Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

C arly remained silent as they returned to her room through the narrow secret passageway. Dustin kept his hand on hers, thinking it was a show of bravado on her part. He wondered when she would speak and whether she would revile him, hate him.

He hadn't meant to fall in love with her.

He hadn't even meant to be here.

But Jon had been in trouble, and although the entire plan had seemed incredible at first, it had worked. Or it had been working. At least there was still a good possibility that he would be able to prove Jon's innocence. There was nothing wrong with Jon's determination or courage, but he didn't have Dustin's connections with other law-enforcement agencies and he hadn't spent the years as Dustin had, learning to listen for the smallest detail, to watch and wait and move in silence.

Carly's hand felt cold in his.

Well, at least she had not refused him. She was here, at his side. Perhaps the awkward quiet between them was growing combustible. Perhaps she had every right to be mad. Well, all right, furious. He just hadn't had any choice. He was too close to the truth.

He struck the wall with his hand and the panel to her room opened. She walked on in ahead of him, her stockinged tread a whisper.

He followed her and stood waiting. He watched her as she paced to and fro. It was a mistake, for it made his mouth grow dry, and all he could think of was that things couldn't have happened any other way. From the moment he had stumbled upon her he had been enchanted. Her turquoise eyes had been a dangerous sea that had beckoned him like an unwary sailor. He could still see the way her hair had tumbled over her shoulders in the moonlight. She had seemed a creature born of the moonlight, born of the mists and even of the dangers in the secretive forest, a storm, but sweet beyond belief.

No, he thought ruefully, he hadn't meant to fall in love. He had wanted her to go home; he had warned her to go home. And now he was terrified that she would do so. He had never before worried about the future with a woman, and now he knew that he had been waiting; before, everything had been child's play compared to this emotion. It wasn't the color of her eyes, though that was extraordinary. It wasn't the gold in her hair that glowed softly by moonlight and brilliantly beneath the sun. Nor was it the delicate perfection of her face or the slim, supple elegance of her form. It was the way she smiled at him shyly when she trusted him, and opened up about past wounds. It was in the way that she laughed and wound her arms around him so openly. It was in her eyes when humor filled them, and passion and tenderness.

She quit pacing and spun on him at last. "You could have told me!"

He shook his head. "No. I couldn't."

"You asked me to trust you. But you didn't trust me enough."

"I trusted you. Carly, I told you. I wasn't in it alone. And it's a very dangerous game. They still hang convicted murderers here. I'm playing with Jon's life."

She lowered her head, and he couldn't see her eyes or, therefore, read her heart.

"I'm playing with my own life, too, I suppose," he added. "Once the inspector realizes that I'm here..."

"You know the inspector?"

He started to smile.

"As yourself, I mean." She sighed, exasperated. "Does the inspector know Dustin Vadim?"

He nodded. He wasn't accustomed to begging, and he wasn't going to beg her to forgive him.

He was ready to come damned close to it, though.

"I told you," he said huskily, "Jon and I are close. I used to come here all the time when I was young."

"You don't think that the inspector suspects something?" Carly said.

Dustin shook his head. "Not even Jon and I realized how much we resemble each other until he came to London last year. I knew that I was coming to help in some capacity. When we were kids, I was kind of the runt. I think I'm still a quarter of an inch shorter. And I always wore my hair longer. I'd had a beard and a mustache until I shaved it off the night we worked out this scheme."

Carly nodded, wandering over to the bed.

The next thing Dustin knew he had a pillow in his face. He staggered back—she could throw hard. "Carly—"

"You son of a—! I don't even remember all the things that I said to him, when I thought I was talking to you."

"You never said anything—"

"How do you know? I thought you were crazy at times. You could have very easily been a homicidal lunatic, because you had no memory whatsoever."

"Carly—"

"Damn you! Damn the two of you!"

He stiffened. She stood next to the bed and stared at him hard, a glaze of tears adding color to the depths of her eyes. He wanted to rush over and hold her, but knew he couldn't. She hadn't forgiven him, and she didn't want him touching her.

He picked up the pillow awkwardly. "I'll just take this over by the doorway. I'd leave you alone, except that I'm afraid to. I don't want you in any danger."

She watched him walk across the room, position himself on the floor and pound the pillow. She stared for several seconds.

"I have to stay here," he repeated. "Carly, I know you hate me right now, but I'm afraid to leave you."

She shook her head. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm going to sleep here!"

Dustin watched as she slowly approached him. She was in her stocking feet, but she wore the black dress beautifully, and though her hair was mussed and wild, he thought that she had never appeared more elegant or sexier. She paused and knelt down by him. There still seemed to be a glaze about her eyes, but she was smiling, too.

"You're going to sleep on the floor. Why?" she said.

"Because I can't leave—"

"Yes, yes, you told me that. I believe you. I don't want you to leave."

"Then—"

"It's just that—why the floor? There's a perfectly good bed just a few feet away."

He paused, all his senses taking flight. His heart jumped into his throat, and a swift, rigid ache jutted into his loins. He wanted to reach out and touch her; he was afraid he would drag her down. He stared up at her instead, afraid to move.

"Is that some kind of an invitation?" he asked.

"I suppose it is."

He didn't dare move. She leaned forward and stroked his cheek. "Yes. I suppose it is," she said once again.

"But I thought..."

"What?"

"I thought you were mad."

"I am." A mischievous smile touched her lips, and she curled up beside him as sinuously graceful as a cat. "Mad, angry, irate, furious, et cetera. But..."

"But?" he asked, not daring to breathe.

"But I think I love you, anyway."

"You think?"

"I could use some persuasion at the moment."

He touched her. He cupped her skull and held her fast and kissed her, drowning in the kiss. She had opened the door; he stepped through with a flourish. They rolled on the floor, and he drank in the heady taste of her. His hands ravaged her legs, stroking, tearing at her hose. The silk of her gown slid over his flesh, smooth and cool, while the silk of her skin seared and warmed and inflamed him.

He got to his knees, pulling her with him. She smiled languidly.

"There is a perfectly good bed," he said.

"Mmm," she agreed.

He strode to the bed and set her upon it. She slipped her fingers to the buttons of his shirt to undo them. "It's a pity," she said on a sigh.

"A pity?"

She feathered her fingertips over his flesh, just here, just there, a merciless tease. "Yes. I'm just as furious with Jasmine and Jon."

"Uh-huh?..."

She slid the edges of her nails beneath the waistband of his trousers and eased them around. "They behaved horribly, too."

"They did. Horribly." He reached behind her, ruffling her hair, found the zipper to her gown and pulled it down with a rasp. He heard the same sound as she found his fly. It was the most erotic sound he had ever heard.

"But they have the champagne," Carly said.

"Do you want some champagne?" he asked.

"Umm..." she murmured, mulling it over. Her fingers feathered over and around him.

He groaned deep in his throat and drew her close. "Carly?"

"Yes?"

"The hell with the champagne." He cast their clothing aside and swept her fiercely beneath him.

Outside, somewhere on a distant mountain, a great silver wolf howled at the half moon, and the night passed swiftly.

* * *

The two weeks that followed were curiously tender and painfully tense for Dustin and Carly. Although they could easily have convinced the inspector that Jasmine was not a corpse, Jon decided that she should remain in hiding, so Carly saw her sister by slipping through the secret passageway to his room.

Tanya grew moody and bored and complained that she wanted to go home—or to the south of France or the Costa del Sol or Monte Carlo, or anywhere that was away. Tanya was petulant and spoiled, but Carly still felt sorry for her. Tanya had been good to her. But none of them was going anywhere—the inspector had taken their passports and they were obliged to remain within the boundaries of the duchy.

Dustin arranged a riding party and picnic. They saw a film at the one movie theater in the village. They dined in elegance each night, and each night Dustin slipped up to her room.

Night was the magic time for them. Carly knew that by day he was listening and watching and waiting, even if she didn't know what he listened or watched or waited for. The closer she grew to the others, the less she could believe that any of them could be evil.

She thought that Tanya must be growing bored even with her lover, for Carly no longer heard her meet anyone in the hall. But then, maybe Carly herself was involved enough not to see or hear anything else. She hadn't paid the least bit of attention to any major news in the world at large, so perhaps it was natural that she wouldn't notice what went on outside her room.

The secret passageways led all over the castle, Carly discovered, so it was easy for Jon to reach the library and put in a day's work—since Dustin really knew very little about running the estate. One morning when Dustin had to go into the village—to send a telegram, he told her vaguely—Carly went down to the library and had breakfast with Jasmine and Jon.

She was amazed now that she had ever thought that the two men were exactly alike. The more she knew them, the more the differences became apparent. But then, she was in love with only one of them. She knew the little things that a lover discovered, a freckle just beneath the hairline, a tiny scar here, a mole there. And she knew the different inflections in their voices and even the differences in the way they moved.

Dustin had a tendency to swagger, she decided with amusement. Then she wondered whether she would ever tell him so.

No...she'd let him swagger a little, she decided.

"You're smiling," Jasmine complained.

Carly realized that her sister had been growing very tense.

"Sweetheart, you could have stayed in Paris," Jon reminded her.

Jasmine sat back in her chair, then shivered. "It's just that this goes on and on! If only it would end!"

Jon walked around behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "It will end." He hesitated. "The moon will be full tonight."

Now it was Carly's turn to shiver. She suddenly felt as if she were suffocating. She mumbled some excuse to the two of them and ran out of the room.

In the hallway, she nearly collided with Geoffrey. "Hi, stranger," he said, his dark eyes warm.

"Oh, Geoffrey." She flushed, hoping he didn't want to go into the library. She slipped her arm through his and started walking toward the terrace. "I've been doing sketches for the play."

"You have?" He seemed surprised.

"You do still want me," she said.

"Of course, of course. I just didn't know—well, it's none of my business, of course, but I didn't know if you would be coming back to the States or not."

Carly lowered her head as a little river of uncertainty flowed through her. What would her future be? Her little apartment, on the fourth floor of an old brownstone, seemed so far away. She had worried about being in love with a count. Rushing off to become a countess was something far more likely for Jasmine to do than for her. Dustin wasn't the count, so she needn't go into trauma worrying about that, but still...

He was English. He worked in London. He had never said anything about the future. She believed that what they had was solid and real, but she had no idea whether or not he meant it to be forever.

"Well," she said, "I'm certainly still quite anxious to work on the show." She offered him a dazzling smile. "To think, Geoffrey, I feel that I know you so very well. And I was in such great awe of you before I came here. A Broadway producer and director. I'm still in awe."

He laughed, and she was reminded of the way he had looked on the night they had first met, all wrapped up in his mummy rags. He was handsome and very warm, and she thought, giving Geoffrey an affectionate smile, that if she hadn't been so swept away by storm, she might have taken a much slower route. She liked Geoffrey very much. Maybe not forever, but as a good friend.

"Run up and get the sketches," he suggested. "I'd love to see them. We can meet in the library."

"No!" Carly realized how horribly guilty she sounded. "No—I'd much rather be on the terrace. Wouldn't you?"

"Well, it's a little cold—"

"But the sun is out. Would you mind terribly?"

"No, of course not. I'll be waiting."

When she came back down with her sketches, he was seated at the dining table on the terrace. Marie had brought out some hot chocolate.

"Spiked," Geoffrey assured her.

It was spiked, with brandy, and it was delicious.

The afternoon passed easily. She and Geoffrey went over the sketches, and he pointed out where she might have a few problems with some of the stage business he had planned. He grew excited, describing the production so clearly that she could see it in her mind's eye. She modified her work as he talked, and when evening came around, she was very excited and had done a tremendous amount of work.

"I can't wait to look for fabrics...." she said, erasing to adjust a train for an evening gown.

"Alexi! Hello there!" Geoffrey said.

Carly glanced up. Alexi, in a red sweater and jeans, was coming from the hallway. He smiled at her.

"Hello. May I join you?"

"Of course," Carly said.

He sat down and planted his feet on another chair and looked at them glumly. "The inspector has men following me," he said.

"Oh, surely he wouldn't be doing such a thing!" Carly protested, then she wondered why she had. After all, she was the only one in the group who wasn't a suspect, and that was simply because she hadn't been there last Halloween.

Had Dustin been there? she wondered.

"I'm willing to bet that he also has men eyeing Jon," Alexi said. "Somewhere around here."

"Why do you say that?" Geoffrey asked.

"Because the moon will be full, and that's when the murderer strikes." Alexi said the words with certainty.

A shiver ran down Carly's spine. She glanced at Alexi's hands, where they rested on the table. They were large, powerful hands, she thought. He was a deceptive-looking man. He was young and striking and appeared to be lean and wiry. But he wasn't really slim at all. He was rock solid and strong.

Her heart began to beat a little too swiftly. Dustin suspected him, she thought. Dustin refused to say, but she suddenly felt that she knew he suspected Alexi. So did the inspector. He had men following Alexi.

But then, according to Alexi, men were watching Jon Vadim. Or Dustin Vadim.

And the moon was going to be full....

"Where is Jon?" Alexi asked.

"He's gone into the village," Carly said.

"Will he be back soon?"

"I don't know," she told him. He probably should have been back hours ago, she reflected. How long did it take to send a telegram?

"Why?" Geoffrey asked.

"Oh...I've had some trouble with some of the masonry in my hallway. Jon had work done just last year. He sent to France for a specialist, and I wanted to get Jon's opinion and the name of the firm that did the work." Alexi smiled vaguely. "It isn't really that important. I wanted company more than anything, I suppose."

Geoffrey and Carly both nodded sympathetically. "Perhaps," Geoffrey murmured, "we should all make sure that we stay together tonight."

"All night?" Alexi laughed.

"Why not? We'll have a slumber party in the formal dining room," Geoffrey said.

"Will that do any good?" Carly asked. The other two looked at her, and she flushed. "I suppose that technically the moon is only really a full moon one night. But it gives the appearance of being a full moon for several nights."

They both stared at her. She felt acutely uneasy.

Alexi turned away. "I'm sure they're watching this place. What with the Vadim history..." He shrugged.

"The history?"

"Yes, of course, insanity. And maybe a legend doesn't even have to be true. Maybe a man only has to believe it to go over the brink. The wolves have always prowled these forests, and strike out of the mist. The people in the village believe. They've kept those crosses on their doors for centuries. He doesn't have to be a wolf; he needs only to think he's a wolf. The moon makes us all restless." Alexi leaned forward. Even as he'd spoken, it seemed that darkness began to fall and the inevitable low mist began to sweep in enchanting swirls along the ground beyond the terrace.

A sudden crashing sound behind her sent Carly spinning around. Tanya was there. She stared past them. And looked as if she had seen a ghost. She had dropped a glass of wine.

"Tanya? What is it?" Carly asked.

She shook her head. "Sorry. I'm seeing things in the mist, I suppose." She stooped to pick up the glass. Marie, who had apparently heard the crash, came running in. Telling Tanya and Carly that they must not bother, she quickly swept up the mess.

"You would like more wine, mam'selle ?" Marie asked.

Tanya sank into a chair near Carly. "Yes, darling, I would. Thank you so much." She stared across the table at Alexi.

Carly didn't know exactly what it was about that look, but she was suddenly certain that the man Tanya had been meeting at night was Alexi. And perhaps she had been sneaking him in because supposedly he hadn't been at the castle all those nights—although he was a frequent visitor and he was always welcome to stay, he did have his own home, and he did go to it.

Or so it had seemed.

He had stayed away more than usual lately, Carly noted.

"Have you come for—dinner?" Tanya asked him blandly. She was in denim, but she managed to make denim look ultrachic, even elegant, Carly observed.

"I'm not dressed," Alexi murmured, then shrugged. "I'm sure Jon will have something. Yes, I will stay." He looked back at Carly. "The full moon, you know."

The way he said it gave her chills. She stood, collecting her drawings. "I think I'll...shower," she said lamely.

"Sounds good to me," Geoffrey said, standing, too. Then he laughed. "I didn't mean that I was following you to your shower," he assured Carly with a smile. "I mean, I'm going to go shower. By myself."

Carly laughed, waved uneasily to the three of them and headed for the stairway. She paused and glanced back. Geoffrey had already left. Two dark heads were bowed there together, Tanya's and Alexi's.

Carly wanted to scream. She wanted to warn Tanya. Yet what could she say? What proof did she have?

Then even as she watched them the two parted. Alexi started toward the main house, and Tanya wandered toward the stairway.

Quickly, so that she wouldn't be caught spying, Carly hurried through the rest of the terrace and headed upstairs.

The castle seemed dark that evening—the lights hadn't been turned on yet. There were shadows everywhere, it seemed. And it seemed as if the mist from outside had penetrated the walls to rise on the stairs. She knew it wasn't real. And that she wasn't alone, not at all. Tanya was right behind her.

Carly still felt as if demons were breathing down her neck. She rushed into her room and closed the door. Once she'd set down her drawings, she drew up her knees as she sat thoughtfully at the foot of the bed.

It had to be Alexi. She would confront Dustin with her belief that night.

But something nagged at her, and she didn't know what.

Then she realized what it was.

Tanya. Tanya had dropped her glass because she had seen something. They had all been together then, she and Geoffrey and Alexi and Tanya. Jon and Jasmine and Dustin had been missing.

So what? she charged herself. Tanya might have seen anything. A movement in that eternal mist.

Carly rose. She went to the balcony doors and opened them. The mist was rising. It didn't entirely obscure her view; it just cast a curious opaque veil over the world. She could still see the stables across the courtyard. And she could see the cars drawn up in front. The Lamborghini was there, as well as the Volvo and Alexi's Peugeot.

She narrowed her eyes. She thought she could see the Mercedes—the car that Dustin had taken that morning—parked beside the stables. She wondered why he would park there, then shrugged. Maybe it didn't matter.

She started to turn away when a sudden movement caught her attention. A woman was running from the house to the stables. Carly stared harder.

It was Jasmine.

Her sister—who was supposedly in hiding, who was supposedly not here—was running outdoors. Jasmine had been restless, Carly knew. Very restless. Jasmine considered the world to be her oyster, and even if she did really love Count Vadim, she could not bear being penned in for long.

"But you're in danger here, you silly goose!" Carly whispered.

Jasmine disappeared through the stable door. Carly hesitated just a moment, then, deciding to go after her sister, she left her room and raced down the stairway. She came out on the terrace and ran down the steps to the courtyard, breathing heavily.

It had grown dark quickly. It was still twilight, but the gray swirl of the coming night had already descended.

Carly looked up. The moon was shining, glowing down upon the courtyard already. The full moon.

"Jasmine...damn you!" Carly muttered nervously.

She reached the stables and tried the door. It wouldn't give. She jiggled the handle. Nothing happened.

"Jasmine!" she whispered. "Jasmine!" Her voice grew louder, and still there was no answer.

Then she heard her sister scream.

The sound was a long and shrill and filled with terror. It came once then again and again.

"Jasmine!"

Carly threw her entire weight against the door. She heard a shuddering and splintering of old wood, and then the door caved in.

She had put so much effort into the blow that the force sent her flying to the ground. She skinned her palms, though she barely noticed.

It was dark inside the barn. The moon's glow only touched the doorway. The lights should have been on, she knew. One of the horses whinnied. Another shuffled. Another gave a nervous snort.

"Jasmine!" Carly screamed.

"Carly!"

Suddenly Jasmine came hurtling toward her. Carly had just begun to rise, but her sister's weight sent her flying. There was a flurry of motion. Dirt choked her throat, and Jasmine's form completely blinded her.

"You're all right!" Carly cried, hugging her sister. Jasmine was shaking, horribly, terribly. Carly realized that she herself was shaking, too. Jasmine began to speak disjointedly.

"I—I had to get out. Just for a few seconds. I thought I could slip in here and see the horses. Oh, it was like last time, before I ran. When I wrote you. I was so scared. I was terrified. Oh, Carly, he grabbed me. He had a knife. He had it up to my throat. Until someone ripped him from me. Until you came. If you hadn't come when you did..."

"We've got to get out of here!" Carly murmured.

Jasmine pulled away and studied her sister with wide eyes. "Oh, Carly—" She broke off. There were footsteps by the doorway.

He was silhouetted there in the moonlight. Though she couldn't see his features, Carly knew that it was Dustin.

He rushed in and fell to his knees beside the two of them. He lifted Jasmine's chin. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "But who—"

"I don't know," he said.

"It was you. It was you in here," Carly said, recalling that it had been his car she'd seen. And she also recalled the flurry of movement that had made Tanya drop her glass.

He glanced at her impatiently. In the darkness his gaze was golden and luminescent, like the wolf's. "Yes, I was here. And I almost had him. But he had Jasmine."

Carly sank back, swallowing. I love this man! she reminded herself. But he had been there, and someone had attacked her sister. Had he really saved Jasmine, or had he been the one attacking her?

"Come on. Let's get out of here," Dustin urged them, helping her to her feet. The three started walking back toward the castle. Figures appeared in the mist. As they came closer, Carly saw that it was Geoffrey and Alexi.

"Cat's out of the bag now," Dustin murmured.

"What happened?" Geoffrey demanded, rushing forward. "I heard the screaming."

"Jasmine!" Alexi cried out.

He sounded concerned, very innocent. Carly didn't know what to think. "Someone attacked Jasmine in the barn," she explained.

"Why, how preposterous!" Geoffrey exclaimed. "Jasmine isn't even supposed to be here." He paused. "What are you doing here, my dear? You were in Paris—weren't you?"

Jasmine nodded. She nervously fingered her throat and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "Hello, Geoffrey. I've, er, just arrived."

"And to such a thing!" Alexi murmured. He seemed to be breathing too hard, Carly decided.

But then again, so was Dustin.

Feeling as if her skin crawled, she looked at the lot of them. Any one of them could have attacked her sister, run away and reappeared. Any one of them.

Dustin had been in the barn.

"Let's bring her inside," he said.

Jasmine cast him a grateful glance and started to say his name. He frowned and she quickly corrected herself. "Jon, how sweet. I'd love a brandy."

"Of course. And we have to report this to the inspector."

"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Alexi complained. "He'll make us all insane again. And besides, he should know. He has men around somewhere, I believe."

The inspector did have men around. The two who had been assigned to Alexi came running into the courtyard then. Carly decided they must have been playing cards or something, for they hadn't even heard Jasmine screaming.

The inspector was called, and he did put them all through a million questions again. Carly felt guilty, as if she were lying, though really she wasn't. But she knew that the man he was calling "Count" was Dustin Vadim and that there were two Vadims. There was always an extra Vadim....

A man who didn't need an alibi, since no one except Carly and Jasmine knew about the deception.

There was no formal dinner that evening. Marie brought roast beef sandwiches and spicy pasta salads while the inspector continued to interrogate them.

Alexi had been right about one thing. It was the same vein of questioning, over and over. The inspector threatened, cajoled, and in the end was frustrated.

Jasmine went upstairs with Carly when it was time for bed, and Carly was glad.

Jasmine was still fingering her throat nervously as she said, "I was so frightened. It was really almost over for us this evening. Jon heard the commotion, of course, and almost came out. He was so afraid for me."

Was he? Carly wondered. Where had Jon Vadim been? Were she and Jasmine both mesmerized?

Jasmine kissed her suddenly. "I've got to go to him."

"Jasmine! No. Tonight you should stay with me—"

"No, no, I can't. He's been worried sick. I'll see you first thing in the morning. I have to be with him, too. I have to be his alibi." She slipped through the paneling.

Carly stared after her. His alibi? Or his victim? she wondered.

And she realized that she was thinking the same thing herself.

She bathed and dressed in her flannel gown. Dustin hadn't come to her, and she shivered, not knowing whether it was from anticipation or fear.

He had been in the stables. He had been there....

She opened the door to the balcony. The moon was up high now. So very full. Its light was cast down on the courtyard, and she was certain that she was bathed in its glow, too.

"Carly..."

Her breath caught, and she spun around. Dustin walked across to her and buried his face in her throat. "You're so beautiful here, so very, very beautiful."

He held her shoulders and drew her to him to kiss her lips and the furiously pounding pulse at her throat. He untied the ribbon at her neck, the flannel nightgown fell to her feet and she was naked in the moonlight.

He lowered his head and took her breast into his mouth. His tongue laved her nipple, which hardened into an erotic peak. The warmth feathered and spread into her loins, and she did not feel the chill of the night; she knew only the radiant heat of his mouth upon her. His lips traveled over her, and he fell to his knees. He caressed and explored her form, pressing her forward. The taunting, intimate warmth of his tongue seared into her and she cried out, throwing back her head. She was heedless of the moon, of the night, aware only of the man who stroked her into endless pleasure.

She collapsed on him, and he carried her in. They made love with the doors open and the moonlight falling upon them.

A chill grew in the room. Dustin rose, naked and sleek, closed the doors, and they made love again.

Carly must have drifted off. She awoke, vaguely aware that he was moving. "What is it?" she asked him.

"Thirsty," he muttered, then kissed her. "Tonight I think I'll get that champagne."

He crawled out of bed. Carly sank farther beneath the covers. She could hear wolves howling. There were many of them tonight, it seemed. The sound was loud and haunting, and she could well imagine them out there, bathed in the light of the moon.

"Be right back," Dustin promised.

Exhausted, Carly murmured something, then closed her eyes and slept.

When she awoke she was disoriented. The night was almost over, and the room was filling with dawn's rosy light.

Some sound alerted her, and she sat up, grasping the covers to her.

Dustin was at the foot of the bed, smiling ruefully, holding a bottle and two champagne glasses. She smiled back lazily and relaxed. "I think we should have started earlier. It's almost morning."

"So it is," Dustin agreed. He threw off his robe and kicked off his brown leather slippers. Carly frowned slightly. There was mud on them.

"Here!" Naked, he crawled back in beside her. He pressed a glass of champagne into her hands and poured his own. He clinked glasses with her, and she sipped. It didn't taste half bad in the morning, she thought. He leaned over and kissed her, and he tasted of champagne. She smiled as the champagne bubbled through her, feather light, dry, pleasant. She was only half awake. She felt comfortable and secure.

She couldn't believe that she had ever let herself worry or wonder about Dustin. She loved him.

She swallowed the rest of the champagne and realized that he was studying her with his wolf's gaze, eyes slightly narrowed, features tense. She knew what was coming when he plucked the glass from her fingers, and met his kiss eagerly, anticipating its lush heat.

She could be exhausted or furious or even barely awake, but all he needed to do was touch her and she came alive. He held her body and came down upon her and filled her with passion, raw and exciting. And when it was over, she didn't realize that the room was filled with daylight; she closed her eyes and fell asleep once more.

She didn't wake until much later. Someone was shaking her.

She blinked, then pulled the covers up high about her.

Jasmine was sitting at the foot of her bed.

"Oh, it's awful!" Jasmine moaned worriedly. "Carly, you have to wake up. You have to get dressed and come down. He's waiting."

"Who's waiting?" Carly asked cautiously. "And what is awful?"

Jasmine got off the bed so that Carly could rise. "The inspector is waiting. And it's awful because—Oh, Carly! Tanya was murdered last night."

Tanya!

Ice entered her heart and curled around it. Tanya couldn't be dead. Not spoiled, petulant Tanya, who could also be so kind. No, she couldn't be dead....

"The coroner knows she was killed sometime during the middle of the night. Oh, Carly! See why I had to go to Jon? I know he is innocent. I was with him all night. And Dustin! See, Carly? You were together all night, so you know!"

The ice clenched her heart like a fist. No, she didn't know that. She didn't know that at all. Dustin had left her in the middle of the night.

In the middle of the night, when the wolves had howled and the moon had been full.