"Yes?"
The voice was harsh, elderly. Not Betise, then. "Duncan Sinclair," he said. "I'd like to speak to Betise, if possible."
The door opened. Cool air rushed past him, accompanied by an unpleasant smell that was both the woman and the house. He resisted the urge to step back into the fresh air of the storm, and studied the woman in front of him. She wasn't as elderly as he'd thought, probably in her mid-fifties, and was a tall, angular stick of a woman with harsh yellow hair and grey-green eyes.
She looked him up and down, and an almost disdainful smile touched her thin lips. "You'd be a Sinclair, then?"
"Yes. Duncan Sinclair, as I said." He paused. "And you are?"
"Iyona. Betise's mother. What do you want with her?"
"I just need to ask her a question."
Iyona snorted. "Yeah right. The day the Sinclairs just want to talk is the day the moon will stop rising." She sniffed and stepped aside. "I guess you'd better come in, then. I just got a call from her. She's shutting down her shop and coming home. Shouldn't be too long."
Good, because he certainly didn't want to be stuck long in this unripe smelling house. He stepped inside, the sharp rap of his boot heels against the old floorboards echoing in the empty hallway.
Iyona slammed the door shut then shuffled past. "You'd better wait in the living room. I'm cooking sweetbreads, and the smell can get overwhelming if you're not used to it."
That was an understatement if ever he'd heard one. He walked into the room the old woman had indicated and looked around. Like the hall, there was very little in the way of furniture. A couple of sofas, a TV, a stack of newspapers and magazines piled high on an old pine coffee table. The floor was carpeted, the pattern long since faded to grime. An analogy that could very well be applied to those living in the house.
He tossed the papers scattered on the sofa to one side and sat down. The room, like the hallway, was cold. He couldn't hear the breeze of forced air heating, and there wasn't a fire lit in the old hearth. Maybe Iyona didn't feel the cold.
He tapped his fingers against the sofa arm for several minutes, then glanced toward the kitchen. There was no sound of movement. No soft intake of breath. "Have you been in Ripple Creek long?" he asked, wondering if she was still there or had gone somewhere else.
Water flushed and a moment later, Iyona appeared, shuffling toward the sink to wash her hands. "Came back about a month ago."
"Where were you before then?" Not that he was really interested. He was just trying to make conversation to get his mind off the awful smell.
"Here and there." Iyona shrugged. "Shame about the murders happening up your way."
"The rangers will catch whoever is behind them." If he didn't get the bastard first.
She glanced at him, amusement glinting in her silvery eyes. "Seems to me the rangers haven't a clue."
Her tone was as amused as her look, and he raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem all that sorry about it."
"The murders?" Iyona snorted softly. "I personally think it should be you Sinclairs being taken out, not the fools who choose to dance with you."
Betise had said much the same thing. Maybe it was a speech she'd learned from her mother very early in life. But if that was the way she felt, why had she wasted more than half her life attending dances? "You have a problem with my family?"
Her look was scathing. "Yeah. All you Sinclairs are nothing but a pack of lying bastards."
Again, that was something he'd heard Betise say more than once. But then, Neva had called him a bastard more than a few times these last couple of days, and with good reason. He frowned as he thought of her, and he had to control the sudden urge to get up and go find her. He'd promised not to go back until dusk. If he wanted to undo the mess he'd made of everything and start making amends, he couldn't break that vow.
And the mere fact that he even wanted to make amends surprised the hell out of him. She was his for the rest of this moon phase. He could rightfully lose himself to the pleasure of her body until the full moon finally rose and forced them all into wolf shape. But he wanted more than just that. He wanted to know her. Wanted her to smile at him the way she'd smiled at her friend in the diner.
He wished he'd met her under more normal circumstances, and beyond the time of the rising moon. Maybe then he wouldn't have destroyed any chance he had with her.
At that moment pain flashed, rising from his hip and spreading upwards like a flame, until his whole body was encased in agony. Then as quickly as it came the sensation faded, leaving only fear and a cold churning in his gut.
He fought the sudden urge to leave this stinking house. It was crazy. Neva was safe at home. Besides, she had a weapon more formidable than teeth and claws, and could undoubtedly defend herself against most attacks.
He rose and began pacing the small room. "What has my family ever done to you?"
Iyona snorted. "Your lot wrecked my life."
"You've never danced at the mansion." Though he wasn't sure why he was so certain. Iyona was old enough to have been dancing long before he'd ever started.