Tongue, lips, teeth, he devoured. Nothing gentle in this kiss, all wet heat and lust, He twined his fingers in my hair; I dug mine into his shoulders and held on. He tasted of mint as if he’d just brushed his teeth. I ran my tongue along the straight white expanse and he moaned, then nipped my lip.
A shudder ran through me. His kiss was as rough as his hands, and I relished it. I didn’t know why. Simon had been gentle in all things, especially lovemaking.
Maybe that was why. He wasn’t Simon, and this wasn’t love. I didn’t want it to be. I’d had my shot. One man, one woman, forever. I believed that. A woman like me didn’t get two soul mates. Did anyone?
Since Simon was dead, I was doomed to be alone. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t have this.
I ran my palms over his arms, let my thumbs trace his collarbone, tangled my fingers in his hair. His skin was so soft over muscles so hard. I wanted to trace every inch of him.
I was overcome with a sudden urge to drop to my knees and score the ripples of his abdomen with my teeth. I’d never seen a man put together so well, not that I’d seen all that many.
His erection brushed my stomach; his mouth captured my gasp as his hand dipped inside my shirt, slid under my bra, his palm cupping my breast, testing the weight, thumb teasing one nipple even as his lower body skimmed softly against mine.
He kept kissing me; I couldn’t think. I wanted nothing more than to feel his heat, his strength, his life. How could I ever have thought him a ghost?
Suddenly he tore away; I nearly fell. He stared at me wide-eyed, his mouth wet and swollen, as he shoved a hand through his tangled hair.
I’d tangled it. I wanted to do so again.
“I shouldn’t have...” He made a vague gesture in my direction.
I licked my lips. I could still taste him. “Why did you?”
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
“I don’t— I mean, I’m not—”
“You are.”
“What?”
“Sexy.”
I laughed. “You must be more deprived than I am.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I’m sure that’s true.”
No one had ever called me sexy. Simon had loved me, but he’d been more interested in my mind than my body. We’d been colleagues, friends, then lovers. The sex had been good. This had been—
Catastrophic? Mind-bending? Life altering? Or just—
Wrong.
I didn’t know this man. Not really. Everything I’d heard about him should make me wary. Most, if not all, of the bodies had been found on his property; why wasn’t he a suspect? Then again, the police were blaming animals. Unless Adam Ruelle planned to shape-shift beneath the crescent moon, he was innocent. At least of the Honey Island Swamp killings.
“Diana?” Adam brushed my hair from my face.
His fingertips grazed my cheek, and I resisted the urge to rub my skin against his and purr. What was the matter with me?
“You should take your things and go back to wherever it is you came from.”
That was the second time he’d told me as much.
I stared into his bright blue eyes. “It didn’t feel like you wanted me to go.”
“What I want and what’s best for both of us are two different things.”
“I don’t understand.”
I waited for him to explain. When he didn’t, I let out an exasperated sigh and turned away. He grabbed my hand and yanked me back, catching me when I stumbled, aligning our bodies just right all over again.
His jaw tightened. “What I want is to lie you down on, right here, or maybe shove you against a wall, right there, and take you until you can’t argue with me anymore.”
As if he couldn’t help himself, he leaned forward, brushed his lips to the swell of my breast exposed by our acrobatics.
“I want to mark you with my teeth.” He scraped the sensitive skin just under my collarbone. “Bury myself in you.”
He pulled me more tightly against him. “Over and over and over again. Me, you. You, me.” He punctuated each hoarse whisper with a thrust of his hips. “I’ll be inside you day and night until you don’t know where you begin and I end anymore.”
He nuzzled my cheek, put his mouth to the curve of my neck, and suckled my skin hard enough to leave the mark he’d spoken of. Then he lifted his head, and his whisper brushed the moist imprint, making me shiver. “Are you afraid enough to run now?”
Afraid? No. Aroused out of my mind? You betcha.
He stilled against me—hard, hot, his pulse beating out of time with mine. The intimacy of our position, his words, my feelings for a stranger, should have made me bolt. Instead I lifted my gaze and let him see that I wanted the same thing, too.
He cursed and swung away to stare out the window once more. I wasn’t sure what to say. Had the entire interlude been an attempt to make me flee? If so, he was the best actor on the planet. I could swear I’d tasted desire, and how could he fake a hard-on?
Dumb question. He was a guy. They could get a hard-on in a stiff breeze. Or so I’d heard.
A man like Adam Ruelle was not only out of my league but also out of my realm of experience, seeing as I’d only known one man intimately in my life.
“You intend to stay?” Adam asked.
“Damn straight.” He couldn’t get rid of me that easily.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and faced me. “You’ll need another guide.”
“I don’t need anything.”
Except you, my treacherous body whispered. I ignored it; I’d gotten very good at that over the past few years.
“I’ll do it.”
For an instant I thought he meant do it, and why wouldn’t I? We had, after all, practically done it standing up. Then I understood he was talking about guiding me into the swamp. “No.”
“You want to see my land, you go with me. Always. Never alone. You understand, cher?”
I understood. There were things out there I didn’t want to meet alone. But did I want to meet them with Adam Ruelle? I wasn’t sure.
What choice did I have? As he’d pointed out, this was his land. My boss might have rented the house, but I didn’t recall anything about the swamp.
“Don’t call me cher,” I said.
His mouth lifted into a ghost of a smile. “I guess that means yes.”
Chapter 11
“You know what I’m looking for?” I couldn’t remember what I’d told him and what I hadn’t.
“An animal that does not belong.”
Which was as good of an explanation as any. Something was out there. Something that did not belong—be it a wolf in Louisiana, a big, black cat in the swamp, or an animal that no one even knew about yet. Any one of them would be a coup for me to find.
The snick of a match returned my attention to Adam as he lit a cigarette. I considered protesting, but the place was trashed, and it was technically his place. What harm could one more cigarette butt do? Still...
“Those things’ll kill you.”
He stared out the window, his pose contemplative as he lifted the cigarette to his lips, took a long, slow drag, then blew smoke through his nose. “Something will kill me, but I doubt it’ll be this.”
I frowned at the statement, a variation of “we all have to die sometime.” Except there was a vast difference between dying and being killed. Had his time in the military changed his thoughts on death?
I wanted to ask, but I wasn’t sure how. This man’s tongue had been in my mouth, his hand on my breast, his body pressed intimately to mine, yet I was uncomfortable questioning him about his past. Which only made me vow not to let his tongue anywhere near me ever again. A vow easier made than kept.
He glanced over his shoulder as he took another drag. “How did that flower get on your bed?”
“Someone put it there while I was sleeping.”
His hand, halfway to his mouth with the cigarette, froze. He flicked the stub to the floor and ground it out. He was wearing shoes
for perhaps the first time since I’d met him. Combat boots. Figured.
“You’re sure?” The softness of his voice belied the tension in his body.
“I went to bed without a flower, woke up with one at my feet.”
Speaking about what had happened, I was creeped out all over again. Someone had been in my room while I was asleep and vulnerable. I didn’t like it.
Adam’s lips tightened and his hands clenched. He stared out the window again, and the silver light from the moon filtered over his face. He really was quite beautiful.
As if the glow pained him, he winced and stepped away. “Did you get rid of the flower?”
“Didn’t have to. The thing disappeared.”
He tilted his head, and his hair swung free of his shoulders. What was it about his hair that made my stomach all warm and jumpy?
“So you think you may be losing your mind?”
I didn’t answer, because I wasn’t sure.
He faced the window, and though his next words were muffled, I could have sworn he said, “Join the club.”
Before I could ask what he meant, a chorus of howls split the night. More than one this time and very close.
I raced across the room, but—surprise!—I saw nothing.
“Here.” He pressed something cool and heavy into my hand.
A gun. Oh, goody.
“Do you know how to use one?”
“Yep.”
“Use it.” He headed for the door.
“Wait! I’ll go with you.”
Adam didn’t pause, didn’t look at me, didn’t answer, just slipped outside. By the time I reached the porch, he was gone.
“How does he do that?”
And why had he given me his gun? What was he going to use? His bare hands?
Why not? According to local legend he was Cajun Commando. According to local legend he was also dead and there was a werewolf in the swamp. Considering what I’d just heard, maybe there were a whole bunch of them.
My gaze swept the thick grass. This was the first time I’d discerned more than one, and I was excited. More than one would be easier to find.
Still, I hesitated. Adam had told me not to go out there without him. But I was here to find the wolf or wolves, and they were close.
I checked the weapon—a .45-caliber Browning— fully loaded. Should be enough. I just needed one more thing.
Hurrying inside, I retrieved my camera. No one believed there was a wolf? I'd forgo the thousand words and take a picture. I needed the actual animal for proof positive, but a photo wouldn’t hurt.
The night settled around me, damp and hot. The swamp grass whispered, though there wasn’t even a flicker of a breeze.
I wished I could imitate the call of a wolf. Wolves howl for a number of reasons: to assemble the pack, warn of danger, locate one another, communicate. If I howled, they’d answer, and I’d know where I was going.
I continued in what I thought had been the direction of the howls. I couldn’t be that far behind Adam, yet I didn’t hear the muted thud of his boots or catch the slightest hint of a cigarette.
I hadn’t realized where I was headed until I broke into a clearing and found the yellow crime scene tape hanging limply in the no-breeze. The blood had soaked into the ground, the moist nature of the land removing every stain. If not for the tape, no one would know something horrible had happened here last night.
A low, rumbling growl made me tighten one hand on the gun, while the other reached for the camera I’d slung around my neck.
The moon ducked behind a cloud, and I couldn’t see more than a few feet. However, the grass rustled all around me, as if animals approached from several directions. But that couldn’t be right. Wolves didn’t move in as if they’d learned military formations at West Point, and they didn’t attack humans. Or at least they hadn’t until they’d turned up in New Orleans. Who was to say the wolves hadn’t changed their hunting tactics along with their geography?
The lack of sight, the plethora of sound, made my nerves jump beneath my skin. I had to know what was coming. So I hit the flash on my camera, and the swamp lit up like a lightning strike.
Eyes stared back at me. Alligator? Nutria? Wolf? Psychopath?
Turning to my left, I took another picture. The flash revealed what I already suspected. I was surrounded. However, this time, before the light died, I saw not only eyes but also the outline of an animal.
Too tall for a rat or an alligator, too short for a human being. But not a dog, not a coyote. An animal with longer legs and a bigger head than either a coyote or most dogs. In Zoology 101 those things added up to a wolf.
A tiny bit of excitement filled me that I’d found something weird. That was, after all, why I’d come.
A growl rumbled to my right, another to my left, one behind. They were closer. I could almost feel their tepid breath. The hair on the back of my neck tingled and adrenaline rushed through me.
“Get lost!” I shouted, hoping I could make them run— the other way—hoping I wouldn’t have to shoot them. Not only would it be difficult in the dark, but for proof a live creature was always better than a dead one. Still—
I lifted the gun. If they insisted.
Their measured tread came near, along with their panting, canine breath. I flicked the safety, and the night stilled, as if they’d heard the sound and knew what it was.
My arms shook with the effort of holding the gun, of forcing myself not to run. Predators chased prey. There were many zoologists who subscribed to the theory that if a rabbit didn’t flee, a fox wouldn’t even be interested. I’d never come down on one side or the other—until now. In the swamp, in the night, I kind of agreed with that theory, too.
How long I stood frozen, frightened, I’m not sure. But the moon danced out from behind the clouds and sprinkled just enough light over the clearing to reveal the truth. I was alone.
“Shit.”
I’d heard something, seen a lot of things.
“I am not crazy.”
Then why are you talking to yourself?
Excellent question. One I didn’t care to answer.
Diana.
I swung around. “Who said that?”
Deesse de la lune.
I’d taken Latin at my high-class prep school. But I knew French when I heard it. Too bad I couldn’t understand it.
“Who’s there?”
There was a flash of movement in the grass. A rush of air and sound, the scent of evil.
Evil?
The moon disappeared again, as if someone upstairs had thrown a big switch, and all I saw was a shadow darting toward me. Bigger than a wolf, smaller than a man. No true form, but enough substance that I felt the ground shake beneath its... feet? Paws?
I pulled the trigger.
The report of the gun was so startling, so loud, I took a step back and stumbled over a root, or maybe a rock. I hit the ground on my tailbone. My camera thumped against my chest so hard, I coughed. I waited for a scream, a moan, the thud of a body. I heard nothing.
I sat stunned, shaking, until the moon came out again; then I got to my feet, and I went searching.
No blood, no wolf, no man. Had I imagined everything? I didn’t think so. But I was alone in the clearing where Charlie had died. Just me, my gun, and—
I glanced down at the camera around my neck and smiled.
Chapter 12
Unfortunately, when I looked at the results on the small screen of my camera, all I could see was swamp. I didn't have any better luck when I uploaded them to my computer. Swaying grass. Nothing else.
What was wrong with my camera? I'd have to take it in for repair in the morning. I'd take the memory card to a one-hour photo shop.
I didn't plan to fall asleep. Hadn’t realized I had until the pounding woke me.
“Adam,” I mumbled, too tired to consider why he would bother to knock on his own front door. He certainly hadn’t last night.
The man standing on the porch couldn’t ha
ve been more opposite of Adam Ruelle if I’d created him myself. Six-foot-five and about 250, he had blond hair shorn close to his head. His muscles were big, his hands even bigger, and when he spoke I was reminded of home and not of hot sex, damp sheets, and jungle nights.
“Diana Malone?”
I blinked at his electric yellow tie, complete with a navy blue New Orleans Saints insignia. The sun sparked off his shiny shoes and straight into my brain. I grunted and walked away, leaving the door wide open. He took the gesture for the invitation it was and followed.
The place was still trashed and I didn’t bother to apologize. I hadn’t done it. I also hadn’t had time to do anything but get rid of the refuse. I’d figured on using the better part of today for a little cleaning, but now I needed to drive to town, find a camera repair, then a one-hour photo shop, before I hit the library to do a little research.
Though the Ruelle Mansion might appear to have come through a time warp from the Civil War, in truth the utilities had been updated in the last decade. However, the years of neglect had not been kind. The utilities weren’t working.
I’d told Frank not to bother getting them fixed. I didn’t want repairmen hanging around, asking questions, scaring away the wildlife. Besides, I’d camped out in worse places. I tugged out my battery-operated coffeemaker and got down to business.
“I’m Detective Conner Sullivan—New Orleans PD.”
I’d already figured him for a cop. No one showed up this early in a suit and tie unless they were badge happy. What I couldn’t figure out was what a guy like him was doing in a place like this.
“Why is the New Orleans PD in St. Tammany Parish?”
I managed to get the coffee grounds into the proper container, then poured distilled water into the carafe and waited. I’d learned a long time ago that shaking the thing only made a mess. It didn’t make the coffee come out any faster. More’s the pity.
“I’m not squatting,” I said when he didn’t answer right away. “I rented this place fair and square. Or my employer did.”
Sullivan stared at me for several seconds. His eyes were brown, which didn’t seem right, but then, not every person of Irish descent possesses the blue or green gene.
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