Beneath a Rising Moon

  Beneath a Rising Moon

  ***

  Keri Arthur

  She’d seduced him—bound herself to him through this

  phase of the moon—to find a killer, but he was turning

  the tables on her…

  “Your mother was born on the Bitterroot Reservation

  over in Idaho, wasn’t she?”

  It felt like Duncan Sinclair had punched her. Neva

  Grant’s breath left in a whoosh of air, and for several

  seconds, she couldn’t even breathe. Couldn’t do anything

  more than look at him in horror.

  “Did you know,” he continued mercilessly, “that as a

  sixteen-year-old she took part in a raid of the Sinclair

  stronghold over there and burned it to the ground?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” His voice was monotone. Relentless. “Thirteen

  people died that night, and many more were injured. Your

  mother was never charged because her old man paid off

  the right people.”

  She slapped her palms on the table and thrust upright.

  “Get out.”

  His smile was grim. “She’s done it once, Neva. She

  could easily do it again.”

  “I said, get out.” Her voice shook with the force of the

  fury rolling through her.

  “A good investigator considers all options.”

  “My mother is not an option. Now get the hell out of

  my house.”

  He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Might have been

  made of stone, and she was certain his heart was.

  “Then perhaps you should consider your father,” he

  said, his rich voice as cold as the storm outside. “Did you

  know he’d been questioning Betise about who was dancing

  with whom up at the mansion?”

  She’d been questioning Betise—and the older wolf had

  certainly never mentioned her father doing the same. And

  she would have, if only because Betise hated Neva’s father.

  It was actually doubtful whether she’d give him the time

  of day. “I said get out. I meant it.”

  “Your days and nights are mine, little wolf. I’m not

  going anywhere.”

  “You’re a...” Words failed her. Somehow, bastard just

  didn’t seem strong enough.

  His smile contained little warmth. “So you keep saying.”

  She hit him. Not physically, but emotionally. Hit him

  with all the anger and humiliation and pain that had built

  up over the past couple of days. Although his shields were

  up, the force of her emotive blow still leeched all color

  from his face and thrust him backwards, off the chair and

  onto the floor.

  “It’s not a nice feeling, is it?” His voice was little more

  than a hoarse whisper, and beads of sweat dribbled down

  his face. “Having your family as suspects?”

  She met his soulless gaze and wondered why in hell

  this man got to her so badly. Not just physically, but

  emotionally. Damn it, if any of the rangers had mentioned

  her mother’s past, would they be now writhing on the floor?

  Definitely not. She’d be asking them to show her the

  evidence to prove it. Or running back to her mother to

  confirm what had really gone on.

  But right now, that was something she could not do.

  She let the power slip away and slumped back on the

  chair, covering her face with her hands. After a few seconds,

  he climbed slowly to his feet. She could feel the heat of his

  gaze on her, but she refused to look up.

  “I’ll be back at dusk,” he said softly. “And I will claim

  what I am owed.”

  OTHER BOOKS

  BY

  KERI ARTHUR

  Nikki & Michael Series

  Dancing with the Devil

  Hearts in Darkness

  Chasing the Shadows

  Damask Circle Series

  Circle of Fire

  Circle of Death

  Circle of Desire

  (Coming in July 2003)

  Beneath a Rising Moon

  ***

  Keri Arthur

  One

  The music swirled through the darkness, its beat rich,

  seductive. Night cloaked the ballroom, a mantle challenged

  only by the occasional flicker of a torch burning high on

  the rough-hewn stone walls. On the dance floor, couples

  swayed to the music, their bodies so close they almost

  seemed one. Heat and sweat mingled with the growing

  odor of lust and longing. Scents that stirred her senses,

  made her hunger.

  Neva Grant looked uneasily over her shoulder. Though

  the moon was lost to the clouds that crowded the night

  sky, she could feel its presence. Feel its power.

  The full moon was too close. She shouldn’t be here.

  Shouldn’t be doing this when the wildness within was so

  close to the surface.

  But she’d made her promises. She intended to see them

  through, no matter what the cost.

  She let her gaze roam the dance floor again.

  Somewhere down there, a killer lurked. A man who was

  using this secluded, exotic retreat as his own private

  hunting ground.

  A man she had every intention of finding. And slaying.

  She raised her glass and finished the last of her wine.

  The alcohol slithered warmth through her body, and

  perspiration beaded her skin. Hunger rose, flashing white-

  hot through her veins. She closed her eyes, took a deep

  breath.

  Not tonight. Please, not tonight.

  But the pulsing need suggested it was already too late

  for such prayers. The wildness had woken. It would not

  remain leashed for long.

  Maybe she shouldn’t bother even trying. The killer

  seemed to be choosing the more adventurous of this

  wanton crowd. Unleashing the wildness might be the

  quickest way of attracting his attention.

  Bile rose up her throat, and she swallowed heavily.

  While she had no real choice about what she had to do

  tonight, she wasn’t about to give the wolf within free rein.

  She wasn’t like any of the hunters who danced on the

  floor below. Her world was one of sunshine and restraint,

  of trying to live normally.

  These people rejoiced in the night and the power of

  the moon. They came to this mansion for the freedom and

  the safety it offered, seeking to sate the moon-spun lust

  surging through their veins. That was why most of the

  men were naked. Why most of the women wore little more

  than wisps of material that covered everything and yet

  left nothing to the imagination. Only their faces were

  concealed. Once the moon’s spell had faded and daylight

  returned, they would fade back to their packs, picking up

  their lives where they’d left off, not knowing the face of

  any of those they’d chosen to mate with the previous night.

  Unlike her pack, these wolves were free spirits,

  exhilarated by the thrill of the chase, by the excitement of

&nb
sp; capture and possession. The belief of one mate, one life

  partner, had never touched these dark halls.

  But for her promise, she would not be here tonight.

  She put aside her glass, then adjusted her ornate mask

  and made her way down the stairs. The deeper shadows

  that lined the walls were filled with hunters in various

  stages of mating. She forced her gaze away, even though

  the wildness within yearned to watch. Hungered to join

  them.

  Her stomach turned again. God, she hated this place.

  Hated everything it represented. Given the choice, she’d

  rather burn the Sinclair estate to the ground than be

  walking its halls. She wasn’t a prude, far from it—she’d

  given in to the power of the moon more than once herself.

  But if it wasn’t for this place, if it wasn’t for the wanton

  and careless behavior of its guests, her twin sister would

  not now be lying in the hospital close to death.

  Tears stung her eyes, and she took a deep breath.

  Don’t think. Just do.

  She moved onto the dance floor, inching her way past

  the slowly dancing couples. Her pulse throbbed in time to

  the music’s heavy beat, and the deep down ache got

  stronger.

  She clenched her fists and made her way towards the

  rear exit. She’d spent most of her adult life fighting the

  worst of her desires, and she would not give in now. Not

  fully, even here in this place of dark freedom.

  And yet at the same time she knew she’d do whatever

  she had to—even unleashing the wildness—if in the end

  it led her to the man who’d attacked her twin.

  She’d studied the files in Savannah’s office before she’d

  come down here this evening. The killer had struck three

  times, each time near dawn and just beyond the

  boundaries of the Sinclair mansion. The victims were

  always alone, though forensics had, not surprisingly,

  found evidence to suggest each victim had taken more

  than half a dozen lovers the night of their deaths.

  Savannah and the other werewolf rangers who patrolled

  the Ripple Creek Reservation—which was the mountain

  homeland of the four Colorado wolf packs—believed the

  killer was shadowing his victims as they left the mansion,

  attacking once they were well clear of any help. But they

  had no proof of this, nothing more than scents and

  suspicions—neither of which were admissible in court—

  human or werewolf.

  Savannah had been following one such scent when

  she’d been attacked by a silver wolf. Only the fact that

  she’d been in wolf form herself had saved her. The winter

  coat of their tribe was thick, and the silver wolf had been

  unable to gain any true grip around her sister’s throat.

  But even so, her wounds were multiple and life threatening.

  Neva had shared the last, terrifying moments of her

  twin’s horror. And while she’d never wanted to go through

  something like that again, it was the link between them

  that had in the end saved her sister. Savannah had

  siphoned Neva’s stronger psychic abilities and used them

  to finally fend off the wolf.

  Neva closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Even

  now, her sister’s pain edged Neva’s consciousness. When

  she’d left home this evening, the doctors still weren’t sure

  if Savannah would survive. Even she couldn’t say with

  any degree of certainty. Savannah was hanging on to life

  by the slenderest of margins, and it wouldn’t take much

  to snatch the lifeline away.

  Which is why Neva had touched her twin’s

  unresponsive mind and made a silent vow: She’d hunt

  down the killer and finish what her sister had started, if

  Savannah found the strength to live.

  It may have been foolish, but it was better than sitting

  at home waiting for the worst.

  Of course, she was no ranger. Far from it. She had no

  idea how to load a weapon let alone shoot, and she only

  had a wolf’s natural skills when it came to tracking. But

  she was far from defenseless. Like most of the wolves of

  her tribe, she rated high in telepathy, but she was also

  almost off the scale when it came to empathy. The two

  abilities combined could be a deadly weapon if one knew

  how to use them properly—as the wolf who’d attacked

  Savanna had found out.

  So far tonight, Neva had kept her shields well up.

  Skimming the minds of hunters when the moon bloomed

  was far too dangerous and would attract the kind of sexual

  interest she was trying to avoid. Besides, she might just

  alert the killer she was here, seeking him.

  The rangers believed it was probably one of the

  Sinclairs behind the killings, but they were a large and

  closed-mouthed pack and had yet to provide the rangers

  with any real help. And while the Sinclairs were all silver

  wolves, they did not have a monopoly on the coat. Even in

  her pack, which were primarily golden-coated, silver could

  be found.

  She’d never find the killer roaming the outskirts. It

  was doubtful if even the rangers could. It had to be done

  from within the Sinclair stronghold. And there was only

  one way she could achieve that. Goose bumps skated

  across her skin, and she sent a silent prayer to the moon

  for strength.

  She’d spent a good part of the day studying the Sinclair

  lineage. The wolf she’d chosen to seduce was the pack

  leader’s third son. By all accounts he was the wildest of

  them all, but he was the only one who’d been away when

  the first two murders were committed. Safe—or as safe as

  any of the Sinclairs could be.

  She’d also spent time studying the mansion’s floor

  plans before coming here, and she had talked to Betise, a

  regular customer at her family’s diner. Though barely

  thirty-six, Betise had been attending moon dances at the

  mansion for a good twenty years and knew the place almost

  as well as the Sinclairs themselves. It had been Betise

  who told her that Duncan Sinclair rarely joined the dance

  before midnight, and that before then he could usually be

  found close to his rooms on the west side of the mansion.

  She hurried out the rear doors. The night breeze

  stirred her flimsy skirt. Its touch was cool against the

  fever-kissed skin of her thighs. She glanced skyward again,

  judging the time by the position of the moon she could

  feel, not see. Close to midnight. She had to hurry. She

  tugged the delicate material clear of her bare feet and ran

  to the back of the mansion.

  A cherub-filled fountain came into sight. She slowed,

  scanning the windows until she found his. Her heart was

  beating so fast it felt as if it would tear free of her chest,

  and she knew its cause was fear, not exertion. She’d never

  done anything like this before. Didn’t know if she even

  had what it took to attract, and hold, a wolf with Duncan

  Sinclair’s experience.

  But she had to try. It wa
s the safest way to gain full

  access into the mansion.

  She could only smell one wolf in the rooms above,

  and there were no others in the immediate area. Betise’s

  information had certainly been accurate. If she pulled this

  off, she was going to keep the woman supplied with free

  coffee for the next year.

  She walked over to the fountain and stripped off the

  flimsy excuse for a gown. Then she stepped into the icy

  water, avoiding the worst of the water-tossing cherubs as

  she turned her attention to his window.

  Everything she’d learned about him suggested he liked

  a chase and preferred his mates to be sexually

  adventurous. While she could never claim to be that, she

  was a wolf and the moon was high. And Betise had offered

  more than a few tips.

  But she couldn’t exactly send out a blatant invitation

  to the man. The rules of the moon dance said no names,

  so she had to be a little more devious. The Sinclairs were

  the only other wolf pack who were strong telepaths, so

  she just had to make it seem he was catching her thoughts.

  Lord, I ache tonight.

  She kept her mindvoice breathy, wistful. For several

  tense seconds, nothing happened, then his presence stirred

  and walked across to the windows. She dipped her fingers

  into the water and wet her neck, letting the cool droplets

  dribble between her breasts.

  Hunger surged through the night, a force so strong it

  almost knocked her over. His need for the dance was high.

  Very high. The thought churned her stomach, but she

  was here now and would not back away.

  She let her gaze roam the windows until she saw him.

  If his shadow was to be believed, he was big. Bigger than

  she’d expected. She cupped another handful of water,

  sipping it quickly to ease the dryness in her throat.

  Why do you ache? The moon is high and the night free.

  His mind voice was rich, husky, and stirred her senses

  with longing. She clenched her fists. She had to remain in

  control. She couldn’t let the wildness free.

  Perhaps I am choosy.

  You can be choosy as many times as you like on a

  night such as this. Amusement swam across her senses,

  warm and sensual.

  Perhaps I long for a more careful seduction once the

  initial fire has passed.

  His silhouette stirred. She caught the brief glimpse of

  a muscular arm before the shadows closed in again. A