Keri Arthur - Beneath A Rising Moon

It could have lasted an eternity, and he wouldn't have cared.

He breathed in the scent of her--the sweet flowery tang of jasmine mingled with the more evocative musk of femininity and sex. He couldn't remember a time when he'd felt more satisfied, more fulfilled.

And yet there was so much more to come. This delicate beauty had agreed to be his, not only tonight, but for the remainder of the week. They had the time to explore each other more fully. It was a thought that sent a jolt of primitive pleasure coursing through his veins.

He kissed the pulse point in her neck. Felt the still erratic flutter under his lips.

"Do you have a name?"

It was a question he had no right to ask. No names, no faces. Those were the rules set by his ancestors long ago, rules he'd abided by up until now. But if she was new to this place, she might not be aware of them. There was something about this woman that intrigued him in a way no other had, and he had no intention of simply letting her walk away in the morning without some means of finding her should she decide not to return. Not after he'd sampled the delights she had to offer.

Tension crept through her limbs. She was still trembling, but he couldn't say whether its cause was his closeness or something else.

"Neva." Her breath whispered past his ear, a heated touch that stirred barely sated embers. "Yours?"

"Duncan."

She unwrapped her legs from his waist, and he carefully lowered her to the ground. Though her gaze met his without qualms, the rush of color through her pale cheeks suggested she was not as bold as she was making out.

She tucked silken wisps of gold behind her ears. "Do you come here often?"

"Not recently. You?"

"My first time." Reluctance filled her voice, and the red bloom in her cheeks grew. "I wasn't sure if I was doing the right thing or not."

He was glad she'd taken the chance. Glad it was he who'd heard her wistful thoughts. He touched a hand to her cheek. "And now?"

A smile teased her lips. "I'm more uncertain than ever."

"Then I shall endeavor to prove your decision to come here was no mistake." He leaned forward, needing to taste her again.

Her eyes widened slightly, and her uncertainty surged, crowding his mind. Despite her promises, she still wasn't sure about him. Not that it really mattered now. While it was a female's right to pick and choose as she pleased, once she had said yes to mating, the male had the right to enforce it. And he would do so, if that's what it took to keep her by his side these next few nights. Her mouth was warm and sweet under his, and as the kiss deepened, the moon's heat began to burn through his veins again.

But this time, he would take his time, pleasure her more fully.

A howl sang through the night, the cry of a wolf in trouble. But not just any wolf. His brother. What? He broke off the kiss and stepped back. The night was silent for several seconds, then the howl came again.

A long, demanding note.

René was either out of range, or simply too angry to hear any mind contact.

"Trouble?" She rubbed her arms, her eyes haunted, sad.

He touched a hand to her cheek and wondered what she sensed. Even though he could feel only anger, the golden wolves were powerful telepaths. She was probably picking up a whole lot more than he--but she wasn't from his tribe. He had no right, no desire, to involve her in any way. Even when it came to something as simple as a question.

"I'm afraid so. Will you wait here, or would you prefer to go to my rooms?"

She hesitated, and her reluctance washed around him. She didn't want to face the moon-hungry pack again, and of that he was fiercely glad. He wasn't in the mood to fight tonight, though he would if another tried to usurp his claim on her.

"Here."

He touched her lips, outlining their kiss-swollen sweetness. "I won't be long."

She nodded, her gaze searching his, green depths filled with uncertain wariness. "Be careful."

He raised an eyebrow, but again restrained the urge to ask what she sensed and called instead to the wildness within him. His body became liquid, flowing from one shape to another, then he was on all fours and running through the trees.

He found René just outside the main gates. At his brother's feet lay the mangled, bloody remains of what once had been a woman.

The minute he left the shuddering began. Neva slid down the wall, hugging her knees close to her chest, taking deep, careful breaths. It didn't help the churning in her stomach. Didn't help the deep sense of loathing coursing through her.

Everything she'd believed in, everything she'd been taught, had simply slipped away under the raging of the moon and the smooth skill of his hands. And he'd proven her as wanton as any of those in the hall below, despite the high ideals she'd spouted half her life. A sob tore up her throat, followed quickly by bile. She scrambled to her feet and raced out to the nearest tree, where she lost what little she'd eaten for dinner. When there was nothing left to lose, she made her way back to the pavilion and sat on the steps.

Moons, what was she going to do?

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. It wouldn't have been so bad if the whole episode had been nothing more than a quick, heated mating in which there'd been little pleasure. That was all she'd been expecting, and something she could have survived. But this man's touch was like no other--his caress sang across her skin, his kiss seared her mind. And his scent invaded every pore, claiming her just as surely as his body had. Lord, even thinking about him made her ache. And it was that fact, more than anything, that frightened her. Duncan Sinclair was the wildest of the wild. His ferocious appetite f or women and sex was renowned through all the packs--a fact she'd been well aware of when she had set out to seduce him. But she simply hadn't expected her own intense reaction to the man. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the way she pressed against his hand, wanting, seeking, so much more than just his fingers. She'd howled in pleasure when he'd thrust into her, for moon's sake.

Howled. She, who'd once sworn to give no wolf the satisfaction of her cries until she met the one destined to be her life mate.

Duncan wasn't that. Could never be that. By all accounts, the longest he'd ever stayed with a mate was one phase of the moon--which was the second major reason she'd chosen him. A phase gave her enough time to hunt down a killer then get out.

But after one, all-too-brief dance, she very much suspected she wouldn't want to leave after a week of his caresses. A chill ran down her spine. What if she become so addicted to the fever of his touch that she came back, night after night, hungering for something he would no longer give? What if she became just another rabid seeker of pleasure, like so many others in the hall below? She took a deep breath and tried to calm the frantic direction of her thoughts. One night of pleasure--or two or three--would not make her a slave of the moon. She was stronger than that. It was stupid to believe the touch of any man could so totally destroy her beliefs in such a short space of time--no matter how good that man's touch was. Her fear, her uncertainty, were little more than the shock of discovering she was as capable of yielding to the wanton fever of the moon as anyone else here tonight. It didn't mean anything. Not unless she let her fear and vague sense of humiliation override common sense. She'd come here to do one thing--to find and destroy the man who had attacked her sister. As long as she kept that goal uppermost in her mind, she could survive anything.

Even Duncan's touch.

She pushed to her feet, retrieving her gown and quickly donning it. Though it hid little, it at least offered the illusion of clothing. Better than running around naked--especially if she came across another hunter in the forest. She couldn't risk using telepathy, simply because skimming the mind of a hunter like