Two hours later, Duncan made his way through the mansion. The arrival of the rangers had killed the dance, and there were very few people occupying the shadows in the hall. But they would be back tomorrow night. They always were. He took the stairs two at a time and tried to ignore his vague sense of disgust. He'd taken part in more than his fair share of dances — was still taking part in them, in fact — so he had no right to judge others.
Or were his own actions behind that vague, unsettling emotion?
He frowned. Damn it, she'd come here with the sole purpose of seducing him — he was certain of that, if nothing else. He owed her no right to pleasure. And if anything, her willingness to take whatever he dished out without comment proved her guilt. His actions were not in the spirit of the dance, and she had every right to be furious.
But she hadn't said anything. Why? Because she was being paid to stay by his side. Because she would do whatever it took to remain there.
While he had no regrets about his actions, the reproach in her green eyes haunted him. He'd never been like René. He didn't like roughhouse tactics, found no thrill in fear. Yet tonight he'd tasted both and had enjoyed it.
And it was something he would have to continue. He couldn't play the gentle, caring lover with this woman — not if he wanted to stop these murders sooner rather than later. He had to push her, and keep pushing her, until she could take no more.
He stopped at the door at the end of the hall and rapped his knuckles on the wood. A gruff voice bid him to enter. He walked inside and slammed the door shut.
Zeke stood near the window, tall, broad and straight of spine, despite seeing more than a century pass him by.
He turned as Duncan entered, one steel-grey eyebrow raised in query. "I would gather from your entrance that the meeting with the rangers did not go well?"
Duncan walked over to the bar and poured himself a stiff drink. "Quite the opposite. René's not a suspect, and they found skin and blood under the woman's fingernails, which they believe might belong to the killer."
"It was Mariata who was killed, wasn't it?"
He nodded and downed his drink in one swift gulp. The liquid burned its way down his gullet and sat like a weight in his gut.
"Mariata liked pain — and liked inflicting it. I wouldn't be surprised if they find the flesh of more than one wolf under her nails."
Duncan cast a sharp glance his father's way. "You danced with her? Tonight?"
Zeke sighed and turned around. Scratches marred his shoulder blades. "I may be old but the fever still burns through my veins. She and I are old partners."
Just what he needed to hear right now — especially with the rangers insisting on checking all family members for wounds. He poured himself another drink. "Did you dance with any of the other victims?"
"No."
"And my brothers?"
"The first was one of Tye's regular mates, the third one of Kane's."
Tye the oldest of the four of them, Kane the youngest. René was born between him and Tye. He took another drink and felt the anger begin to slip away. He knew alcohol offered no real solutions, but right now it drowned the vague sense of self-loathing. Of that, he was glad.
"Someone's targeting the lovers of you and your get."
"So it would seem."
"Any idea why?" He hesitated. "You haven't pissed off any females or their families of late, have you?"
His father's smile was wistful. "My wild days are behind me, I'm afraid. I'm more staid than many of my mates would wish."
But not too staid, if those marks were anything to go by. "Have you told many people I'm here to investigate the murders?"
Zeke shook his head. "None. News spreads fast in a tribe this size, and I didn't want to risk warning the killer — if indeed it is someone from our immediate pack."
"Then you'd better get these rooms swept for bugs, because someone knows."
"I did — yesterday." Zeke hesitated, dark eyes touched with concern. "Why would you think that?"
"Because I've been set up with a mate, and I think she's intending to keep a very close eye on me."
Zeke moved to the bar and poured himself a drink. "So what are you going to do?"