"Might be worth doing a check on her, as well. Maybe she's got a sibling who was slighted by you or your brothers."
"I doubt she'd dance with me just to get a little revenge."
"You don't know her well enough to guess what she's capable of."
A truth he knew he would probably regret for the rest of his life. He put his empty glass on the bar. "I'm also going to run a check on the murdered women. See if there was any other link between them other than the mansion."
"I imagine the rangers would have already done that."
Duncan's smile was grim. "They have to stick within the boundaries of the law to find their information. I don't."
"True."
He glanced at the clock. "Time to go do a little more pushing. If I find anything, I'll let you know."
He spun and walked out. His rooms were in the far wing and a long way away from the main halls and the dancers. As much as he'd enjoyed the dance over the years, he enjoyed his solitude more. Always had.
He wound his way through the dark hallways. He couldn't smell anyone in the rooms he passed, but he wasn't surprised. This wing was part of the old section and hadn't yet been fitted with central heating. He doubted it ever would be. As big as the pack was, the mansion was bigger — a rambling network of rooms and halls that had once been filled to the brim with laughing cubs, but never would be again. Not these days. All the packs had to be watchful about birth control. Human law forbade any pack growing beyond a certain size. Werewolves and shapeshifters may have finally been acknowledged in the eyes of the law, but lawmakers the world over still feared the consequences of allowing them to breed unchecked.
As if they could ever compete with human birth rates, he thought sourly.
In the silence of the long halls, the wind seemed to howl, battering at the roof and windows. In the chill sharpness of the air he could smell snow. A Ripple Creek Special was definitely headed their way.
He walked into his suite. The air here was almost icy, thanks in part to the row of French doors lining the outer wall. He closed the drapes then walked over to the fireplace and stoked the fire to life. If it was this cold now, they'd certainly need its warmth by dawn.
When the fire blazed, he headed into the bedroom. Neva was sound asleep in his bed, and he stopped, caught by the sheer beauty of her. Her long hair was a river of gold that swept across her pillow. And in sleep, she looked so angelic, so innocent, it was hard to believe she could be anything else.
But the fact was, she could be. She was here for a reason, and until he discovered that reason, he had no choice but to keep on pushing her.
And it was certainly a task part of him did enjoy. Maybe he was more like René than he cared to admit.
He stripped and climbed into bed. She stirred, murmuring something he couldn't quite catch before turning away from him. He spooned behind her, pressing himself against the warmth of her skin and the richness of her scent. Her very closeness had the heat surging through his veins, and he wanted her so badly it was painful. Their lovemaking tonight would be hard and fast. It couldn't be anything else when the fever burned so fiercely through his veins, and it was what he needed to do to keep on pushing her.
He slid a hand down her belly to the triangle of hair between her thighs. She was still so gloriously wet with need, even though a couple of hours had slipped by since he'd touched her. She shifted under his caress, pressing back against him. It was a sleepy invitation he was more than ready to accept. He slid deep inside her, groaning at the sheer glory of it. She felt so good, so hot and firm.
She woke. Though she didn't move, a sound that was part pleasure, part surprise, and part anger whispered from her lips. He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her still as he continued to thrust inside her. With the urgency of the moon driving him so hard, there was nothing gentle about it now. He claimed every inch of her, delving so deep, her taut muscles quivered against the entire length of him.
The red tide rose, becoming a wall of pleasure he could not deny. He came, a hot, torrential release whose force tore a shout from his lips and sent his body rigid.
But the moon and he weren't finished yet. Not by a long shot. He withdrew and tugged her around to face him. Her eyes flashed with anger, but before she could say anything, he claimed her lips. He kissed her, caressed her, licked every inch of her, until her scent and her taste were imprinted on every fiber of his being, inside and out. Then he loved her.
And continued to make love to her through the rest of the night and well into dawn.
* * * *
A constant rattling woke Neva many hours later. She groaned and flung the thick comforter off her face, then squinted in the general direction of the noise. Though the clock on the bedside table said it was nearly eleven, the day beyond the rattling French doors was dark and filled with a swirling whiteness. She blinked, but the image didn't seem to get any clearer. It was a blizzard, she realized. And while Ripple Creek had a reputation for wild and sudden spring storms, this one looked like a doozey.
But for once, maybe it was a good thing. Maybe it would keep the killer away and the dancers safe for one more night. Surely not even the most ardent dancer would chance weather like this.
She yawned and rolled onto her back. Duncan wasn't in bed with her, and she had no idea when he'd left. But if the lack of warmth on his side of the silk sheets was anything to go by, he'd been gone a while. Maybe even immediately after he'd finished loving her senseless.
Heat flushed her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. She had no idea what to think about this morning's efforts. He'd been harsh and uncaring one moment, taking what he wanted and giving nothing in return. Then he'd turned it all around and become so generous, so caring and thoughtful, she all but melted for him. He'd pushed her through such a gamut of emotions in a few short hours that she felt burned out, physically and emotionally.
She still didn't know how she felt about him, other than the fact he confused her. Totally and utterly. She should hate him — every sane, rational cell in her body knew that. She wasn't sure that she did, and yet she wasn't sure that she liked him, either.
And the fact she was so uncertain frightened her.
As did the jealousy that had risen when she'd smelled Betise on his skin last night. For the briefest of moments she'd wanted to rip out the throat of the older wolf — a territorial emotion she had no right to, and no true desire for. Not when it came to someone like Duncan, a loner who was after nothing more than enjoyment.