the bump as the truck hit you.

  He didn’t hit me that hard, so I doubt it. She hesitated.

  Have Mom and Dad been in to see you yet?

  Yeah, and dad’s furious. He didn’t say anything, but I

  think he knows you were up at the mansion. I’d avoid him

  for the next couple of days and give him a chance to cool

  down.

  That would take weeks, not days. She rubbed a hand

  across her eyes and turned tail, heading into the bathroom

  to grab some painkillers. After she’d taken them, she told

  her sister everything she’d learned over the last couple of

  days. It didn’t take long, because she hadn’t really learned

  that much.

  I’ll send Ronan over to Betise’s place. I wish the damn

  fool had reported the attack immediately. We might have

  been able to pull some connecting evidence off her gown.

  She hesitated. If you’re right about lovers being the targets,

  we’ll have to convince the brothers to give us a list and

  arrange protection.

  I suspect that’s now being handled within the pack.

  Probably. And just so you know, we’ve got a warrant

  to search the Sinclair mansion, and we’ll be requesting

  hair samples from everyone who’s there. You’d better make

  sure you stay away tonight and tomorrow.

  I can tell you now it wasn’t René behind the last attack,

  and it certainly wasn’t Duncan.

  I’m not saying it’s one of Zeke’s get.

  No, she wasn’t. But she wasn’t really considering

  anyone else, either, and Neva had a suspicion they were

  all playing into the murderer’s game-plan, whatever that

  plan was.

  Give me a reason to suspect someone else and I will,

  Savannah chided. Right now, I can only work with what

  I’ve got.

  She could remember a time when Savannah had

  worked with nothing more than guesswork and intuition.

  But all that had changed after she’d come home from an

  extended break five years ago. Neva wondered again what

  exactly had happened to so completely change her sister’s

  method of policing, but now was not the time to ask.

  I hope you’re not planning to be up at the mansion

  running the whole shebang.

  Savannah’s mental snort was derisive. Goddamn

  doctors won’t let me get out of bed. Threatened to tie me

  down if I tried to leave. I should have the lot of them thrown

  in jail and see how they like being confined.

  Neva grinned, though she could easily imagine her

  sister following through with her threat. You need to rest,

  Sav. Push it in a couple of days, when you’re feeling

  stronger.

  Savannah sighed. I guess you’re the one person I can’t

  lie to.

  Exactly. If I uncover any other information, I’ll tell you.

  In the meantime, catch some sleep. And make sure Steve

  checks who’s coming in and out of the room rather than

  flirting with that pretty young nurse.

  How did you know it was Steve at the door?

  Elementary, my dear. You said you’d send Ronan out

  to Betise’s. Bodee is usually home by now looking after

  the kids, and you can’t stand Ike. That leaves Steve.

  Ike’s got the midnight shift, Savannah grumbled. I told

  the nurse if he so much as twitches my way, she’s to beat

  him over the head.

  Neva’s grin grew. It was a well-known fact that Ike

  had been lusting after her sister ever since his transfer to

  Ripple Creek. He was nice, in a boring sort of way, and

  just the sort of man their parents would approve of.

  Savannah’s method of dealing with his lust was to simply

  ignore it, but all that seemed to have done was inflame

  his determination.

  I have no intention of ever again mixing business with

  pleasure, Savannah said. And no, I’m not going to explain

  that statement right now.

  Damn.

  The warmth of her sister’s smile spun through her.

  Remember, don’t go near the mansion tonight. I’ll talk to

  you later.

  Don’t let the bedbugs bite. Or Ike, as the case may be.

  Savannah made the mental equivalent of a rude

  gesture and closed down the link. Still grinning, Neva made

  her way down the stairs.

  Duncan looked around as she entered, and she noted

  his shutters were back in place. Odd. For some reason,

  she’d half expected to see them gone. What on earth had

  happened between them last night? What couldn’t she

  remember that she should remember?

  “Hope you like pumpkin risotto.” His voice was neutral,

  almost careful, but his gaze swept down her body—a

  heated touch that wasn’t, and one that left her tingling all

  over.

  “Never tried it.” She walked over to the drawer to grab

  some cutlery to set the table. The silk of her gown caressed

  her skin as enticingly as a kiss, and suddenly she was all

  too aware of the amount of flesh she was exposing as she

  walked and that she wore nothing beneath it.

  His quick intake of breath suggested he was just as

  aware of that fact. “Then you haven’t lived.”

  No, she hadn’t. No
t until she’d stepped into his world

  and had been forced to acknowledge the wolf within. A

  wolf she no longer wanted to keep fully leashed. Not when

  he was around, anyway.

  She set the table then walked over to the refrigerator.

  “You have the fine choice of soda, homemade lemonade

  or water.”

  “I’ll chance the lemonade.”

  “A wise choice. The soda’s open and probably flat.”

  She poured them both a drink then sat down as he brought

  over the two bowls of creamy rice. She picked up her fork

  and tasted a bit. “Hmmm,” she murmured appreciably.

  “Delicious. Where’d you learn to cook like this?”

  He shrugged. “I got bored cooking steak and eggs every

  night for dinner, so I bought myself some cookbooks.”

  “What, no scrumptious little wolf hanging around to

  cook for you?”

  He studied her for a moment, expression totally

  unreadable. “Occasionally,” he said after a moment. “But

  mostly I was alone.”

  She picked up her glass and took a sip as she

  considered him. His mood was restrained, subdued almost,

  and yet there was an undercurrent she couldn’t quite pin

  down. And like her, he had his shields fully up, which

  was really no surprise, given what she’d done to him

  earlier.

  Speaking of which... “Why did you really say those

  things about my parents? Especially if you knew they had

  no bearing on the case?”

  “I still don’t know if your mother’s past has any bearing

  on this case. I suspect it might, though I don’t think your

  mother is actually involved.”

  That wasn’t exactly the answer she’d been searching

  for. “How would an attack on the Bitterroot Sinclairs over

  thirty years ago be connected to the murders happening

  here now?”

  “When I discover the connection, I suspect I’ll discover

  the murderer.” He hesitated. “How are you feeling this

  morning?”

  She had a suspicion the question wasn’t asked out of

  concern for her health, but rather something else. “I’ve

  got the mother of all headaches and a sore butt, but other

  than that, I’m fine. Why?”

  “Are you up to a little breaking and entering?”

  Her heart skipped then began to race. “Where?”

  “Betise’s hair salon.”

  Surprise flitted through her. “Why?”

  “Because I suspect she slipped some sort of sleeping