a year.”
Zeke snorted. “Even at your drunkest, you had more
sense than that.”
“That’s what I figured.” He took a drink then said,
“She was attacked tonight.”
“By the murderer?”
“I don’t know. She claimed it was a big silver wolf,
and the bite marks on her arms certainly attest to the fact
it was a big wolf.”
“But you don’t believe her?”
“I don’t disbelieve her, either. She was attacked.”
“But?”
“But if it was the murderer, then he’s breaking set
patterns. It happened in the pavilion not near the gates.
She was waiting for another dancer, not leaving the
mansion. And there were no signs of bites on her breasts
or neck. She had scratches on her face, and there were
bites on her arms, but neither were very deep. I doubt
they’ll even scar.”
Zeke’s expression was thoughtful. “It is always possible
the murderer has changed his pattern. There are no set
rules governing that sort of thing, you know.”
“I know. But he’s been so careful up to this moment,
so why would he risk attacking a wolf who was obviously
waiting for someone? It just doesn’t ring true.”
“Maybe he thought he had no other chance.”
“Maybe.” He picked up the bottle and half filled his
glass. “I asked Martin to take some saliva and skin samples
from her. I thought I could use Dave’s contacts to get them
tested.”
“I’ll get them tested. It’ll be quicker and easier.”
Duncan nodded. The sooner they knew whether
Betise’s attack was linked to the murderer, the better.
“What do you think about Levon Grant?”
Zeke snorted. “Why would I even bother thinking about
him?”
“Betise told me tonight that he’d been questioning her
about the mansion and the dancers. From what she said,
it happened just before the first attack.”
His father frowned. “Levon’s many things, but I believe
he understands the necessity of the dance.”
“Neva’s his daughter.”
“Then he surely doesn’t know she’s here, because if
he did, he’d be here dragging her away by the scruff of the
neck. He’s not that understanding. ”
Which is exactly what Duncan had thought. Yet the
itchy feeling that Neva was up to something still remained.
And if she was here at her father’s request, she wasn’t
going to admit it. He could force the information out of
her, of course. But to do so would tell her he was on to
her, and if she ran, he doubted it would be back to the
person behind her presence here.
He downed the rest of his drink and felt the liquid
burn all the way down to his gut. It only fueled the fire
already burning in his veins. “Even so, I think it’s worth
digging around for information on Levon. Maybe his turn-
the-other-cheek attitude is little more than a front.”
“Maybe.” Zeke’s expression was doubtful. “What are
you going to do about Neva?”
“Keep pushing her. I’m sure she’s here for a reason,
and I’m just as sure she’ll run very soon.”
“Might be worth doing a check on her, as well. Maybe
she’s got a sibling who was slighted by you or your
brothers.”
“I doubt she’d dance with me just to get a little revenge.”
“You don’t know her well enough to guess what she’s
capable of.”
A truth he knew he would probably regret for the rest
of his life. He put his empty glass on the bar. “I’m also
going to run a check on the murdered women. See if there
was any other link between them other than the mansion.”
“I imagine the rangers would have already done that.”
Duncan’s smile was grim. “They have to stick within
the boundaries of the law to find their information. I don’t.”
“True.”
He glanced at the clock. “Time to go do a little more
pushing. If I find anything, I’ll let you know.”
He spun and walked out. His rooms were in the far
wing and a long way away from the main halls and the
dancers. As much as he’d enjoyed the dance over the years,
he enjoyed his solitude more. Always had.
He wound his way through the dark hallways. He
couldn’t smell anyone in the rooms he passed, but he
wasn’t surprised. This wing was part of the old section
and hadn’t yet been fitted with central heating. He doubted
it ever would be. As big as the pack was, the mansion was
bigger—a rambling network of rooms and halls that had
once been filled to the brim with laughing cubs, but never
would be again. Not these days. All the packs had to be
watchful about birth control. Human law forbade any pack
growing beyond a certain size. Werewolves and
shapeshifters may have finally been acknowledged in the
eyes of the law, but lawmakers the world over still feared
the consequences of allowing them to breed unchecked.
As if they could ever compete with human birth rates,
he thought sourly.
In the silence of the long halls, the wind seemed to
howl, battering at the roof and windows. In the chill
sharpness of the air he could smell snow. A Ripple Creek
Special was definitely headed their way.
He walked into his suite. The air here was almost icy,
thanks in part to the row of French doors lining the outer
wall. He closed the drapes then walked over to the fireplace
and stoked the fire to life. If it was this cold now, they’d
certainly need its warmth by dawn.
When the fire blazed, he headed into the bedroom.
Neva was sound asleep in his bed, and he stopped, caught
by the sheer beauty of her. Her long hair was a river of
gold that swept across her pillow. And in sleep, she looked
so angelic, so innocent, it was hard to believe she could
be anything else.
But the fact was, she could be. She was here for a
reason, and until he discovered that reason, he had no
choice but to keep on pushing her.
And it was certainly a task part of him did enjoy. Maybe
he was more like René than he cared to admit.
He stripped and climbed into bed. She stirred,
murmuring something he couldn’t quite catch before
turning away from him. He spooned behind her, pressing
himself against the warmth of her skin and the richness
of her scent. Her very closeness had the heat surging
through his veins, and he wanted her so badly it was
painful. Their lovemaking tonight would be hard and fast.
It couldn’t be anything else when the fever burned so
fiercely through his veins, and it was what he needed to
do to keep on pushing her.
He slid a hand down her belly to the triangle of hair
between her thighs. She was still so gloriously wet with
need, even though a couple of hours had slipped by since
he’d touched her. She shifted under his caress, pressing
&nb
sp; back against him. It was a sleepy invitation he was more
than ready to accept. He slid deep inside her, groaning at
the sheer glory of it. She felt so good, so hot and firm.
She woke. Though she didn’t move, a sound that was
part pleasure, part surprise, and part anger whispered
from her lips. He wrapped an arm around her waist,
holding her still as he continued to thrust inside her. With
the urgency of the moon driving him so hard, there was
nothing gentle about it now. He claimed every inch of her,
delving so deep, her taut muscles quivered against the
entire length of him.
The red tide rose, becoming a wall of pleasure he could
not deny. He came, a hot, torrential release whose force
tore a shout from his lips and sent his body rigid.
But the moon and he weren’t finished yet. Not by a
long shot. He withdrew and tugged her around to face
him. Her eyes flashed with anger, but before she could
say anything, he claimed her lips. He kissed her, caressed
her, licked every inch of her, until her scent and her taste
were imprinted on every fiber of his being, inside and out.
Then he loved her.
And continued to make love to her through the rest of
the night and well into dawn.
***
A constant rattling woke Neva many hours later. She
groaned and flung the thick comforter off her face, then
squinted in the general direction of the noise. Though the
clock on the bedside table said it was nearly eleven, the
day beyond the rattling French doors was dark and filled
with a swirling whiteness. She blinked, but the image
didn’t seem to get any clearer.
It was a blizzard, she realized. And while Ripple Creek
had a reputation for wild and sudden spring storms, this
one looked like a doozey.
But for once, maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it
would keep the killer away and the dancers safe for one
more night. Surely not even the most ardent dancer would
chance weather like this.
She yawned and rolled onto her back. Duncan wasn’t
in bed with her, and she had no idea when he’d left. But if
the lack of warmth on his side of the silk sheets was
anything to go by, he’d been gone a while. Maybe even
immediately after he’d finished loving her senseless.
Heat flushed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. She
had no idea what to think about this morning’s efforts.
He’d been harsh and uncaring one moment, taking what
he wanted and giving nothing in return. Then he’d turned
it all around and become so generous, so caring and
thoughtful, she all but melted for him. He’d pushed her
through such a gamut of emotions in a few short hours
that she felt burned out, physically and emotionally.
She still didn’t know how she felt about him, other
than the fact he confused her. Totally and utterly. She
should hate him—every sane, rational cell in her body
knew that. She wasn’t sure that she did, and yet she wasn’t
sure that she liked him, either.
And the fact she was so uncertain frightened her.
As did the jealousy that had risen when she’d smelled
Betise on his skin last night. For the briefest of moments
she’d wanted to rip out the throat of the older wolf—a
territorial emotion she had no right to, and no true desire
for. Not when it came to someone like Duncan, a loner
who was after nothing more than enjoyment.
And in truth, she shouldn’t really have been surprised
he’d enjoyed himself with Betise before coming back to
her. Not if they were soul mates. The only truly surprising
thing was the fact that he’d come back to her at all.
She rubbed a hand across her brow. Her head ached,
but it was probably nothing more than lack of sleep. She’d
had little more than three hours overall, and given what
had happened over the last few nights, it was nowhere
near enough. Not that she was likely to catch up on any
more sleep over her remaining days here. Duncan had
certainly made that perfectly clear this morning.
A tremor ran through her, and she wasn’t sure if it
was excitement or trepidation. Maybe it was both. What
she needed right now was someone sane to talk to.
Someone like her sister. And while Savannah would
probably go ballistic when she realized what Neva was
doing, she was the only one who would understand. After
all, Sav had done some pretty damn crazy things herself
in the past.
She reached out with her thoughts. Warmth sparked
briefly through the fog of memories in her sister’s mind,
then faded. Consciousness was close, but not yet close
enough. Neva sighed. She was briefly tempted to call Ari,
but she knew her friend would probably tell her to forget
about feelings and just enjoy the dancing. Though Ari
would have a fit if she realized Neva was at the mansion
rather than tucked away safe and sound in boring old
Eagle.
Sighing again, she thrust aside the comforter and
climbed out of bed. The chill hit her immediately, and she
shivered, grabbing Duncan’s robe off the end of the bed.
The black silk whispered sensually across her skin, and
the scent of spice and forest enveloped her. Desire rippled
touch? Or was it simply a matter of her inexperience being
totally overwhelmed by a man whose skills at the dance
were almost legendary?
Frowning, she thrust the question aside and headed
out to the sitting room, wincing slightly at the ache in her
muscles. No one had ever told her dancing could be
so...active. But then, no one had ever told her it could be
frustrating one moment and totally amazing the next. And
the couple of mates she’d had before Duncan certainly
hadn’t prepared her to be played by a master.
She stoked the fire with more wood, then padded back
through the bedroom and into the bathroom. To discover
someone had very recently poured her a bath. Two towels
had been placed on a chair at the end of the big old claw-
foot bath, along with shampoo and soap. She picked up
the bar of soap and sniffed it lightly. The faint scent of
citrus teased her nostrils. Her favorite. She wondered how
he’d known, given she’d been wearing Jasmine when they’d
first met. Then she remembered he’d been in her house.
And in her bed.
Heat flushed through her again. Even thinking about
the damn man made her want him. The moon, she
thought, had a lot to answer for. And yet there seemed
more than just the moon fever between them, which, in
itself, was crazy thinking because it could never be
anything more than what it was now. Because of Betise.
Damn it, she didn’t even know if she liked the man.
And why in hell was she even worrying about it? Once
this moon phase was over, she’d never see him again.
Which is what s
he’d wanted—planned—from the very
beginning.
Only she wasn’t so sure it was what she wanted now.
Crazy. She was definitely going crazy.
She stripped off the robe and climbed into the bath,
sighing in pleasure as she eased into the hot water. She
soaked in the sweet-smelling tub until the water began to
cool, then washed. Climbing out, she grabbed the towels,
wrapping one around her hair and using the other to dry
herself. Then she padded into the bedroom to grab some
fresh clothes from her bag.
She was sitting on the bed brushing her hair when
the sensation hit her. Heat flashed white hot across her
skin and fear clawed at her, making it next to impossible
to breathe. There’d only been one other time in her life
when she’d felt something like this—like someone had
reached into her chest and attempted to pull out her heart.
It had happened when she was eight years old and
Savannah had been about to get caught in an avalanche.
The link between them had saved Sav’s life back then.
Maybe it was about to save it again.
She reached for her sister, but the response was still
the same, and Neva thrust to her feet. Blizzard or not, she
had to get down to the hospital. Now.
She shoved on her shoes and ran to the French doors.
She couldn’t chance going through the halls and running
into Duncan. He’d undoubtedly stop her, and he’d
definitely want an explanation—something there was no
time for. She’d have to leap from the balcony and hope
the snow was deep enough to cushion her.
The wind ripped the doors from her hands, smashing
them back against the walls. Snow swirled in, thick, fast
and oh-so cold. She shivered and battled the storm to the
balcony’s edge. The world beyond was a sheet of white.
She couldn’t see the ground let alone the trees. She climbed
over the rail, hanging by her fingertips for several seconds
as the wind battered her sideways, then let go.
She hit the ground with a grunt, falling backwards
into a thick snowdrift. Wild flurries of white danced around
her, quickly coating her body. She rolled onto her hands
and knees and called to the wolf within.
It came in a rush of power, and she leapt forward on
all fours. But the snow was thick and soft under her pads,
forcing her to bound rather than run, and the fear swelled.