Keri Arthur - Beneath A Rising Moon

Duncan was dangerous when she had secrets of her own to keep. She turned and followed his scent through the trees. That howl had come from near the main gate--and it had been filled with anguish and anger.

Something bad had happened, and she had every intention of finding out what.

Duncan shifted shape and came to a halt three feet from the bloody corpse. The victim was on her back near a melting drift of snow, a look of horror forever etched on what remained of her face. Her throat had been torn out, chunks of flesh were missing from her shoulders and exposed breasts. Her skirt was rucked up, and her panties torn, visible evidence of the violation he could almost smell. "Moon's, René, what in hell have you done?" As much as he tried to keep his voice even, a hint of revulsion still crept through.

René glanced up sharply. His face was a mottled red, the vein in his neck visibly throbbing. "Do you think I'm such a savage I'd do this? By the moon's light--" He thrust a hand through his dark hair. "I like it rough, true, but not like this. Never like this."

"Then why the hell are you here?" He squatted on his heels, studying the bloody rents on the woman's pale skin. The width between the bottom and top jaws was enormous, indicating her attacker was a bigger wolf than normal. Bigger than René, at any rate.

"I was looking for her. We were supposed to dance after midnight. She didn't appear, so I came searching."

"You saw or smelled no other wolf close by?" Blood still oozed from the wounds, its smell sharp, metallic. She hadn't been dead that long. His brother couldn't have missed the killer by more that a few minutes. So why were there no footprints for them to follow? Why was there no scent on the air beyond that of this female and his brother?

René shook his head. "I heard nothing, saw nothing--other than you and some pretty little hunter over near the pavilion." A mirthless smile touched his mouth. "Thought you had no intention of participating in the dance this time."

He hadn't. The only reason he was here in the mansion at all was at the request of their sire, who'd wanted someone he could trust to investigate these killings. Someone within the family, who knew the system but had no true loyalties to the police or justice. Duncan had certainly seen the inside of more than his fair share of jail cells in his youth, so he guessed it was fair to presume he knew how the justice system worked.

He shrugged. "She made an offer too good to refuse." And at the very least, her presence by his side would maintain his wild reputation and stop suspicions being raised in the wrong quarters.

René snorted softly. "Certainly looked like it, too." Silver flashed in the short grass to the left of the victim's head. He shifted slightly, gaze narrowing. It was a hair, short and bristly.

"What color wolf was the victim?"

He felt rather than saw his brother's frown. "From the red pack--why?"

"Then her attacker is silver--unless you were in hunter form when you came here."

"No. But you were."

"I shifted before I reached the body. I doubt this is from my coat."

"It was one of our own?" Shock cracked his brother's deep voice.

"This hair would suggest so."

"It could be a plant."

"Could be." Though he very much doubted it. The rangers already knew it was a silver wolf behind these attacks. Planting one hair didn't make any sense--even though a similar clue had been left at each of the other crime scenes.

René cleared his throat. "Do you know this is the fourth attack in as many weeks?"

"Yeah, I'd heard as much." He rose and studied the trees around them. There were three trails from the gate, but all of them led to Ripple Creek. Had the killer continued on to town, or had he simply turned back around and rejoined the dance? There were plenty of fountains inside the grounds where a bloody wolf might wash-- though if he were one of their own, slipping unseen into the mansion was a simple matter. Every Sinclair in the pack knew the locations of the secret passages--and there was one near every gate.

"We'd better get the rangers out here."

René grunted. "Damn horrible way to end the night's dance."

Duncan raised an eyebrow. "That's the first time anything has stopped you enjoying the moon fever."

"Yeah, but this is the first time I've seen one of my chosen mates dead." He shrugged. "But then, I haven't the tasty morsel waiting for me that you have."

A tasty morsel whose delights he could not enjoy again for a while yet. He had every intention of being here when the rangers arrived. "Go call the cops. I'll go tend to my morsel."

René stepped around the body and clapped a hand on Duncan's shoulder. "Don't take long. I want you to back up my story, or the rangers are likely to throw my tail in jail. They're desperate for a quick arrest on this one."

"Even rangers can't convict without evidence." Though he'd known one or two in his time who were certainly willing to concoct it.

He returned through the gates and headed for the pavilion. Jasmine stirred the air, and he stopped abruptly, his gaze roaming the trees. She'd been here. Listening. Watching.

Why?

He remembered the fear in her eyes, the uncertainty. Remembered thinking she was not the usual type of woman found at these moon dances.

Why had she been around the west side of the mansion? It was far away from the dance, and generally considered out of bounds for all but those belonging to the Sinclair pack.

Something clenched deep in his gut. Disappointment, perhaps. Certainly anger.

He was being played.

Someone obviously suspected why he was here. What better way was there to keep an eye on him than to offer something even his jaded tastes could not resist? Neva was alluring, sensual, a wolf in the full peak of her sexual prowess, and yet oddly, almost innocently, unaware of that fact.

Anger surged through him. He'd taken the bait without thought. Moons, what a fool.

Still, it was a game that worked both ways, now that he was aware of it. Over the next couple of days, he could push their union to the extreme and wait for her to reach the breaking point. She would break, of that he was sure. Their one brief mating had confirmed that while she wasn't innocent, she was certainly inexperienced. Sooner or later she'd go running back to whoever was behind this, desperate to end the charade. And once she did, he'd have a suspect to follow.

He took a deep, calming breath, then continued on through the trees.

She was waiting near the pavilion steps, but her welcoming smile faded as he approached. He swallowed his anger, knowing he had to be careful. The Sinclairs might be strong telepaths, but the golden pack far outstripped even them. He couldn't give her the slightest hint he knew her game--not yet. Not until he'd made her desperate enough to run back to the man behind all this rather than away fr om them both.

And he had to admit, he was rather looking forward to the task. René was right--she was an extremely tasty morsel. He wondered what she was being paid to seduce him. It had better be a lot, because she was certainly going to earn her money over the next couple of days. "Problems?" Her voice faltered, and fear touched her gaze as she backed away a step.

Perhaps he wasn't controlling his anger as well as he thought. "Afraid so."

He caught her arm, stopping her retreat, pulling her close. Her body molded against his, her flesh trembling, f lushed with heat. The musky scent of her desire spun around him, fueling the ache in his loins to greater heights. They'd certainly chosen their bait well--even knowing what she was, he still wanted her more than he'd wanted any wolf in his life.

He cupped a hand to her cheek, holding her gaze as his lips claimed hers. There was nothing gentle in this kiss. It was filled with the ferocity that burned through his body--a hungry, angry possession that took everything she was willing to give and more.