Keri Arthur - Beneath A Rising Moon

Her eyes widened, and her fear deepened, until it was something he could almost taste. Yet at the same time, the scent of her arousal intensified. She wanted him, even if she did fear him--or feared what he intended to do. He touched her, caressed her, made her burn with need. When he thrust deep, she moaned in pleasure, but this was a mating that had nothing to do with that emotion, and everything to do with anger and betrayal. It was hard and fast, a union in which he took but did not give. When he'd finished, he stepped back. She stared at him, her chest heaving, her lips swollen and red, body still flushed and quivering with unfulfilled desires. But it was the anger, the reproach, in her wonderful eyes that cut the deepest.

"Wait for me here," he said curtly and walked away.

Neva clenched her fists and stared at his retreating back. It took all her willpower not to pick up the fallen tree branch near her feet and throw it at his stiff, uncaring spine.

In the space of ten minutes, he'd gone from a warm and generous lover to a detached, unfeeling rutting machine. A man who cared for nothing but his own needs. And she wasn't sure why.

Nor could she read his thoughts or taste his emotions to find out why. It was if a wall stood between them, a wall so high and wide she half-suspected even he had lost touch with his feelings. He was the first wolf she'd ever met whose mind she couldn't read, whose everyday emotions could snap so suddenly beyond even her skills, and it was more than a little scary. She had a bad feeling she needed to know what was going on in that man's mind. She rubbed her arms, but it did little to ease the chill racing across her skin. To think only a few moments ago she'd been worried about hungering for his touch so badly that she'd want to remain in this den of darkness. What a fool's thought that had turned out to be.

She wasn't about to wait here for more of the same. She may have agreed to be his for the remainder of the moon phase, but enough was enough for one night. With the discovery of the fourth victim, this place would soon be crawling with rangers. It was better she leave now, before anyone recognized her.

The last thing she wanted was one of them reporting her presence to her parents. That would cause a scene of atomic proportions. And they certainly wouldn't understand her reasons for coming here. They were old school and believed the dance should be saved until you'd found that one mate. But as much as she wanted to go home right now, she couldn't. Not until she'd taken a closer look at that body--before the rangers took away whatever clues there might be to find. It was doubtful they'd let her go unescorted into Savannah's office a second time.

She donned her skirts then resolutely turned and made her way back to the gate.

The stench of death almost overpowered her. She took a deep breath, trying to control her stomach's chaotic churning. Her twin faced this type of thing regularly. Surely she could do this once.

She bit her lip and moved closer, stepping in old footsteps so her own wouldn't show. This death was the image of the photos she'd studied in Savannah's files--right down to the bite marks on the woman's shoulder and breasts. But it was the damage to their faces that Savannah had ringed and questioned.

Why such destruction? None of the women had been extreme beauties--just pleasant. Ordinary. None of them were similar in any way--they all had different colored hair, eyes, and facial structures. All belonged to different packs. Yet the man behind this went to great pains to smash in their faces almost beyond recognition. It certainly suggested there was some sort of connection--but if Savannah's notes were anything to go by, the rangers had no idea what. And if the Sinclairs knew, they certainly weren't telling anyone.

Her gaze slipped down, stopping at the rucked up dress and torn panties. Her stomach turned, and she fought the sudden urge to run fr om such a brutal representation of invasion. Lord, it was all too easy to imagine the horror, the fear…She swallowed heavily. The visual evidence might indicate rape, but the coroner's report on the last three victims certainly didn't suggest forced sex. All victims had had numerous partners during the night, but there was nothing to indicate rape during death. Which

Savannah had again questioned. Why was the killer depicting rape if he wasn't actually violating them?

It was a puzzle to which there were no answers--as yet.

She raised her nose, tasting the air. Beneath the scent of death lay a myriad of other aromas. Pine and balsam were heavily entwined with the rich bouquet of snowbound loam. Beyond that, a lingering caress of warm spices and freshly cut wood stirred her pulse. Duncan's scent. His brother, who'd been here longer, was a warm touch of muskiness. Beneath that, blood, sharp and metallic. And something else--a scent she couldn't pin down but one that seemed vaguely familiar.

She frowned and walked across to the nearest path. No footprints here, either. Nothing to indicate anyone had traveled past here recently. Only that nebulous scent. She studied the path for several moments, weighing her need for answers with her need to escape, then sighed. Closing her eyes, she reached for the wildness. It came in a rush of power that blurred her senses and numbed the pain as it reshaped and changed her body.

Then it was gone, and she padded through the trees on four legs rather than two. The scent led her halfway down the mountain before it disappeared. She sniffed air and ground, trying to find it again, then noted a flash of silver caught in the branch of a small aspen just off the path. Hair from a silver coat. Paw prints flirted with a slight drift of snow beyond that then disappeared again. The scent no longer lingered. She nosed about a bit more, but knew it was now a worthless quest.

She glanced over her shoulder, contemplating going back for her clothes. But there were voices up at the top now. Maybe the rangers were here. Maybe Duncan and his brother had returned. Either way, she had to get going. The scent of jasmine would linger, and that could lead to trouble if she wasn't careful.

Besides, nothing she'd left in the mansion could be traced back to her. Jasmine was a strong scent, which is exactly why she'd chosen it. Not even the strongest of noses would be able to track her true scent through the clothes she'd left up there. She moved back to the trail and continued down until she hit the stream, then followed that upwind. The water was icy against her paws, but unless she did this, they would trace her too easily back home.

As she continued padding through the water, she reached out, briefly touching her sister's thoughts. No response, no change. She sighed. At least some good had come out of the night. She'd achieved her aim-

-she had breached the inner circle of the mansion and attached herself successfully to Duncan. Nor did she have to worry about hungering for his touch. For whatever reason, he'd become as unfeeling and as unresponsive as she could ever want.

So why did she feel such a deep sense of loss? Moon madness, surely. She ducked into a small waterfall, washing the scent of jasmine from her coat, then continued on home.

Two hours later, Duncan made his way through the mansion. The arrival of the r angers had killed the dance, and there were very few people occupying the shadows in the hall. But they would be back tomorr ow night. They always were.

He took the stairs two at a time and tried to ignore his vague sense of disgust. He'd taken part in more than his fair share of dances--was still taking part in them, in fact--so he had no right to judge others.

Or were his own actions behind that vague, unsettling emotion?

He frowned. Damn it, she'd come here with the sole purpose of seducing him--he was certain of that, if nothing else. He owed her no right to pleasure. And if anything, her willingness to take whatever he dished out without comment proved her guilt. His actions were not in the spirit of the dance, and she had every right to be furious. But she hadn't said anything. Why? Because she was being paid to stay by his side. Because she would do whatever it took to remain there.