Everything she'd believed in, everything she'd been taught, had simply slipped away under the raging of the moon and the smooth skill of his hands. And he'd proven her as wanton as any of those in the hall below, despite the high ideals she'd spouted half her life.
A sob tore up her throat, followed quickly by bile. She scrambled to her feet and raced out to the nearest tree, where she lost what little she'd eaten for dinner.
When there was nothing left to lose, she made her way back to the pavilion and sat on the steps.
Moons, what was she going to do?
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall. It wouldn't have been so bad if the whole episode had been nothing more than a quick, heated mating in which there'd been little pleasure. That was all she'd been expecting, and something she could have survived. But this man's touch was like no other — his caress sang across her skin, his kiss seared her mind. And his scent invaded every pore, claiming her just as surely as his body had.
Lord, even thinking about him made her ache. And it was that fact, more than anything, that frightened her.
Duncan Sinclair was the wildest of the wild. His ferocious appetite for women and sex was renowned through all the packs — a fact she'd been well aware of when she had set out to seduce him. But she simply hadn't expected her own intense reaction to the man. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered the way she pressed against his hand, wanting, seeking, so much more than just his fingers. She'd howled in pleasure when he'd thrust into her, for moon's sake. Howled. She, who'd once sworn to give no wolf the satisfaction of her cries until she met the one destined to be her life mate.
Duncan wasn't that. Could never be that. By all accounts, the longest he'd ever stayed with a mate was one phase of the moon — which was the second major reason she'd chosen him. A phase gave her enough time to hunt down a killer then get out.
But after one, all-too-brief dance, she very much suspected she wouldn't want to leave after a week of his caresses. A chill ran down her spine. What if she become so addicted to the fever of his touch that she came back, night after night, hungering for something he would no longer give? What if she became just another rabid seeker of pleasure, like so many others in the hall below?
She took a deep breath and tried to calm the frantic direction of her thoughts. One night of pleasure — or two or three — would not make her a slave of the moon. She was stronger than that. It was stupid to believe the touch of any man could so totally destroy her beliefs in such a short space of time — no matter how good that man's touch was. Her fear, her uncertainty, were little more than the shock of discovering she was as capable of yielding to the wanton fever of the moon as anyone else here tonight.
It didn't mean anything. Not unless she let her fear and vague sense of humiliation override common sense.
She'd come here to do one thing — to find and destroy the man who had attacked her sister. As long as she kept that goal uppermost in her mind, she could survive anything.
Even Duncan's touch.
She pushed to her feet, retrieving her gown and quickly donning it. Though it hid little, it at least offered the illusion of clothing. Better than running around na**d — especially if she came across another hunter in the forest.
She couldn't risk using telepathy, simply because skimming the mind of a hunter like Duncan was dangerous when she had secrets of her own to keep. She turned and followed his scent through the trees. That howl had come from near the main gate — and it had been filled with anguish and anger.
Something bad had happened, and she had every intention of finding out what.
* * * *
Duncan shifted shape and came to a halt three feet from the bloody corpse. The victim was on her back near a melting drift of snow, a look of horror forever etched on what remained of her face. Her throat had been torn out, chunks of flesh were missing from her shoulders and exposed br**sts. Her skirt was rucked up, and her panties torn, visible evidence of the violation he could almost smell. "Moon's, René, what in hell have you done?" As much as he tried to keep his voice even, a hint of revulsion still crept through.
René glanced up sharply. His face was a mottled red, the vein in his neck visibly throbbing. "Do you think I'm such a savage I'd do this? By the moon's light — " He thrust a hand through his dark hair. "I like it rough, true, but not like this. Never like this."
"Then why the hell are you here?" He squatted on his heels, studying the bloody rents on the woman's pale skin. The width between the bottom and top jaws was enormous, indicating her attacker was a bigger wolf than normal. Bigger than René, at any rate.
"I was looking for her. We were supposed to dance after midnight. She didn't appear, so I came searching."
"You saw or smelled no other wolf close by?" Blood still oozed from the wounds, its smell sharp, metallic. She hadn't been dead that long. His brother couldn't have missed the killer by more that a few minutes.
So why were there no footprints for them to follow? Why was there no scent on the air beyond that of this female and his brother?
René shook his head. "I heard nothing, saw nothing — other than you and some pretty little hunter over near the pavilion." A mirthless smile touched his mouth. "Thought you had no intention of participating in the dance this time."
He hadn't. The only reason he was here in the mansion at all was at the request of their sire, who'd wanted someone he could trust to investigate these killings. Someone within the family, who knew the system but had no true loyalties to the police or justice. Duncan had certainly seen the inside of more than his fair share of jail cells in his youth, so he guessed it was fair to presume he knew how the justice system worked.
He shrugged. "She made an offer too good to refuse."
And at the very least, her presence by his side would maintain his wild reputation and stop suspicions being raised in the wrong quarters.
René snorted softly. "Certainly looked like it, too."
Silver flashed in the short grass to the left of the victim's head. He shifted slightly, gaze narrowing. It was a hair, short and bristly.
"What color wolf was the victim?"