Keri Arthur - Dangerous Games

What I needed to do was forget him. Just get on with my life, and stop remembering he was ever a part of it. Even if the very thought made my soul ache and my heart weep.

But the last two weeks alone had basically left me with nothing to do at night except think about the people in my life and the events over the last ten months or so. And all that was supposedly what I was here to forget.

I rubbed a hand across tired eyes, then leaned my forearms on the balustrade of the small patio lining the front of my pretty little villa unit.

The breeze coming off the sea was cool, teasing my short hair and sending goose bumps fleeing across my bare flesh. I briefly thought about going inside to grab a shirt, but in the end, I couldn't be bothered moving.

I let my gaze roam across the waves, watching the foam hiss across the white sand. It was a peaceful sound, as peaceful as the night itself, which made me wonder what the hell had woken me in the first place.

Certainly there was no noise coming from any of the other half-dozen villas that lined this section of half-moon beach. Not even the newlyweds were stirring, and they'd been at it nonstop since their arrival five days ago.

And I thought werewolves had stamina.

I smiled and plucked a leaf from the nearby eucalyptus branch that was draped over the railing, then flicked the leaf skyward from the stem, watching it twirl all the way to the ground.

What I wanted was to go home. To get on with my life and my job. But I had just under a week of my vacation to go, and while I might be going slowly insane with boredom, I just couldn't pack up and leave. Rhoan and Liander had given me this holiday as a gift to help me rest and recuperate after a particularly shitty year, and I couldn't—wouldn't—hurt their feelings by returning before my time was up.

"Riley." My name whispered across the gentle wind, a demand rather than a mere attempt to get my attention.

I straightened quickly, my gaze searching the moonlit night for some sign of the caller. Some hint of where the voice had come from.

A difficult task when it seemed to come from everywhere and yet nowhere.

"Riley."

Again the voice rode the night, stronger than before and male in its resonance.

It wasn't a voice that belonged to any of men who inhabited the other villas in this small cove. Nor did it belong to any of the staff members who looked after the villas or who worked in the main resort complex one beach over.

But there were three other accommodation areas scattered across the island, and I hadn't really had much to do with the guests or employees there. Even if it had been one of those people, why would they know my name? And why would they be calling me in the dead of the night?

It was odd, and the mere thought that something odd might be going on had the thrum of excitement racing through my veins.

Which was a rather sad statement of just how bored I was. Or perhaps how addicted I'd become to the adrenalin rush of being a guardian. Hell, I'd give away the killing bit any day, but not the thrill of the chase. The hunt was all to a wolf, and no matter how long I might have denied it, I was a hunter every bit as much as my brother.

I studied the night for a moment longer. The gentle wind whispered through the trees, void of any voice but its own. I could sense nothing and no one near, and yet something was . The electric charge of awareness raced across my skin, making the small hairs on my arms stand on end.

I spun on my heel and walked back into my room. I didn't mind walking around sans clothes, but most of the guests currently on the island were human, and humans tended to get a little antsy about the whole naked thing.

I pulled on a low-cut T-shirt and a baggy pair of shorts, then headed back out onto the patio.

"Riley, come."

The voice swirled around me, rich and arrogant. A man who used, and probably abused, power. And my wolf soul reacted to the sense of command in that voice. But not in the way I expected her to. Not fiercely, not with anger, but meekly. As if she wanted to do nothing more than tuck her tail between her legs and cower before the power behind the voice.

And there could be only one reason for that.

The voice belonged to a pack member. Not just any pack member, but the alpha. The wolf who ruled the pack as a whole.

Only the voice didn't belong to my alpha, the man who had ruled the pack for as long as anyone could remember. I would have recognized the voice of my own grandfather.

What the hell was going on?

Frowning, I walked down the steps then strode through the trees and out onto the moon lit sand. The wind was sharper out from under the cover of the eucalyptus, and filled with the scent of the sea.

And nothing else. No musky male scent. No hint of wolf. Nothing to suggest there was another soul awake and aware out here on the beach.

A shiver ran down my spine. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe this nothing more than a dream, and any minute now I'd wake up and laugh at my own stupidity.

After all, our pack had threatened to kill us both if we ever contacted—let alone went near—any pack members. And not even our mother had dared to contradict that particular order.

Not that I thought she'd even tried. Though I had no doubt she loved us, she'd always seemed as relieved as the rest of the pack to see the back of us.

"Riley, come."

Again the order ran across the night, stronger than before. I closed my eyes, concentrating on the sound, trying to define just where the voice was coming from.

After a moment, I turned around and padded up the beach. The beach villas gave way to thicker strands of eucalyptus and acacia trees, the strong scents of both filling the night and my nose.

It didn't matter. I wasn't relying on my olfactory senses to track this particular trail, but rather, my 'other' senses. The senses that were new and somewhat unreliable.

The part of me that could see souls rise.

Of course, seeing—and hearing—the souls of dead people wasn't a gift I particularly wanted. Hell, I had enough trouble dealing with the living dead without having to worry about the spiritual side popping along any time it pleased.

But as was often the case in my life of late, it seemed I had little choice in the matter. The experimental fertility drug I'd been forcibly given by an ex-mate had not only kicked-started latent psychic skills, but had given them a little twist, just for the fun of it. Clairvoyance had been one of those latent skills—until recently, anyway. Seeing dead people walk through the shadows was the not-so-tempting twist.

Though until tonight, they'd never actually contacted me long range. I'd only ever seen them close to their body. Well, mostly, I thought, shivering as I remembered the lingering, insubstantial wisps in Starr's bloody arena.

Not that I was entirely sure I was hearing the dead now, but it just seemed odd I couldn't see or smell anyone else near. My senses were wolf sharp—if someone had been close, I would have known.

I padded along the white sand until I reached the peninsula rocks. The wind here was sharper, the sea rougher, slapping across the smooth, round rocks and sending white foam flicking skyward. The tide was up, so I'd be getting wet if the voice wanted me to clamber around to the next beach.

I stopped and scanned the horizon. Awareness tingled across my skin, as sharp as needle stings. Whoever the voice belonged to, he was close.

"Riley, turn around."

For the first time, memories stirred. I'd known that voice in the past. I turned and studied the trees.

A man stood amongst them. Though at first glance he appeared solid, a more careful study revealed an almost gossamer look to his hands and feet. As if by the time he got to his extremities he didn't have the strength to maintain reality.