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 was 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 br**sts.
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 difficult request when the moon rides high.
So it would seem. She arched her back, stretching her arms skywards. The emotive swirl of his thoughts became a wall of heat. He wanted her, of that she was certain. Whether he would take her was unclear. He hadn't yet moved from his dark hideaway.
Perhaps I should go home. The moon, it seems, offers me no comfort tonight.
He hesitated. Perhaps we should talk on the matter.
The bait had been taken. Now to snare him fully. But the elation that ran through her was tempered by the knowledge that true victory would mean spending the rest of the week in this man's bed. But it was a small price to pay when her sister's life hung in the balance.
She considered him a moment longer, not wanting to seem too eager. You are little more than a shadow to me. I cannot discuss possibilities with someone I cannot see.
The French window opened, and he stepped out onto the balcony. Her heart slammed into the wall of her chest, then it seemed to drop somewhere in the vicinity of her toes.
He was tall, close to six foot, if not over, his build quietly powerful, but lean like an athlete's. His hair was dark and long, full of unruly waves that brushed his shoulders. His face was that of a dark angel's — beautiful, and yet somehow sinister. And while it may have been true that the eyes were the mirror of the soul, this man's were shuttered and painted black. There was nothing to be read in his expression — or the lack of it. If not for the sensation of hunger that burned between them, she would have thought him uninterested.
Do you like what you see?
She gave a disinterested shrug. Looks are not the measure of the man. Even though this man's looks were stirring her in ways no man ever had before.
A wise statement for one so young.