The stench of death almost overpowered her. She took a deep breath, trying to control her stomach's chaotic churning. Her twin faced this type of thing regularly. Surely she could do this once.
She bit her lip and moved closer, stepping in old footsteps so her own wouldn't show. This death was the image of the photos she'd studied in Savannah's files--right down to the bite marks on the woman's shoulder and breasts. But it was the damage to their faces that Savannah had ringed and questioned.
Why such destruction? None of the women had been extreme beauties--just pleasant. Ordinary. None of them were similar in any way--they all had different colored hair, eyes, and facial structures. All belonged to different packs. Yet the man behind this went to great pains to smash in their faces almost beyond recognition. It certainly suggested there was some sort of connection--but if Savannah's notes were anything to go by, the rangers had no idea what. And if the Sinclairs knew, they certainly weren't telling anyone.
Her gaze slipped down, stopping at the rucked up dress and torn panties. Her stomach turned, and she fought the sudden urge to run fr om such a brutal representation of invasion. Lord, it was all too easy to imagine the horror, the fear…She swallowed heavily. The visual evidence might indicate rape, but the coroner's report on the last three victims certainly didn't suggest forced sex. All victims had had numerous partners during the night, but there was nothing to indicate rape during death. Which
Savannah had again questioned. Why was the killer depicting rape if he wasn't actually violating them?
It was a puzzle to which there were no answers--as yet.
She raised her nose, tasting the air. Beneath the scent of death lay a myriad of other aromas. Pine and balsam were heavily entwined with the rich bouquet of snowbound loam. Beyond that, a lingering caress of warm spices and freshly cut wood stirred her pulse. Duncan's scent. His brother, who'd been here longer, was a warm touch of muskiness. Beneath that, blood, sharp and metallic. And something else--a scent she couldn't pin down but one that seemed vaguely familiar.
She frowned and walked across to the nearest path. No footprints here, either. Nothing to indicate anyone had traveled past here recently. Only that nebulous scent. She studied the path for several moments, weighing her need for answers with her need to escape, then sighed. Closing her eyes, she reached for the wildness. It came in a rush of power that blurred her senses and numbed the pain as it reshaped and changed her body.
Then it was gone, and she padded through the trees on four legs rather than two. The scent led her halfway down the mountain before it disappeared. She sniffed air and ground, trying to find it again, then noted a flash of silver caught in the branch of a small aspen just off the path. Hair from a silver coat. Paw prints flirted with a slight drift of snow beyond that then disappeared again. The scent no longer lingered. She nosed about a bit more, but knew it was now a worthless quest.
She glanced over her shoulder, contemplating going back for her clothes. But there were voices up at the top now. Maybe the rangers were here. Maybe Duncan and his brother had returned. Either way, she had to get going. The scent of jasmine would linger, and that could lead to trouble if she wasn't careful.
Besides, nothing she'd left in the mansion could be traced back to her. Jasmine was a strong scent, which is exactly why she'd chosen it. Not even the strongest of noses would be able to track her true scent through the clothes she'd left up there. She moved back to the trail and continued down until she hit the stream, then followed that upwind. The water was icy against her paws, but unless she did this, they would trace her too easily back home.
As she continued padding through the water, she reached out, briefly touching her sister's thoughts. No response, no change. She sighed. At least some good had come out of the night. She'd achieved her aim-
-she had breached the inner circle of the mansion and attached herself successfully to Duncan. Nor did she have to worry about hungering for his touch. For whatever reason, he'd become as unfeeling and as unresponsive as she could ever want.
So why did she feel such a deep sense of loss? Moon madness, surely. She ducked into a small waterfall, washing the scent of jasmine from her coat, then continued on home.
Two hours later, Duncan made his way through the mansion. The arrival of the r angers had killed the dance, and there were very few people occupying the shadows in the hall. But they would be back tomorr ow 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 Rene. 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. Rene'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. Rene 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?'
He shrugged. 'Nothing.'
'I could take her off your hands. Keep her locked away and occupied.'
