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 fr owned 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. 'There's more than one pack of Sinclairs isn't there?' she bit back. 'You must have bred like damned rabbits in the early years.'
Her words sent alarms off somewhere in the back of his mind. He stared at her for a moment, then asked, 'I gather from that statement that you spent some time over at the Bitterroot reservation?'
The smile that touched her lips sent a chill down his spine. 'No. But I wish I had been. I would have enjoyed watching your lot burn.'
He sensed no lie, and yet he suspected she was doing just that. 'If you feel that strongly, why invite a
Sinclair into your house?'
She snorted again. 'Because this is my daughter's house, and she seems to have a passion for your lot.'
And yet, she'd wished them dead not all that long ago. Or was that merely an aftereffect of exchanging heated words with Rene? He was definitely going to have to speak to his brother when he got back to the mansion, if only to uncover what sort of game Betise was playing. Especially given the fantasy she had of being a long time lover of his. Outside the house, a door slammed shut, then a shadow whisked past the windows. Two seconds later the back door opened, and Betise appeared. Her smile became a look of surprise and quick excitement when her gaze met his.
'Duncan,' she said, voice warm. 'What a nice--'
'I'm here to ask a question,' he said quickly. 'Nothing more.'
Annoyance and perhaps a flash of anger flitted through her grey-green eyes. She stripped off her coat and gloves and tossed them on the back of the chair. 'Let me guess. You discovered my lie. Surprise, surprise.'
'Then why bother lying in the first place?' She shrugged and sat down. 'You seemed so damn enamored with the virginal Neva, and I guess it just pissed me off.'
Her tone had much the same effect on him as nails down a blackboard. He shoved his hands in his pockets, half wishing he'd never come here. 'What does it matter to you if I'm enamored with her? You and I shared one dance, nothing more.'
Something flashed in her eyes. Something more than anger. Something almost crazy. She yanked off her boots and tossed them into the corner. 'I knew you'd race back and question her. Wish I could have seen her expression.' He wished he hadn't. Wished he'd resisted the urge to voice his doubts. Wished he'd simply trusted her. 'I thought you and Neva were friends.'
She glanced at her mother, and the two shared a strange sort of smile. 'Acquaintances more than friends,' Betise said. 'We chat at the diner and the hair salon, but it's nothing deeper.'
And of that, he was extremely glad. He'd hate to think that Neva hung around with someone as unsavory as Betise. 'So what did you hope to gain by lying?' She raised an eyebrow, amusement touching her thin lips. 'What do you think?'
'If I had any idea, I wouldn't be asking.' She stared at him for a moment, eyes so bright they were almost otherworldly. 'You really don't, do you?' He glanced at Iyona, saw the same, almost maniacal look in her eyes, and fr owned. Something was going on here, something he didn't understand.
'Told you,' Iyona said, voice shrill. 'They're all no good.'
'Seems that way, doesn't it?' Betise's voice was flat, dead, and something in his gut clenched. The house might be cold, but these two could have frozen hell itself. 'Look,' he said, meeting Betise's gaze. 'You and I shared one dance, nothing more. I have no idea what game you're playing, but if you don't stop your lies, I'll have you banned from the dance.'
Iyona snorted. 'That's a typical Sinclair response.' Her voice was so full of venom he could almost smell it. He glanced at her. With her thin arms crossed, angular hips resting against the bench and eyes narrowed, she really did remind him of a snake. Neeson might not have any idea who was behind the animosity being directed at his pack, but he certainly did. And he had a suspicion he'd better find out why.
He pulled his gaze away from her, concentrating on Betise. 'I'm warning you now, stay away from my brothers.'
'Who made you pack leader?' she spat. 'You can hardly control your own damn actions, let alone your brothers.' '
Which might have been true enough in times past, he supposed, but not nowadays. Control was the one thing he never lost--except, perhaps, when it came to Neva. The itchy feeling that something was wrong with her not only remained but was growing stronger. He had to go. Had to.
'I'm speaking for my father,' he said curtly. 'Watch your step, or you'll never take another inside the
