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    Beneath a Rising Moon

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      where he’d first danced with Neva. He didn’t hear anyone

      else speeding through the night, neither ahead nor behind

      them—undoubtedly thanks to the wind blowing the sound

      of the wolf’s screams away from the ballrooms. Of that he

      was glad. Right now, they didn’t need an audience, and

      they certainly didn’t need any more rumors circulating

      around Ripple Creek.

      The sound of soft sobbing broke through the night.

      He couldn’t smell the presence of another male, only a

      female. She was a hint of musk and sourness on the icy

      wind—an odd, unpleasant aroma, and one that stirred

      memories. He’d danced with a wolf who’d smelled like that,

      though it was a long time ago, back in the hellion days of

      his youth.

      The old pavilion came into sight, and he slowed. Neva

      wrenched her hand from his, but he caught her again

      before she could run ahead.

      “If this is another attack by the murderer,” he said,

      before she could speak the rebuke he could see in her

      expressive eyes, “then racing blindly into the situation

      might well destroy any clues.”

      Not that he really thought there’d be any to find. Even

      this close, he couldn’t sense the presence of another wolf.

      Only the female, though as they walked closer, it became

      obvious she’d danced many times over the night. The scent

      of many males stung her skin, and that in itself did match

      previous attacks.

      They found her sitting on the pavilion’s floor, huddled

      next to a seat wrapped in shadows. She was willowy and

      blonde, reminding him of the wolf he’d seen his brother

      dancing with when he and Neva had first walked into the

      ballroom.

      She looked up. There were tears in her eyes, and the

      hard planes of her face were gouged and bloody. The arms

      she had wrapped around her drawn up knees were littered

      with bite marks. Marks made by a wolf with huge jaws.

      Neva made a strangled sound, then she tore herself

      free of his grasp and went to the older wolf, kneeling down

      beside her.

      “By the moon’s light, Betise, what happened?”

      “I was supposed to meet someone here, but he was

      late.” The older wolf’s voice was little more than a broken

      whisper, but one that grated against his nerves. And he

      couldn’t say why—it certainly wasn’t all that unpleasant.

      “Another wolf came out of the shadows...and he...he...”

      If another male had been here, why couldn’t he smell

      him? “Where did he go?” he asked, voice clipped.

      The look Neva gave him was dark. “Does it matter right

      now? Why don’t you give Betise some comfort—”

      The older wolf placed a hand on Neva’s arm, silencing

      her. “The last I saw of him, he was heading for the main

      gates.”

      “Stay here, both of you.”

      He spun and shifted shape, running swiftly for the

      main gate. The air was fresh and cold, the wind stronger.

      He might have thought it possible that the weather had

      blown away all aroma of the attacker, except for the fact

      that the tang of balsam still rode the air, as did the flowery

      scent of several females who’d obviously passed through

      the gates recently.

      Betise had obviously been attacked, but by whom?

      And if the attacker hadn’t retreated this way, where had

      he gone? Was Betise lying to protect him, or had she been

      too confused and terrified to truly notice which way her

      attacker had fled?

      He suspected it was the former, though why he felt

      this, he had no idea. But he’d learned long ago to trust

      his instincts. Over the years, they’d gotten him out of more

      trouble than he could remember.

      Neva glanced up as he entered the pavilion again, the

      rich and exotic mint of her eyes making the older wolf’s

      seem almost silver in comparison.

      “Do you have a doctor in this place?”

      The scorn evident on the word place more than

      emphasized her thoughts about the mansion, which only

      confirmed his suspicion that she was here to watch him,

      not dance.

      “Yes.”

      He squatted down beside her. The sunshiny, slightly

      citrus scent of her spun around him, thankfully

      overwhelming the other wolf’s unpleasant, very used smell.

      He couldn’t really remember dancing with her, and it was

      only the familiarity of her scent that told him he had.

      Looking at her now, he had to wonder what had attracted

      him. Beyond her hair, there was nothing even remotely

      pretty about her, though that probably wouldn’t have

      mattered when he was younger. A lust for alcohol and a

      willing bit of tail was all he’d been interested in for more

      years than he cared to remember.

      “Can you describe the wolf who attacked you?”

      She shuddered. “He was big...and silver-coated.”

      So was the murderer, apparently, but that in itself

      wasn’t much of a link. There were plenty of big silver wolves

      in the mansion—a whole pack of them, in fact.

      “And you didn’t recognize him?”

      Betise shook her head, but something flickered in her

      pale eyes, and he knew she was lying. Was she trying to

      protect her attacker, or did she have other motives. He

      intended to find out, and maybe he could use Neva’s

      apparent friendship with this wolf to do that.

      “Duncan, enough.” Neva’s voice was sharp. “She needs

      medical attention.”

      She did, though he suspected her wounds were not as

      bad as they looked. “Can you walk?”

      Neva’s expression got darker. “Of course she can’t.

      Carry her, for moon’s sake.”

      The last thing he wanted was this wolf’s scent on him

      again. He frowned and suddenly wished he could

      remember what had happened between them all those

      years ago. At the very least, he could then warn René to

      be wary of her—something he might do anyway.

      “Her legs aren’t injured from what I can see,” he said

      coldly. “I’ll go find the doctor. You help her to the study.

      She knows where it is.”

      “Bastard,” he heard Neva mutter as he walked away.

      He smiled grimly. He was all that and more—and would

      continue to be that way for as long as this murderer was

      loose.

      He strode past the rows of wind-tossed aspen and pine.

      As he got closer to the ballroom, the music began to seep

      through his blood again, and need rose. He ignored it,

      but he wondered if that was going to be at all possible in

      the coming nights.

      He might have practiced restraint over the last ten

      years, but coming back to the mansion seemed to have

      loosened the control he had over his old habits. Part of

      him ached to celebrate the rising of the moon as he had in

      the past—to drink himself senseless and lose himself in

      the pleasure of a female’s body, over and over and over.

      Only right now, it wasn’t any female he hungered for but

      one w
    ith dark golden hair and leaf green eyes.

      It was a need that was more than a little worrying. If

      she wasn’t in jail by the time this was all over, then she’d

      certainly hate him more than she already did. It would be

      the mother of all ironies if, for the first time in his life,

      he’d actually found a woman he wanted to spend more

      than one moon dance with, and she couldn’t even stand

      the sight of him.

      Though undoubtedly fate would probably think it a

      fitting retribution for his youthful unthinking and uncaring

      behavior.

      He walked into the ballroom, and the heat and the

      smell of sex hit him like a punch to the gut. He took a

      deep breath, half thinking of grabbing the nearest free

      female to mate with, if only to ease the sharpness of the

      moon-spun pain. He resisted the temptation and swept

      his gaze across the rutting, sweating crowd. His father

      and Tye were nowhere to be seen, but René and Kane

      were both still here. After a second, he saw the doctor

      heading out another side exit.

      He pushed through the crowd. The associated scents

      and sounds of lovemaking flushed heat across his skin,

      and though he’d made love to Neva less than ten minutes

      ago, he wanted her with a fierceness that made it difficult

      to concentrate.

      His father’s warning ran through his mind. He would

      indeed have to watch the bait, or he really could end up

      getting hooked.

      He caught the doctor heading for the stairs leading to

      the wing housing staff and guestrooms.

      “Hey, Duncan,” Martin said with a smile. “Long time

      no see.”

      “Certainly has been.” In his heyday, Martin had been

      responsible for the delivery of most of the Sinclair cubs,

      but failing health and the odd, often long, hours of

      obstetrics had forced him to retire just before Duncan had

      left ten years ago. These days, he did little more than

      ensure all male wolves attending the dance received the

      injection that kept their fertility under control. Wolves

      might only be fertile during the week running up to the

      full moon, but given the number of partners many had,

      Ripple Creek would quickly be overrun with cubs if he

      didn’t.

      And while the presence of werewolves might be

      tolerated in the human world, human tolerance only went

      so far. Ripple Creek had survived where many other

      reservations had failed, simply because they kept their

      numbers under tight control and didn’t push the

      boundaries.

      “I need you to do me a favor, Doc,” he said.

      The old wolf raised a bushy white eyebrow. “What?”

      “A female’s been attacked in the pavilion. She claims

      she didn’t know her attacker, but I think she’s lying. I’d

      like you to clean her wounds and, in the process, see if

      you can grab a sample of saliva from them.” He hesitated,

      then added on impulse, “and perhaps sneak a sample of

      whatever lies under her nails.”

      “A tall order.” Martin hesitated, dark eyes worried. “Is

      this attack linked to the recent murders?”

      “In some ways, it’s similar, but we can’t be sure.”

      “And you’re not calling the rangers?”

      “I can’t see the point, but if she wants to, we will.”

      Though he very much doubted she would.

      Martin nodded. “What do you want me to do with these

      samples?”

      He hesitated. His boss, Dave, had offered the use of

      his contacts, and it was possible those contacts included

      someone in the labs. “Keep them secure until I can arrange

      for them to be tested.”

      “I’ll just go get my medical kit. Where is she now?”

      “I’ve put her in the study.”

      “Is she bad? If so, it might be better if she heads into

      the hospital—”

      “Just scratches and a few bite marks on her arm.”

      The old wolf nodded. “I’ll meet you there.”

      Duncan spun on his heel and headed for the study.

      Once the doc arrived, he’d have to keep Neva out of the

      way just so she didn’t see Martin taking samples. If Betise

      had been attacked by the killer, then the last thing he

      wanted was Neva running back reporting to whoever had

      set her on him.

      Both women jumped when he thrust open the study

      door. Neva stood, her expression hostile. But her gaze

      slithered down his body, and awareness flashed between

      them.

      An awareness her clenched fists suggested she was

      fighting. “Where’s the doctor?”

      “On his way.” He glanced at Betise. The older wolf

      was lying on the sofa, eyes closed and breathing even, but

      he could feel the tension in her. Feel the anger. “We’ve

      danced, haven’t we?”

      The smile that tugged her thin lips was bitter. “Yes,”

      she said, not opening her eyes. “We have.”

      “I don’t remember.”

      Neva gasped softly. Do you really enjoy being such a

      callous bastard?

      Neva’s thoughts were acrid and filled with anger.

      Obviously, Neva knew a whole lot more than he

      remembered. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. It’s

      nothing more than the truth.

      He’d had so many women since his first moon dance,

      how could he possibly be expected to remember his time

      with every one? That he recalled this wolf’s scent was a

      miracle in itself.

      You were with her for a year. Surely that in itself would

      be a momentous enough event for a womanizer like yourself

      to recall.

      He’d never been with any wolf longer than the period

      of one moon dance. Had never wanted to be, especially in

      his youth. If she told you that, she lied.

      A sound not unlike a disbelieving snort ran through

      his mind. Or you’re lying, for whatever sordid reason you

      might have.

      I may be many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. He

      hesitated, then added harshly. Shame you can’t say the

      same thing, isn’t it?

      She blushed, but she held his gaze almost defiantly. I

      haven’t lied to you.

      She was lying now. Then tell me why you came to the

      mansion.

      To try the moon dance.

      And?

      I’m regretting every damn minute of it.

      That, at least, was a truth, and one he did regret. It’s

      a shame you’ve got four more nights to go, little wolf. Rest

      assured I aim to enjoy every one of them.

      Bastard, she said again.

      He smiled grimly and switched his gaze back to Betise.

      “When, exactly, did we meet?” Not that he really cared.

      He was just puzzled as to why she’d bother lying.

      “You were twenty-two.”

      Which was a year before he’d left to go to Denver and

      had ended up in jail while the police sorted out the mess

      of his accident. While it hadn’t been one of his more sober

      years, he was sure he’d remember having a semipermanent

      mate. He’d never been like his brothers in that respect—

      he�
    �d never made half promises to the women he mated.

      Even back in his hellion days, he’d been honest enough

      to admit he was after nothing more than a good time, and

      those he was with always knew that. So why this woman

      believed he’d believe they’d been together more than one

      moon dance was beyond him. Unless she thought he’d

      been so drunk he wouldn’t even remember.

      Even so, what would it gain her?

      “And we were together how long?”

      She hesitated. “Nearly the whole year.”

      No way. He couldn’t stand this woman’s scent. Maybe

      drunk he wouldn’t have cared so much, but even so, they

      couldn’t have been together an entire year without him at

      least remembering some part of it. He’d never been that

      drunk. And he could recall most of the year—just not her

      part of it, which to him implied she’d never played a major

      part.

      “Sorry, but I have no memory of you or our time

      together.”

      Moons, you’re such a cold—

      Yeah, he cut in, oddly annoyed at Neva’s insistence at

      believing her friend rather than him. I know what I am.

      What I don’t know yet is what you are.

      The door behind him opened, and Martin stepped

      inside. “Ah, nasty wounds you have there, young lady.”

      Betise’s smile held the first true hint of warmth Duncan

      had seen, but it did little to wipe the hardness from her

      face.

      “I hardly think I can be called young anymore.”

      Martin smiled as he placed his medical bag on the

      table and opened it up. Duncan noted the small, empty

      vials inside. “Compared to me, you’re little more than a

      pup.”

      Duncan glanced at Neva. “Why don’t you and I move

      out to the balcony while the doctor looks after Betise?” He

      made it an order, using the power of the moon bond to

      force her into obedience.

      Her eyes flashed and her fists clenched, but she had

      no option other than obeying. She spun and all but

      stomped out the French doors.

      He followed her. She didn’t go far, stopping to the left

      of the doorway. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

      You’d better keep those shields of yours well up, because

      the minute you lower them, you’ll pay.

      Then he’d better make sure he did something worthy

      of the pain she planned to inflict. He continued to advance

      on her. Her face went pale, and she held out a hand,

     


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