Beneath a Darkening Moon

by Keri Arthur

  "How did you know about Ronan and me?"

  Her words, low and somehow sexy, had lust surging through his veins. He fought the urge to reach for her, take her, and merely said, “I'm trained to read body language, remember?"

  And right now, hers was practically screaming with the desire to hit him.

  She nodded and crossed her arms. “Then I agree to your terms."

  Exaltation ran through him. She was his. Again. “Where do you plan for us to ... meet?"

  She considered him for a moment, and then she said, “I recently bought an old lodge as a long-term renovation project. It's called White Peaks, and it's out on Meadows Road—which is at the western edge of the reservation. My nearest neighbors don't arrive until ski season opens, so we should remain undiscovered."

  His mouth twisted. “So I'm not being invited into your home?"

  Contempt flashed across her features. “Never."

  That was a shame. While he might never trust her again, he certainly wouldn't have minded uncovering more about the woman who'd once had him so hooked he couldn't even think straight. He glanced at his watch. “Shall we say midnight?"

  She hesitated, a hint of panic running briefly through her eyes before determination reappeared. She nodded once. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?"

  "Other than the need to be extremely cautious, not at the moment."

  "When will the second autopsy be in?"

  "Sometime tomorrow."

  She nodded. “So you want to go back to the hotel now?"

  "Yes. Thank you."

  She gave him a look that could have frozen boiling water and led the way out the door. The short journey to the hotel was so tense the air practically crackled.

  She stopped in front of his assigned quarters in what looked like the less than luxurious end of town. He glanced at her, but she wasn't looking at him, just staring straight ahead with deliberate determination. Yet the tension riding her shoulders suggested she was aware of his every move.

  Just as he was endlessly aware of hers.

  He opened the door. The night air swept in, bitingly cold. Yet it did little to cool the warmth flooding his skin or the ardor burning through his body.

  "One thing,” she said, before he could move.

  "What?"

  "You had a watcher in the forest.” She glanced at him, her cool green eyes seeming to glimmer in the truck's shadowed darkness. “That's why I went in—I thought I heard something. Unfortunately, they heard me and fled before I could grab them."

  Anger surged. “Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

  "What was the point? It was pitch black, and there were no tracks to be found."

  "Says you,” he retorted. “You'll take me there tomorrow, clear?"

  "Fine,” she said, pulling her gaze from his. But not before he'd seen the stain of anger in her cheeks.

  He climbed out and had barely slammed the door closed when she took off. The truck's tires spun on the driveway, spearing the small stones littering the ground over him like mini missiles.

  And he'd swear he heard the deliciously warm sound of her laughter as she sped off.

  "Bitch,” he muttered. Yet he couldn't help smiling. She'd always been spirited, and wasn't that what had first attracted him to her? That, and her glorious golden hair.

  He spun on his heel and headed for the room Trista and Anton were sharing. Both were sitting on the carpeted floor, but Anton was staring at the laptop while Trista was looking through the old case files Cade had brought along.

  "You're right,” she said, her pale caramel eyes warmed by the fire burning in the hearth. “There's very little difference between the past murders and these."

  He nodded and reached for the autopsy report Hart had faxed over. “They're identical."

  "Except for the note carved into the recent victim's back and the lap marks."

  "Yeah. Last time a cup was used to soak up the blood."

  "Unusual for a wolf to like the taste of human blood,” Anton mused, without looking up from the screen.

  "Jontee McGuire wasn't full wolf, but half. At least one of his mates was a half-breed as well.” He quickly scanned the autopsy report, but other than the note found in the left index finger, Hart had found nothing new.

  Trista frowned and pushed her fingers through her short brown hair. “Wolves don't often mate with humans."

  "In this case, it wasn't willing. Their mothers were drugged and raped by human males on a dare."

  She grimaced. “There was a rash of such attacks about thirty years ago. Psychologists reckoned it was some sort of stupid coming of age test. You know, take the werewolf and prove you're a man.” She snorted. “Like drugging a victim is the act of a real man. I tell you, there's something to be said for keeping humans out of reservations."

  "Many of the smaller reservations survive on tourist income,” Anton commented, brown eyes flat with annoyance as he looked up. “Without it, they'd be in real trouble."

  "I know, but—” Trista began.

  "Let's not get into that argument again,” Cade said, knowing from past experience the two of them could debate the subject for hours. And the fact that Trista came from one of the biggest reservations—and one of the two threatened by the encroaching human population—while Anton came from a small, barely surviving reservation only inflamed the situation. Cade threw the report back onto the table and paced the small room. “What are your thoughts on the lap marks?"

  "Either our copycat wasn't aware of the procedure in the first murders,” Anton said, leaning back and crossing bare brown arms behind his head. “Or he likes the taste of warm blood from the body."

  "Why are you both so convinced it's a copycat?” Trista asked. “So okay, Jontee is dead, but didn't he have twelve mistresses?"

  "'True believers,’ he preferred to call them,” Cade said. “There were four wives and eight mistresses, all of whom he shared with the enlightened.” And one of those mistresses had been Vannah—which is the other reason Cade had targeted her. That and the fact that he'd wanted her from the moment his boss had dropped twelve photographs on the desk and told him to pick one.

  "Couldn't it be one of them, then?” Trista asked

  "Two wives and six mistresses took lie detector tests, as well as being read by psychics either before or after we'd caught Jontee. None of them knew anything about the murders."

  "What about the other four?” Anton picked up a folder and flicked over several pages. “Nelle James, Fee Mays, Vannah Harvey and Joanna Noles. Did you manage to track them down?"

  Cade stopped near the window, studying the still darkness. “No. We had Jontee, and since the murders had stopped, we called off the search. But a warrant remained in place for three of them."

  Outside, the sliver moon was rising, riding low in the clear night sky. The heat of it seared through him, and his body ached with desire. He wanted Vannah—wanted to hold her, caress her, and lose himself deep in the hot, wet warmth of her body. Wanted it now, not in a few hours. He scrubbed a hand across his rough jaw. He couldn't stay in this room. He had to get out, had to walk, before the fever became too obvious.

  "Three?” Trista said. “What happened to the fourth mistress?"

  "Vannah Harvey was my entry source into the commune,” he answered. “She knew nothing."

  Which wasn't exactly true. She'd known enough to give him Jontee. Known enough to almost get Cade killed.

  "You want me to do a check on the other three? See if I can find anything new on them?” Anton asked.

  "Already done it. There's no record of any of them after they disappeared that night."

  Which wasn't really that much of a surprise. Half the people living in the commune weren't using their real names. Vannah, for instance.

  And that was the reason he'd never been able to find her on the odd occasion curiosity had gotten the better of common sense.

  "Was everyone at the commune wolves or half breeds?” Trista asked.
r />   "Yes,” he said, spinning away from the moon and the night to resume his pacing.

  Trista arched a brow. “Interesting."

  He glanced at her. “Why?"

  "Because if Jontee was killing in revenge for his mother's rape, why was he killing full blooded wolves and drinking their blood?"

  "He never drank their blood."

  "Then why did he collect it?"

  "You've read the reports."

  She grimaced. “As an offering of peace and restoration to the Goddess herself. Did you ever believe that?"

  "Not in the least."

  She studied him for a moment, her pale eyes too knowing. “So what's our next move?"

  "Tomorrow you can grab one of the rangers and start visiting all the hotels, motels, et cetera, to collect the names of anyone who has checked in during the last two weeks."

  "Why new?” Anton asked. “There's nothing to indicate this isn't being done by a local."

  No, but if a local had been at the commune, surely Vannah would have mentioned it. After all, that person would be the obvious starting point for questions.

  "It's easier to eliminate visitors first.” He glanced back at Trista. “Ronan would probably be a good choice as a guide. He seems to be a bit more personable than the kid."

  And knowing Trista's more-than-predatory ways, the handsome Ronan would soon be less of a problem for him. Or rather, his access to Vannah.

  While bedding reservation rangers might go against the unwritten code of conduct, he'd turned a blind eye to it in the past and he'd certainly do so now. Especially if it got him what he wanted—time alone with the one person he'd never entirely been able to shake from his thoughts, no matter how hard he'd tried.

  Trista nodded. “Since it's almost cross-country ski season, we could end up with quite a few names to crosscheck."

  "Then draft in the kid as well.” He looked at Anton. “You can run the fingerprints we found at the murder site through the system. I'll run back to the site with our head ranger. Apparently we had a watcher this evening. She gave chase, but lost him."

  "Then we could be right in thinking that this is all a setup to get you here?"

  "Probably.” Vannah was here, after all, and now so was he.

  "If that's the case, it might be better if you step down—"

  He cut Trista off with a curt, “I'm not going anywhere."

  "That's not—"

  "I know. But if the bastard behind these murders is after me, then they're welcome to give it a try."

  "The IIS doesn't approve of its agents acting as bait,” Anton said dryly. “It's considered a waste of good training money when they get killed."

  Cade grinned. “I have no intention of getting killed.” Especially when the offer of amazing sex was in the air. “I'm off to scout the town and see if I can hear any gossip in the bars. Call if Hart sends the second autopsy report in."

  Anton reached across to his briefcase, grasping something that he tossed across to Cade. “Emergency tracer,” Anton said, as Cade caught it. “If you get into trouble, press it and we'll come running."

  Cade turned the button-sized bit of technology over in his palm and realized it had a small loop at one end so that it could be threaded through a chain. He could wear it without being obvious. “What's the range?"

  "Ten miles."

  "Even in the mountains?"

  "Even in."

  "Amazing."

  "It could be lifesaving,” Anton said, voice still dry. “So make sure you have it with you at all times. Even in the shower."

  "It's waterproof?"

  "And shock proof."

  "Good.” He undid the gold chain from his neck and threaded the tracer on to it. “Call me if anything happens."

  Anton nodded.

  Cade spun around and headed out into the moonlit night.

  * * * *

  Savannah pushed open the café door. Warmth rushed out at her, followed quickly by the familiar scents of homemade bread and the richness of fried onion. Her dad might have some crazy ideas about what was, and wasn't, proper behavior for young wolves, but he sure could cook a mean burger—and the best darned bread she'd tasted anywhere.

  The place was packed, as usual. Ari, the head waitress, flitted between her tables, her spiky golden hair glowing in the warm ambience of the café's interior. More than one customer followed her movements with expressions of longing, and Savannah smiled. Though Levon kept warning Ari about flirting with the customers, there was no doubt that they enjoyed it—or that it was good for business.

  Her gaze scanned the rest of the room, coming to rest on the well-rounded figure at the far end of the room. Neva stood upright at that moment, a smile touching her lips as her gaze met Savannah's.

  Hey, welcome to the madhouse, Sis.

  Thanks. Aren't you supposed to be resting?

  I was, but Jacci called in sick, and the place was booked out.

  Does Duncan know?

  Neva's amusement bubbled through Savannah's mind. He's helping the old man cook burgers.

  Wonders will never cease. Certainly she'd never expected that Levon would reach even grudging acceptance of her sister's soul mate after only a year. You got a spare table or do I retreat to the kitchen?

  Dad will rope you in to help if you do, and it doesn't feel like you're up to that. Come down here.

  Savannah wound her way through the tables, smiling so many hellos her cheeks began to ache. Half the town seemed to be in the café tonight. While some small part of her wanted to retreat, mostly she wanted to wrap herself in familiar surroundings and the warmth of family in an effort to ward off the chill of what she would be doing in a few hours. Or rather, who she was going to be doing it with.

  Neva was resetting a small table at the far end of the counter. Savannah kissed her sister's cheek, then bent and did the same to her bulging belly.

  "How are the brats treating you?” She placed her hands gently on either side of Neva's tummy and smiled when she felt the responding kicks.

  Neva grinned. “I've decided they are going to be athletes, because they don't ever seem to stop moving."

  "It's their father's fault. The Sinclair pack is known for being extremely active."

  Her twin's green eyes sparkled. “You don't have to tell me. How do you think I got pregnant in the first place?"

  "Well, if you hadn't been at it like rabbits, you might not have gotten pregnant so quickly."

  "True.” Neva's smile certainly didn't suggest she regretted it—quite the opposite, in fact. “You want the usual?"

  "Just coffee and some banana-nut bread tonight. Thanks, Sis."

  Neva nodded and waddled toward the kitchen. Savannah reached for the newspaper sitting on the counter and got down to the business of catching up on the local news. Ten minutes later, Neva was back with her order, complete with an extra cup for herself.

  "So,” she said, sitting, stretching out her legs and wriggling her feet with a sigh of relief. “What's up?"

  Savannah smiled. She should have known she couldn't come in here seeking a moment of serenity without her twin sensing something was wrong. She picked up a slice of the rich smelling bread and munched on it as she figured out how best to phrase her question.

  "Did you ever regret making that first promise to the moon?"

  Neva frowned. “How could I, when I did it to save you?"

  "But if you had to do it all again, would you?"

  "Yes, because at the time it was my only option.” Neva paused, speculation growing in her eyes. “This is about a promise you made, isn't it? The old history you once mentioned but wouldn't explain?"

  She nodded. “Let's just say it's come back to bite me in the rump."

  Neva's concern flicked through Savannah's mind. “And you'd rather avoid being bitten again?"

  She sighed. “I'm not sure what I want, and that's half the problem.” God, they hadn't even made love, and yet her thoughts were all but consumed by him. She couldn't aff
ord that, not a second time. And certainly not with a murderer running around town.

  Neva reached across the table, and wrapped her hand around Savannah's. “Do you like him?"

  "Once I did."

  "Are you still attracted to him?"

  A smile touched her lips as she remembered the heat of his kiss, the way she'd ached to arch into him. “Yes."

  "And are you going to dance with him?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "Because I have no choice."

  "Why not?"

  Promises made.

  Ah. Neva lightly squeezed Savannah's hand. You want me to touch his thoughts and blast away any memory of the promise?

  No, because this promise is an unfilled moon promise.

  Well, shit.

  Exactly.

  Neva leaned back in her chair and rubbed her belly with her free hand. I'm here if you need me, Sav. Anytime, night or day. Just reach for me.

  She knew that, but hearing it said was comforting all the same, which in some ways was almost amusing. Most people considered her the stronger of the two of them, but that had never really been the case. Neva had shown more gumption and courage last year than Savannah had ever shown in her entire life. Walking into the Sinclair mansion during the moon dance, tying herself to the wildest of the Sinclair brothers, and finally, inevitably, rejecting their father's demands—that took nerve and strength. Hell, when Savannah had rebelled, all she'd done was leave town. And while she may have joined a left-of-center commune and done things that would have given her old man a heart attack, in the scheme of things they didn't really count, because no one here knew about them. And while she'd played the hard woman, forcing the final confrontation between her sister and her parents so that Neva could claim the man she loved without fear of a parental backlash, she had no such courage when it came to her own life. Not when it came to Cade and the history between them.

  There's no shame in being scared of confronting your past, Sav.

  I'm a ranger, she said, mind voice dry. We're supposed to be able to control fear.

  But you're also a woman, and you seem to have forgotten that. Neva frowned. Why not just enjoy the sex and to hell with the man? If worse comes to worst, pretend he's Ronan or something.