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Copyright ©2007 by Mikala Ash

First published in 2007, 2007

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

Killer Attraction

Mikala Ash

Warning

This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language. This material is meant for mature audiences!

Killer Attraction

A Whispers Publishing Publication

September 2007

Copyright ©2007 Mikala Ash

Cover illustration copyright © 2007 Rene Walden

ISBN Not Assigned

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web-without permission in writing from the publisher.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

Published by: Whispers Publishing, P.O. Box 1165, Ladson, SC 29456-1165.

Previous Works By Mikala Ash

The Christmas Kiss (December 2007 release)

Lupus Populus 2: The Body Politic

Lupus Populus 1: A Political Animal

Raincatcher 1: Rauni's Mistress

Chains of Passion 1: Slave to Lust

Eden's Reprise

Darke Secrets (October 2007 release)

Internal Reflections (January 2008 release)

Dedication

To Joan and Vince for showing me the joys of reading.

Chapter One

I'm chasing a werewolf. He's beautiful, swift and sleek. I love him so much I'd do anything for him, even kill.

I think it must be some kind of grand cosmic joke, to gift us something as beautiful as love; yet cause us so much pain when we let it into our hearts.

The moon is full and shimmering in the crystal darkness. It is midnight and my libido is effervescent with the quickening; the irresistible tide of lust a wolfen either endures or enjoys at the rise of the moon.

I endure it, barely.

When the quickening takes hold, like an omnipotent dominatrix, we have to release the carnal tension lest it drive us mad. We shape shifters are an inventive lot and get our jollies in different ways. Some go to pick up joints and grab a hunk and fuck his brains out. Others find a fellow wolfen and hole up somewhere and fuck each other's brains out. The cautious, not wishing to be on the loose with their fangs and claws itching to slice and dice unsuspecting—and usually unbelieving—humans, shut themselves up in the cellar.

I'm not like other wolfen, neither promiscuous nor cautious. Call me a prude, but I just don't like one-night stands. To be honest, since Ricardo, I don't like getting too close to humans at all. They are too fragile and die much too easily. Though, perversely and against my better judgment, I do crave sexual contact with them. I hadn't yet met a werewolf I wanted to fuck, and a year's celibacy—enduring a dozen quickenings—is a cruel torture indeed. I am, despite my need, resolved to never get involved with a human again. Involved as in having sex, because I have too often mistaken lust for love. I must keep men at arm's length and not let them inside me or my heart.

So I improvise to scratch the insane itch of desire which consumes my soul. I was trying something new tonight, a sort of tag and release for the conservationists. I've become my own bait by dressing in some seriously sexy gear; no bra, see through silk top, tiny gold shorts, black seam stockings and lace up stilettos. The plan was to troll a nightclub, hook some handsome young stockbroker, and indulge in some hot and heavy petting: everything bar penetration. Then after I've climaxed from his touch, I'll say a quick goodnight, race home and get myself off again with my trusty gel-vibe. I'll round the evening off with a long bubble bath, a glass of wine and a good book.

It sounded like a good idea at the time, though in hindsight it's a bizarre notion, as if anything short of penetration is not sex. I laugh at my presidential delusion now, but at the time it was an idea which had occupied my mind for weeks, caressing my dreams and stroking my crazed libido. The anticipation had been quite exquisite.

So, why am I out in the park chasing a werewolf instead of teasing some poor rich kid to an inch of his premature orgasm?

Love.

He'd phoned just as I'd climbed into a cab with a fresh faced foreign exchange dealer I'd caught inside The Office, the swank new club for the rich and the want to be famous.

"Just?"

It's short for Justine. He's called me ‘Just’ ever since I can remember.

"Sim?” Which is short for Simon, the name I've used for him since childhood.

There was something wrong with his voice. It was deep and husky as if he was fighting the change, struggling to stay in human form.

"Just, help me."

I hadn't seen him for over a year. He'd moved to Perth, a long way away from Sydney. “Sure, what's up?"

"It's me. I'm him."

My rich kid was nuzzling my neck and fondling my breasts. I pushed him away. “What are you talking about? Where are you?"

"The Botanic Gardens. Help me."

"The Botanic Gardens?"

"Here in Sydney,” he said.

"What are you doing here? Why didn't you come see me?"

Undaunted, my ardent stockbroker slid his palm along my thigh and into my crotch. He'd lowered his face into my cleavage and tried to undo the buttons with his teeth.

"Listen, Just. Help me. I want to stop."

"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"

"It's me."

"What do you mean, ‘me'?"

"The Full Moon Murderer."

A hollow chill formed in my belly and spread to my heart. I'd suspected the vicious killer stalking Sydney's Royal Botanical Gardens for the last three months was a werewolf. I hadn't dreamed it could be Sim, though. He'd been out west for over a year studying dingoes, the wild dogs of Australia.

My would-be lover was pressing his fingers into my pussy. I slapped his hand away. “Don't do anything. Tell me where you are."

"I'm in the Gardens. She's so pretty. I don't want to do it, Just. This fucking moon is making me do it, but I don't want to!"

"Don't do anything. I'm on my way. Where in the Gardens are you?"

"She's leaving, Just. Gotta go."

"Don't hang up!"

An iceberg had settled in my stomach and the tip was piercing my heart. “Stop the cab!” I yelled to the driver. When he'd brought it to a squealing halt I opened the cab's door and, using my wolfen strength, flung my tumescent beau out onto the pavement.

I ordered the driver to get me to the nearest entrance to the Gardens, telling him there was an extra fifty in it for him if he stepped on it. It was a hair-raising ride through the late night traffic but I couldn't have cared less. I had to get to Simon before he killed again.

The Full Moon Murders had captured the imagination of the press in much the same way as Jack the Ripper had ensnared the prurient minds of Victorian England. I shivered at the descriptions of the bodies I'd read in the more lurid broadsheets. The women had suffered deep lacerations to the hands, arms, chest, face and thighs. The police spoke of a frenzied attack, an out of control madman bent on mutilating his victims. As always, details were missing: I suspected the bit about parts of the bodies having been eaten weren't being divulged. They'd be keeping those gory details secret for the good of public order and to check the accuracy of any confessions.

The police said they were following some promising leads, and I feared modern forensic technology would, somehow, identify Simon.

I wondered what the humans would do once they had actual proof of our existence. There'd be no bloody constraint, as Shakespeare would say, just blood. They would destroy us in a frenzy of fear, raking for us no matter where we hid.

Oh, Sim. What have you brought down upon us?

The impressive wrought iron gates and sandstone walls of the Gardens shone pale in the pearly moonlight. “I wouldn't go in there,” the cab driver warned. “Not at this time of night."

"I'll be fine. Thanks for your concern."

"I mean, a pretty girl like you. There are bad people in there. I wouldn't go in."

I flashed him a confident smile. “I'll be okay. I can handle myself."

He gave my petite frame a once over, lingering on my deep cleavage and shrugged. “You know best."

"I wouldn't go that far,” I muttered as I strode into the darkened park. Streetlights competed with the moon to illuminate the dark caverns of the night. Tall trees waved in the light breeze, casting spidery shadows on the monochrome lawns. Even the most unimaginative soul would have found this a cold and haunted place.

I sniffed the air.

I'm chasing a werewolf after all.

Of course, in human form my nose is not as good as in my wolfen guise, but still good enough to pick up Simon's familiar scent. He was upwind of me. I also detected a couple of drunks beneath a Moreton Bay Fig tree, the alcohol carried by the breeze stabbing at my nostrils.

A perfume I recognized from discount store counters was carried in the same air as Simon's. He was closing in on her.

I ran into the darkness, forgoing the pavement and blundering across the grass. My heels stuck in the rain-softened lawn and I went head over turkey. Swearing colorfully, I pulled off my shoes and carried on in my stockings.

A gut-wrenching scream pierced the darkness. I changed course a little and headed for a small copse of trees. The shadows were near impenetrable even to my enhanced eyesight. I wished I was in wolfen form, then I'd be able to see clearly, but I needed to be able to speak to Simon when I found him. I couldn't talk him down if I was a wolf.

I slowed down. There was a drunk close by, sitting against a tree, and I stepped around him. I'd cleared his snoring form when out of the darkness a hand clamped over my mouth. Though he reeked of alcohol, this was no drunk. The movement had been too swift and graceful. He had surprised me, and I cursed myself for being careless.

Something happened then. As I struggled against his grip, I found myself molding in to his body. He was a big man, holding me close to his hard chest, and his body heat enveloped me like a satin sheet. I could feel the firm musculature beneath his wine soaked shirt and the beating of his powerful heart almost made me swoon.

I could taste the sweat in his palm, hot and salty. My tongue buzzed and involuntarily I licked his skin to taste him. My body came alive at the strong masculine pheromones dissolved in the sweat.

Through the miasma of alcohol fumes, he whispered in my ear. His hot breath was sweet and fresh. His clothes, I realized, had been dowsed in wine. His voice was unexpectedly cultured. “I'm a policeman. Just be calm and you'll be all right. I'm letting go now."

A dogberry! “What the fuck!” I yelled at him.

"Sssh. Didn't you hear me?"

"I won't sssh!” I yelled, hoping the ruckus would bring Simon out of his moon-induced lust. I had to make sure the dogberry was distracted enough to allow Simon to escape. “Let me go!"

"Quiet!"

He'd gripped my arm with a large firm hand. There was another scream, nearby this time. Shit! Simon was too far gone to control himself and he was killing some poor girl. I couldn't let it happen. I elbowed the cop in the gut, making him grunt and loosen his hold. His abs were rock solid, and my arm jarred with the impact.

I broke away and ran towards the scream.

"Stop!” the cop called behind me.

I was, naturally, faster than he was and I sprinted into the darkness. The scene I blundered into was as horrific as I expected. Simon, in beast form, was clearly visible in a shaft of silver moonlight. He was standing over a woman. She was lying so still, her white flesh covered by patches of blackness—her blood. The intoxicating smell of her gore was thick in the air. I breathed it in and fought the desire to join my brother and lap at her essence. Her heart was beating so fast I could, with my enhanced senses, hear the pumping of her blood.

I stopped a few meters away. “Get away from her!” I screamed.

Simon glared at me; his wolfen eyes glowed yellow in the moonlight. His lips curled back in a vicious snarl. I didn't move. I stared and waited for him to recognize me through the lusty haze of the quickening. Finally, after a moment, he dipped his head before scampering off into the darkness.

I knelt by the woman. She was young, scantily dressed, possibly a hooker. She was barely breathing, each breath a short, sharp rasp.

The cop arrived and knelt down opposite me. My body chimed with anticipation. I don't know what it was but no human, nor werewolf, had affected me like this before.

"She needs an ambulance,” I said, ensuring her airway was clear and rolling her onto her side as the first aid books recommended. She was losing a lot of blood and, resisting my more basic impulses, I pressed my fingers into the most serious neck wound to staunch the flow. It took all my resolve to quell the desire to drink.

"Officer down, repeat officer down. Paramedics required immediately. I'm in sector F, the small copse of trees. All units seal off the Gardens."

I took a long, deep breath. I could relax. There was a good chance Simon could get away now; his preternatural abilities would allow him to avoid any clumsy human dogberries. I just hoped he wouldn't hurt anyone while he made his escape.

I couldn't relax though. Other emotions were overwhelming my senses. Lust, for one, mingled with hatred for the one who threatened Simon with capture.

The cop watched me closely as I pressed the victim's neck, stemming the flow of blood. So, she was a policewoman and this charade an elaborate trap to capture the Full Moon Murderer. My blundering about in the dark may just have saved Simon from their clutches, and saved some policeman's life into the bargain. When cornered, werewolves can be fearsome things.

In the harsh light of his torch the dogberry's face had a jagged look about it; deep set eyes, bushy eyebrows and well formed lips. It was a face with character, I thought, and my libido went into overdrive. Despite the threat he posed, or maybe because of it, my nipples had hardened inside my blouse and the heat in my pussy went up a few degrees. He was fit and strong, his pheromones potent, and I wanted him like none other.

"Do you mind telling me who the hell you are?"

"Justine Price."

"And what the hell are you doing in here?"

"Hopefully saving this woman's life."

"I mean in the park."

"Research,” I said off the top of my head. I hadn't considered a cover story.

"What the hell?"

"I'm a freelance journalist,” I lied. “I'm writing an article about the murders."

"Jesus Christ. You could have been killed."

"Sorry if I mucked up your trap. I didn't realize you were a dogberry."

He reacted to the disguised insult, which surprised me. Not many cops would recognize the name of a Shakespearian fool if they fell over him. “This is not ‘Much Ado About Nothing',” he said through clenched teeth. “Three women have died. If we're lucky, Officer Meyer will pull through. She may have gotten a good look at him."

I stilled my reaction to his rebuke. He was right, this was serious, though I doubted Officer Meyer would have anything useful to contribute. She'd have an impossible story of being attacked by a wolf.

On closer inspection, her wounds were superficial it seemed to me. Simon hadn't a chance to do any real damage. He'd swiped her across the face, knocking her unconscious. She'd have some deep scars, which was a pity. From what I could see in the torchlight, Meyer had been pretty.

I took a deep breath. My body was vibrating with desire like a violin string. Panic stirred in my belly. I had to get away from this dogberry before I betrayed myself. “Well, I've had enough excitement for one night,” I said. “I'm off home."

"Not so fast. Did you see anything?"

"Not really. Just shadows."

"I distinctly heard you yell, ‘Get away from her'. Who were you talking to?"

"Just a shadow. He was crouching over her and scrambled away, so I didn't see anything at all."

"Scrambled?” His voice was surprised as I hoped he would be. “He didn't stand up? You don't know how tall he was?"

I shrugged. “No, sorry. If I didn't know any better, and I know it sounds crazy, I would have said it was a dog."

"A dog?"

I'd said it as doubtfully as I could, planting a seed. “Listen, I just saw shadows, okay?"

His features contorted into a frown. “Her wounds do look like scratches, don't they?"

"It couldn't be a dog?” I asked innocently. “Could it?"

The paramedics arrived and shoved us unceremoniously out of the way.

The cop took me aside, his hand gripping me by the elbow, and led me up the path towards the gates and the waiting police cars. I let him guide me though I had to restrain myself. Despite my lust for him, I don't like being pushed around by humans. Few wolfen do.

He asked me a few more perfunctory questions. I tried to calm my buzzing heart so I could concentrate. It was like a curtain had smothered my conscious mind, and out of the slumbering brain my beast was clawing its way out. A wave of vertigo swept through me. I was afraid of losing control. I closed my eyes and counted till the dizziness passed.

When I opened my eyes he still filled my whole field of view, silhouetted against the cool lights of the city's skyline. He was tall, built like a swimmer with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. He hovered over me as he took a look at my driver's license and wrote down my address and phone number. An eager colleague called him back to the scene of the crime and he growled in frustration. He escorted me to a police car and told a policewoman to drive me home despite my protests.

"Thank you for giving Officer Meyer first aid,” he said.

"Don't mention it."

"I may have some more questions at a later date."

"I'd be glad to help.” I was eager to get away. As I climbed into the patrol car I gazed up at him. “I'm sorry about the elbow. But I didn't know who you were. You smell like Falstaff."

A laugh escaped him. “Sorry about my disguise."

"It was very good. It had me fooled."

Chapter Two

The dogberry was at my door at seven thirty the next morning. He was even more handsome in the soft morning light, the deep crevices of the night much shallower in reality. It was still a face with character. A haunted character, I thought.

I hadn't slept well after getting home from the Gardens. I was terribly afraid for Simon. What he had done, what he had become and what might happen to him if the police cornered him roiled inside my mind. I imagined the torment he was going through, the horror at what he'd done.

My fevered mind was also haunted by erotic images of the dogberry, naked and straining between my thighs, the length of his glorious cock sliding into my pussy. Instinctively, I'd brought myself off a couple of times with my fingers strumming my clit, but the self-induced orgasms did little to douse the fire in my belly.

I was only just coming down from my final orgasm when the doorbell rang. Seeing him on my doorstep set my heart racing all over again and I clutched my dressing gown about my shoulders, lest he see my hardening nipples.

His mouth was friendly, the smile genuine and unpracticed. He exuded instant trust. He'd be good at interrogations, I thought. He'd be the good cop, the cajoling voice of compassion and reason.

"Good morning, Miss Price.” His voice was warm and smooth like honey, but nevertheless had a precise, crystal sub-tone which spoke of confidence borne of competence. “Detective Greene, Homicide."

"Good morning, Detective Greene."

"I hope this is not too early to call. I wanted to catch you before you left for work."

"Work? Oh, how full of briers is this working day world,” I muttered.

He considered me speculatively. His captivating eyes held mine prisoner for a moment before he spoke through a triumphant, but boyish smile. “Rosalind, in ‘As You Like It'."

"Impressive,” I said once I'd overcome my surprise. Last night was not a one off. He was, like me, a Shakespeare tragic. “Where do I work?” I challenged.

"I assumed a dedicated freelance journalist like you would be out and about early to catch the early story."

"I'm very lazy today, Detective, so today's worm will escape me, I'm afraid.” I paused deliberately. “T'was a rough night."

He inclined his head and considered me in a speculative manner. “Macbeth doth murder sleep."

I was inordinately glad he'd caught the quote. He was different, this dogberry.

"I thought I might offer you a coffee."

My heart had jumped into my throat and my mouth was suddenly dry. “I prefer tea. Green tea.” I was instantly annoyed at myself. I shouldn't be flirting, especially with a dogberry ... this dogberry in particular.

His eyes flared at my little joke. “Excellent. I do have some follow up questions arising from last night."

I got in first with one of my own. “How is your colleague?"

"Recovering. Meyer is still in quite a bad way. She's delirious, muttering about wolves with red eyes."

"How horrible."

He glanced over my shoulder into the front parlor. His eyes quickly scanned the marble statues, tiled floor and expansive oil paintings which covered the hallway walls. “You're not really a journalist, are you?"

His eyes returned to mine. They were crystalline blue; not the pale blue you sometimes see on people, but a bright saturated azure, like the fake contacts which have recently become the fashion with metro-sexuals. He didn't strike me as in any way narcissistic. He wore a work-a-day blue suit and plain tie, so I assumed his eyes were not counterfeit.

"You wouldn't believe what I am..."

"Try me. I'm pretty broadminded."

"Helpful in your line of work, I'd imagine."

"You want to tell me what you were really doing in the Gardens last night?"

I almost said I wasn't a prostitute, but I stopped myself. It would be a perfect explanation for what I was doing running scantily clad in the Gardens in the early hours. I held out my hands as if to be handcuffed. “Okay Officer, it's a fair cop. You got it right. I'm a hooker."

"No you're not—don't be silly."

"What?"

"Of course you're not a hooker."

"I swear I am!"

A smile creased those luscious lips. “'He's mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf, a horse's health, a boy's love, or a whore's oath'."

A cold shiver speared into my gut at his choice of quotation. It seemed a little too close for comfort, but his guileless expression convinced me it had been an accident. How could he possibly suspect I was wolfen?

It was my turn to identify the quote and I obliged, enjoying the game despite myself. “Only a fool would say it. King Lear, I believe."

He gave a mock bow. “As befitting a dogberry."

"Sorry.” I blushed.

"I've been called worse.” He paused for a beat. “I know you're not a hooker because I know all the hookers in this damned city."

"In a purely professional capacity, I presume, and not from your pursuit of country matters."

"In the course of my duties, yes."

I giggled at the pun. He certainly was no ordinary dogberry, this one. He knew his city and was on the job early, checking on my identity. I wondered what else he knew about me.

"I might be a visiting hooker."

"No chance, Miss Price. You've lived in this house for over twenty years."

Another cold shiver told me to be careful. The problem was the shiver got warmer the further it traveled and by the time it reached the juncture of my thighs it was searing hot. I wanted to blame it on the quickening: any good looking guy standing this close to me, his blue eyes burning into me like lasers, would have this effect. But I knew it wasn't true. There was something unique about Detective Greene.

"Do I have to get a restraining order put out on you for stalking me?"

"If you did, more people than me will be asking penetrating questions."

There was something in his voice that told me he was doing more than just flirting. I had the sense he was testing me. Our encounter last night had intrigued him, I knew, and he wanted to know more about me as a person and not as a witness. I'd heard the intrigue line a hundred times before. I have that effect on men. I thought somehow Detective Greene was different. He was more than intrigued. He was challenged. He'd want to see how intriguing I could be. I liked the idea. I told myself it meant I could get closer to him so I could protect Simon.

"Do I need a lawyer?"

"I don't know, do you?"

It had been a moot question, of course. There was no way I was going to a lawyer. I kicked myself. I shouldn't be playing this game. There was too much at stake not to take this dogberry seriously.

"I'll come clean,” I said. “I'm a student."

"What of?"

"Mythology."

"Any particular brand of mythology?"

"The ancient sort,” I countered, enjoying our wordplay despite the risk.

"As opposed to modern mythology?"

I returned his challenging smile. “They say nothing is new under the moon."

We stood gazing at each other for a few moments.

Beneath my bathrobe my heart was galloping and my nipples were aching with hard desire. The moon still held its sway over me and if Detective Greene wasn't careful, I'd have him over the baby grand and we wouldn't be playing chopsticks.

"Would you like to come inside?"

"Yes,” he said, his lips curling into another one of his smiles which sent a delightful shiver through me. “Yes, I would."

I took him into the sunroom and sat him beside the bay windows. He glanced out at our garden, the path down to the boatshed, the dock and then the glistening harbor beyond. He took only a moment then swung his eyes back to me. He wasn't one to be sucked in by a grand vista. He was focused solely on me.

"A nice room."

I'd taken the seat opposite him, next to Shakespeare's bust. “If you are wondering about my source of income, I'm independently wealthy. I inherited a veritable fortune from my family."

"I see. So what was a provocatively dressed, independently wealthy student of ancient mythology doing tipping a cab driver fifty bucks to get her to the Gardens after midnight if she wasn't hellbent on disrupting a police investigation?"

His challenge took my breath away. “Sorry. Is that a crime?"

"The last one is, certainly. Tell me, honestly, what were you doing?"

Simon chose that particular moment to come bouncing down the staircase dressed only in his boxers. He skidded into the room and pulled up short, his shock of blonde hair falling over his eyes. I silently cursed him. He must have come in the back door and gone up the rear stairs. I'd been too focused on Detective Greene to notice his arrival.

Detective Greene's expression was a mixture of suspicion and disappointment.

"My brother, Simon."

"Hello,” Simon said cheerfully. He was always a good actor. “Sis, where are my red undies?"

"In the laundry,” I replied icily. “In the dirty washing basket."

"Oops, sorry.” He winked at Greene in the time-honored way that bonded men against their feminine jailers. “It must be my turn to do the washing. Duty calls."

"My brother has domestic blindness,” I explained when he had skipped out. “He tries to make up for it with boyish charm."

"You live with your brother?"

"For the moment."

Detective Greene's lips curled in an understanding smile this time. He had a smile for every emotion and I kind of liked watching his lips reconfigure themselves. I had a sudden desire to lick the corners of his mouth and see what sort of smile I could provoke then.

Those blue eyes of his were so deep I lost myself every time I gazed into them. We'd been staring silently at each other for a considerable moment before I realized I was thirty seconds away from ripping away my dressing gown and jumping his bones. “I'm sorry. Is there something else?"

"You haven't answered my question."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Brother Simon interrupted us, didn't he?"

He gave me a polite smile this time. “So, last night?"

"I was researching. The full moon has been a source of myth and legend for millennia. I wanted to speak to people, ordinary people, about it while they were under its sway, so to speak."

His gaze was unblinking and I smelt suspicion. I also smelt lust. He wasn't wolfen of course, but human lust is as easy to detect as a wolf's. My heart was thumping, my blood running hot through my veins, pooling in my sex. If he possessed my senses he would have detected my desire and he would've jumped my bones without any more encouragement.

I knew I was blushing. My face was prickly hot and my ear lobes were burning.

"Normal people? Winos, hookers and criminals are the only people found in the Gardens after midnight. Do they talk much philosophy, in your experience?"

"You'd be surprised."

"I bet I would."

We gazed at each other for a few more pregnant seconds.

"You have other questions?” I prompted. I had to get him out of the house. My nipples were screaming for a kiss and my pussy was throbbing for much more. I wanted the dogberry and I wanted him bad.

But now was not the time. Detective Greene had seen Simon and now I had to get him away from the house lest he start asking him questions he couldn't answer.

There was too much at stake for me to play lust-inspired games. I couldn't let Simon be taken. Not only would his life be at risk, but my ruin and the exposure of all our kind would be risked as well. Simon had walked across a tightrope and was in danger of falling into the abyss. I shouldn't be helping Detective Greene jiggle the rope.

"Hundreds of questions."

"So many?"

"You are a very intriguing individual, Miss Price."

Here it comes. I wanted to delay the inevitable. “Justine, please."

"Justine it is."

"I can't imagine how I could possibly intrigue you."

"Each of us thinks we are ordinary. We think our lives are banal in the extreme. But to an outsider, who catches the merest of glimpses of just a slice of our life, what we consider boring can be the most fascinating of things."

A warm flood swept through my body and my pussy became a cauldron of moist heat. “Should I be pleased I fascinate you?"

"Only you can decide."

He was pressing all the buttons. “Isn't there a rule about policeman flirting with a witness?"

"Was I flirting?"

"Only you know for certain,” I countered.

He smiled mischievously. “Perhaps it's a measure of my fascination."

I raised an eyebrow.

"That I'd break rules,” he continued. “Perhaps now would be a good time for me to offer to buy you that cup of tea."

Yes, at least I'd get him out of the house and away from Simon. “Where did have you in mind?"

"The police station."

I caught my breath. “I don't understand."

"I have something I want to show you."

"I'll need to dress."

He ran his eyes over my dressing gown to where it ended just above my bare knees. “I can wait."

I drove myself to police headquarters, a sandstone monstrosity of modern design. My stomach fluttered with nervous anticipation. I felt like I was walking into a trap, and somehow Detective Greene had seen right through me with those penetrating blue eyes, and he would pounce on me with a dog catcher's net to haul me away to the kennels.

Net free, Detective Greene was waiting for me at the front counter. Once again I was taken by his size and power. He was an athlete, a combination of good genes and hard work. I imagined what he'd look like in wolfen form and barely resisted the urge to fling myself into his arms and mould myself to his body. He took my hand in welcome. His grip was warm and firm and sent electric jolts up the length of my arm straight into my heart.

During the drive into town I'd been trying to gain some perspective and control my rampant hormones. I'd replayed every second of the time I'd spent with Detective Greene. Probably twenty minutes in total. But those twenty minutes had impacted me like no other time in my life. Countless young men had courted me over the years and none, not even Ricardo, had achieved anything close to what Detective Green had done to me in those twenty minutes.

I decided his infatuation with me was a good thing and I'd encourage it to its natural conclusion. At least I'd be a distraction and I could follow the course of the investigation, perhaps even influence the direction he took.

His office was a clutter of desks and chairs, photocopiers, fax machines and computers. The wide desks were stacked with folders, books and telephones. White boards, pasted with gruesome photos of bodies of the Full Moon Murderer's victims, lined the walls.

"This is our operations room,” he explained after he had seated me in front of a wide screen TV with a cup of tea, green as promised, at my elbow. “What I want to show you is our surveillance video of the Gardens, taken last night."

"Video taken in the dark?"

"We had infra-red cameras installed on flag poles and other high vantage points."

Just as I'd feared.

"I won't bore you with the operational details of our stakeout,” he continued, sitting on the edge of a desk, his long legs stretched out before him. I took a moment to survey the well-formed musculature of his legs, little disguised by the clean lines of his trousers. “I implore you not to discuss anything you see here with anyone else, including your brother."

"I understand. But I still don't understand why I'm here."

He pressed the remote and the office lights dimmed. The TV screen came alive with those surreal infra-red images of people shaped objects in varying shades of blues and reds moving about in between areas of grey and black.

"All the people you see there, bar one, are police officers, including our decoy."

"Your bait,” I said. “She was bait, wasn't she? It must be an awesome responsibility to put someone in such danger."

He rose to my cynical observation. “She volunteered."

I shrugged. “It's still an awesome responsibility to let someone volunteer for something so dangerous."

He cleared his throat. “I lose either way, so let's move on, shall we?"

I suddenly felt guilty for trying to make him feel guilty.

"By all means."

"We have a male suspect, a derelict we believe: tall, thin, ragged clothes. He is unaccounted for at the time of the attack."

He pointed at a figure with a pencil. I knew it must be Simon. “Now, our decoy moves..."

"Why don't you use her name?"

He paused for a moment, his face impassive. His eyes stayed fixed on mine. I felt guilty again for making him feel guilty for merely doing his duty. I didn't understand what I was doing. I should be seducing him, not antagonizing him. I had no idea what was going on in my head. What my body was experiencing was obvious. I was so hot for him I wanted to throw myself at him and take him then and there, shoving folders and papers to the floor and opening my legs to him.

He was staring at me.

"I'm sorry,” I said. “That was unnecessary. I apologize."

His crystal eyes transfixed me like a catalogue pin through a butterfly. I wonder if he had noted my eyes were not light amber at all, but yellow, and my pupils not quite round.

"Officer Meyer moves off,” he continued, his voice even. “The subject follows obliquely..."

"If he's moving obliquely, how do you know he's following?"

I did it again. Shit! His gaze was unwavering. He was not, I noted with some surprise, troubled by my sniping in any way. He was focused and unemotional. It seemed to me he was working to a plan. He wanted me to talk, to react, and somewhere along the line, make a slip. I was impressed.

Or was my impression just simple paranoia?

He indicated the screen with his pencil. I refused to be guided and continued to gaze up at him.

"The suspect disappeared beneath a tree, out of sight of our cameras."

"How annoying.” I returned my eyes to the screen.

"It is. Officer Meyer continues on her prearranged course when this dog appears from nowhere and stalks her."

"A dog?” I asked with an ample amount of surprise in my voice. “You mean, I was right? It was a dog?"

"It looks like it."

"I'm amazed."

"Now, here is your taxi. You run into the Gardens, follow the path and then you change direction and set out across the grass where you fall over. Why were you running and why did you run towards where the attack was taking place?"

"I heard the scream."

"You changed course before the scream. We have every moment recorded both visually and audibly. What made you change course?"

I gazed directly into his eyes. “I don't know."

"Why were you running?"

"I just wanted to run."

His unrelenting gaze was painful. The pounding of my heart had accelerated; my flesh was burning. I wanted to squeeze my nipples and press down on my sex. I wanted to forget the park, Simon, the murders. I just wanted to fuck Detective Greene.

I had never felt so horny in my life, which is saying something. It could not just be the quickening. I go through it every month and generally cope, but I've never wanted to fuck a human so badly, not even Ricardo ... I stopped myself going any further down that particular track.

"I don't know what got into me,” I said. “The full moon maybe."

Detective Greene ignored my flippancy. He was remarkable. He just didn't react. I wondered if I should flutter my eyelashes, moisten my bottom lip, push out my chest. He was too focused, and I doubted I could've swayed him even if I stripped off my blouse and pulled his head into my cleavage. Well, maybe then...

"Justine, I sense you are an intelligent, vibrant woman who is very, very grounded. You're not the type to go running pointlessly in the Gardens at night."

"I'm flattered. Do you often perform personality profiles on witnesses?"

"Only ones who intrigue me."

He we go again.

"Justine, three women have been brutally murdered and one of my team is in the hospital. I'm desperate to stop the killing and I only have a month to prevent the next one."

"You're sure there will be a next one?"

"I hope not, but I had hoped he wouldn't strike last night."

"I wish I could help."

"Justine, I have to be blunt. Do you know anything about these murders?"

"Nothing at all."

What's one lie?

Detective Greene's face softened. “It's one of those formal questions I have to ask. There's a story—probably apocryphal—where a detective didn't ask the murderer, who they had in for routine questioning, if he was the murderer. It was later learned the guy would've turned himself in right then if he'd been challenged, but he was as surprised as anyone to be let loose. He thought he was invincible and killed two more people. So now, as a rule, I always ask the question."

"Hoping to get lucky."

"Well, you just never know."

My blood warmed all over again.

He seemed to relax just a little. “I wanted to thank you for what you did last night. The ambulance guys say you saved her life and if you hadn't shouted at the dog, Officer Meyer's injuries could have been far worse."

"You are convinced it was a dog, then?"

"The video shows the dog fleeing the park and squeezing through a hole in the fence before disappearing from our cameras."

I stood up. “I hope you catch it soon."

"Getting the dog is one thing. It's the owner I'm chasing."

"I hope you get him, too."

"Oh, I will. I'm like the Canadian Mounties."

Detective Greene escorted me down to my car. Once outside the station his demeanor suddenly changed. I no longer sensed he was scrutinizing me. His eye contact dropped away and his voice became hesitant. I felt he had suddenly turned his thoughts inward.

He closed my car door and I rolled down the window. He leaned in. His overshadowing bulk sent a thrill coursing through me. I couldn't help but gaze into those cerulean eyes, take a peek at those beautiful lips and imagine kissing them. I shut my eyes, counted to three and opened them again.

He hadn't moved, his eyes still fixed on my face. “I was wondering. Are you free tonight? I mean, I have tickets to the theater and I..."

His nervousness was genuine. I should've said I was otherwise engaged. I knew it was dangerous to be around him, and getting more dangerous by the second. At the time I blamed it on the quickening. Now, I blame it on me. I chose to play with fire knowing full well getting burnt was the predictable outcome.

"What's playing?"

"Macbeth, at the Opera House."

"I love Shakespeare."

His smile was wide. “I guessed. May I pick you up at six?"

"I'll meet you in the foyer."

He was visibly disappointed. I marveled at how transparent he was when his professional mask was off and I found it extraordinarily attractive.

I resisted the urge to kiss him. God, my body was throbbing with wanting him. As I drove home I kicked myself. This, Justine Price, is a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

Simon thought so as well.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"They say keep your friends close and keep your enemies closer. I want to know how his investigation is going. How else am I going to find out what they know?"

He nodded thoughtfully. “I don't believe you. It's the damn quickening, isn't it? You've got the fucking hots for him."

"At least I don't eat people I have the hots for."

"Ouch!” He put his hand to his heart. “You're right. Thanks. What would I ever do without my little sister?"

"Get in trouble, what else? And I'm little sister only by two minutes."

"But that couple of minutes make me the elder."

"Don't pull your primacy shit on me. It's meaningless."

He shrugged. “I blame the women's liberation movement for the breakdown of wolfen society."

"Cut it out. What am I going to do with you?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing? Think again. I can't have you going out killing young women."

"What do you have in mind? Tying me up in the cellar?"

"If it works, why not? You are not to go outside. I'll tie you up myself next full moon if you don't listen to reason. Do you want to tell me what you're really doing?"

"I wish I knew."

"You knew enough to call me last night. You know I love you and I'll do anything for you, but what exactly did you want me to do last night?"

"I just wanted my little sister to help me."

Chapter Three

It was an excellent performance: Macbeth was suitably ambitious and tortured, Lady Macbeth fragile and sublime, the witches hideous and malevolent and poor old Banquo loyal and doomed. After the curtain had fallen, we sat and waited till the audience emptied out onto the Opera House steps.

Detective Greene took my hand and we walked out to the promenade. In companionable silence we stood gazing at the colorful harbor ferries plowing across the serene waters of Sydney Harbor.

He hadn't released my hand and I felt like a teenager, my tummy shivering with anticipation. As well as being incredibly horny, I felt strangely comfortable in Detective Greene's company. “I didn't know policeman could be so..."

"Cultured?"

"Perhaps literate. You're first name isn't Graeme, is it, Detective Greene?” I asked.

He laughed. “It's Michael."

"I love Macbeth. It has everything: love, ambition, murder, betrayal, madness, poetry, superstition, philosophy."

He leaned back against the sandstone wall so he could look at the brilliantly lit sails of the Opera House. “I'm not sure it needs the witches,” he said. “I think blind ambition alone would be enough motivation for Macbeth to kill his King and his competition without the need of a supernatural impetus. I see it at work in criminal gangs every day. They knock each other off with surprising regularity."

"Surely he is a victim of fate, of manipulation. A puppet of forces he cannot control. The forces of evil winning him over with honest trifles."

"Not at all,” he said thoughtfully. “Macbeth chooses everything he does. The fate malarkey just lets him off the hook. I see it too much in real life, people committing unspeakable acts, but for all sorts of reasons claim it's never their fault."

There was a truth I didn't particularly like. “I guess it's natural to try and escape responsibility for one's actions, especially if they are particularly heinous."

"Natural, but doesn't make it right."

"What of Lady Macbeth?” I wondered. “Is she pure evil do you think?"

"Her motivation is far too human. To promote the one she loves to greatness, and thus promote herself is commonplace. Her conscience destroys her, though in the real world that is a rarity indeed.” He leaned on the railing. “Don't you think life's far too short? The candle extinguished far too quickly?"

I sensed he wasn't talking about Lady Macbeth. My dogberry had a past, it seemed, and I wanted to discover it. There's nothing like another's pain to deaden your own.

I reached out for his other hand and he closed his palm around mine.

"I'm sorry,” he said at last. “My melancholy has no place on a night like tonight."

"I'm listening,” I offered somewhat pretentiously.

"I won't bore you with my baggage, but don't you think it all seems so futile? We humans have such brief and pointless lives."

"Sound and fury and all that?"

"I sometimes think it would be fun to see how it all turns out. See what humanity makes of itself in the centuries to come."

Something stirred in my chest. If he had known I was a werewolf I would've taken it as a request to be turned. The possibility sent a thrill of excitement coursing through me. “I know what you mean."

"For Macbeth, his play is over when McDuff strikes off his head. But for us, the audience, we go on our little way, strut about on our personal stage until we make our own exit. And the world simply goes on without us, as if we didn't matter at all. It just doesn't seem, I don't know, fulfilling. To have an intellect, honed by a hundred million years of evolution and have it snuffed out like the merest thing."

I gazed up at him. “Would you like to live forever?"

"Of course. Wouldn't you?"

A couple shouldered past us, continuing on their way as if we didn't exist. “Sometimes I hate people,” I muttered angrily.

"Me too, sometimes. I was going to say we could grab a late night coffee at a little café I know, but it will be crowded."

"What a shame."

"I know of another all night coffee place. Very quiet."

I was glad he suggested it. I didn't feel like going home and facing Simon.

"It also serves a number of different flavored teas."

"Green, by any chance?"

"Yes, by golly."

"And where is this fabulous all-night establishment."

"Well, here's the thing. It happens to be in my apartment block, my apartment in fact."

"Your apartment. How convenient."

"Yes, it is."

"Well, lead on McDuff!"

* * * *

His apartment was small, neat, and clean. He wasn't the typical bachelor. Reasonably new furniture gave me the impression he'd just moved in. The walls were lined with bookcases.

"Make yourself at home,” he said before disappearing into the kitchen.

My body was pulsing with desire. It was the most alive I had felt since Ricardo. I closed my eyes and counted to twenty. I had to be calm. I had to keep on task. The whole point of me spending time with Detective Greene was to protect Simon, not to fall in love.

A shiver cascaded through my chest and settled on my heart. It was the first time the L word had entered my thoughts for over a year.

I fled from the L word as quickly as I could. “How is the case progressing?” I called out to him. “No luck catching the dog yet?"

"Not yet."

"I don't understand. If it was a dog killing people, wouldn't your forensic scientists have discovered similar signs with the other murders?"

"We haven't divulged everything to the press, and I ask you to keep this to yourself. The murdered women were attacked and killed by a man. The injuries are caused by a knife. The body is then eaten by a dog."

I gasped in surprise. “I don't understand. Officer Meyer was scratched."

"He attacked her with a knife. We found it in the bushes. We believe the perpetrator kills his victims, removes certain organs and then feeds them to his pet."

I shuddered. This didn't make any sense. Simon—under the sway of the moon and in the hold of the quickening—may well track a victim in human form, but would only be in a killing frenzy when in his wolfen body. To kill in human form was just killing. “So, last night, it wasn't just a stray dog?"

"I don't believe so."

I didn't think it prudent to ask any more. I needed to get my thoughts about Simon in some sort of order. The idea he was just a plain old serial killer had left me shaken.

Bypassing Shakespeare's Collected Works, I pulled an art book off the shelf. It was an illustrated Karma Sutra with exquisite paintings of couples fornicating in impossible positions.

My flesh warmed and my pulse accelerated. The moon, still near full, was exerting its pull on my libido. I wanted Detective Greene more now than ever. His charisma was electrifying. Sitting in the darkened theater had been unbearable. Our knees had almost touched in the darkness. Our legs, ensconced in stockings and denim, were only a few millimeters apart, yet I could feel the heat of his lust. I barely stopped myself from reaching out my fingers, my feet, any of my extremities to touch him, to bring him to me. In the darkness I mouthed Lady Macbeth's words, “'Unsex me here',” and added my own. “Lest my mortal lust bring me to my ruin."

Michael returned with two china cups and saucers. He placed them gently on the coffee table and then stood beside me, looking over my shoulder at the pictures.

"Do you think this position is physically possible?” I asked, my voice thick and husky.

He considered the richly colored drawing. “With effort I believe it may just be possible. But both parties would have to trust each other and be close."

I returned the book to its place on the shelf and faced him.

"How close would they have to be?"

"About this close."

He bent his head and kissed me. His firm lips pressed against my mouth. His tongue caressed the flesh of my lips with a delicate but persuasive pressure. I was at the brink of no return. If I went to the next step I doubted I would be able to stop myself.

I took it regardless. I opened my lips and his tongue swept into my mouth. I clutched at him, fiercely bringing my body within his enveloping arms and pressing myself to his masculine physique. His erection pressed into my waist. He was huge and hard.

My body, untouched for a year, screamed with longing. My mouth devoured him and my hands raked his back, my thighs pressing hard into his.

"'Oh, she doth teach the torches to shine bright'” he whispered, nuzzling my ear. The sensitive skin of my neck tingled at the butterfly brush of his lips. “You're so beautiful."

Oh, my Romeo indeed.

Without warning, he lowered an arm to cradle my ass and picked me up. I squealed into his mouth and clung to his broad shoulders. With confident strides he carried me into his darkened bedroom. Our lips remained locked together and our tongues made love to each other in frenzied rehearsal of the act of darkness.

Michael laid me onto his bed and, keeping his eyes on mine, kneeled beside me. He deftly unbuttoned my blouse. I was braless, as usual, and his lips immediately closed around one of my straining nipples. I arched my back to push my breast into his mouth. His hands cupped my breasts with such care I felt as if he thought I was a delicate crystal, too easily broken. How wrong he was.

I busied myself unbuckling his belt, unzipping his trousers and pulling the length of his cock from within his clothes. He groaned as I fisted his shaft. The delicate satin skin of his hard cock was poker hot. As I stroked the long, thick length I imagined it inside me, filling me. My pussy turned to liquid fire and pulsed wantonly, longing for him to fuck me.

Michael's fingers slid along my quivering flesh to find the waistband of my skirt. He easily undid the clip at the side and opened the skirt. Finding my panties, he slipped his fingers inside and quickly found my swollen pussy lips.

I gasped as he stroked the outside of my sex and circled the hard nub of my clit. He was taking his time, each touch of his fingers lifting my desire. He left tonguing my nipple and once again claimed my mouth. He slipped a finger inside me and then, with the pad of this thumb, strummed my clit. Slithers of pure pleasure cascaded through me as he played my body like a musical instrument.

I'd never thought I could feel so hungry for a man. I was shuddering with the thrill of his touch. He was masterful: everything he did was exactly right and my body sang.

I wanted more. I pulled on his cock, urging him to swing around so I could take him in my mouth. He correctly read my intentions and did as I wished. The spongy mass of his cock sat heavy on my tongue as I drew him into me. I stretched my mouth wide to accommodate his girth and tightened my lips about his shaft.

His hot tongue found my clit and its rasping motion sent shivers of delight coursing through my flesh. Each brush of his lips generated paroxysms of pleasure I've never experienced before.

Oh God.

With his fingers working inside me finding those spots on my inner flesh, and his tongue on my clit, I was climbing a staircase to absolute pleasure. I wanted him inside me. I withdrew my mouth from his cock.

"Fuck me,” I pleaded.

I heard the drawer of the bedside table being opened. There was a faint rummaging sound. I propped myself onto my elbows and peered into the semidarkness.

"What are you doing?"

He had a foil packet between his teeth.

"Oh."

I'd forgotten about condoms. Not having actually had sex for so long, the necessities of modern-day lovemaking had escaped my awareness. Besides, it was not necessary. My immortal body is immune to every known disease which has existed, or is ever likely to exist. As for becoming pregnant, that didn't worry me either, as humans and wolfen don't mix that way. For his sake, however, I thought I should go through with the charade.

"Here. Let me."

I scrambled to my knees and took the packet from him. I pushed him down onto the bed and straddling his thighs, I ripped open the packet with my teeth. Smiling in anticipation, I placed the rolled up sheath upon the crown of his rigid cock and unrolled it over his shaft with my lips.

He groaned from deep within as I took his whole length inside my mouth, unfurling the bitter tasting prophylactic as I went.

"Lie still,” I ordered and I positioned myself over his cock. Slowly, I lowered myself until his cock nudged against my pussy lips. I shuddered as its swollen head slipped easily between my moist folds.

Oh God!

I closed my eyes and throwing back my head, I let my loneliness drain away.

I kissed him and he groaned into my mouth. I sank down upon him until he was balls-deep and ground my pelvis over his straining groin. I rode him hard, trying to meld my body into his with sheer physical force.

With a lusty growl he flipped me over so he was now on top and smoothly pushed himself deep inside. I locked my ankles behind his ass and urged him on. His thrusts were gentle at first and I luxuriated in each inward movement of his shaft and each slow withdrawal. He kissed me deeply as he plunged into my pussy. Our tongues frantically wrestled one against the other. We clung together like two swimmers battling a raging sea, our bodies shuddering with the primal tides raging inside us.

Michael's thrusts became urgent and decisive. My body tensed like a steel spring and the coiled energies which had so long lain dormant exploded with a shuddering eruption of pleasure.

I cried out, I think.

He continued to drive his cock into me until his whole body tensed. I felt the explosion within and the powerful contractions which shook his shaft. As the powerful spasms possessed him I raked my fingers down his back, now slicked with sweat, and held his shuddering body tightly against mine.

We lay for a long time in silence. We held each other as closely as we could until we regained our breath. I could feel his heart pounding against my breast and hear the blood pulsing through his veins. I kissed his neck and licked the sweat off his skin. The taste of him on my tongue and his scent in my nostrils sent my mind reeling.

Inside me his cock stirred.

Michael fucked me again, slowly this time. As his cock caressed my inner self I lost myself to the wash of pure sensation. The material world dissolved around me and I thought I'd melted into his flesh. Together we fell into a cauldron of heat and light, the elements of our bodies fusing into a single entity, a singularity of love which burst in a phantasmagorical supernova of light.

I cried.

We slept.

"Do you believe in the supernatural?” I asked sometime later.

"I believe in what I see."

"Have you ever seen a witch, for example?"

"Like Macbeth's? Not yet. I've seen someone who thought she was a witch. But I didn't see any witchcraft going on, just a few missing marbles."

I have never wanted to tell a human about my bestial nature before. It is a fearful subject to broach. In fact, there is no way to do it without him thinking I was like his witch: mad.

"'I think there is more to the world than what we can see, Horatio.’”

"I'd like to think there was, but I'm afraid it might be just wishful thinking."

I laughed. “There's nothing wrong with wishful thinking."

He propped himself up onto his elbows and gazed down at me, his blue eyes shining in the gloom. “You're an amazing woman. I thought it the moment I saw you."

"By torchlight?"

"You glow with your own light, Justine. You're a puzzle, an enigma, and I want to find out everything about you."

"You might find something you don't want to know."

"It doesn't matter. A cop sees so much I don't think anything will surprise me anymore."

"Wanna bet?"

"I hope you'll trust me enough one day to try me."

"Michael? I trust you now. I don't go to bed with just anyone."

His expression hardened slightly. “I'm glad to hear it."

"No, I mean it. I've been celibate for over a year now."

"You're kidding me."

"You just said nothing would surprise you."

"Well..."

"See, you better not ask me any more questions. I thought I'd start with a little thing. I don't think I'll tell you about the serious stuff now."

"A whole year?"

"What's so surprising?"

"I just find it hard to believe someone as beautiful as you would..."

"...wouldn't be having sex every night and three times on Sunday?"

"Well..."

"Sssh. The question is why did I break my vow of chastity with you?"

"Yeah. I was going to ask ... eventually.” He waited for me to answer and when I didn't he prompted me with a kiss. “Well?"

"I said it was a question. I didn't say it had even been asked, who asked it, or who would answer it."

He laughed. “Okay, why did you break your drought with me? My answer is,” he frowned and then a smile creased his handsome face. “You trust me."

I shook my head. “Nope, too easy. I gave you the trust line."

He frowned again. “I've been cross-examined by the best barristers in the country and I've always had an answer for them. How many go's do I get?"

"How many go's did those barristers give you?"

"I was afraid you'd say something like that."

"I'm waiting."

"This needs careful consideration,” he said and kissed me. “I'll tell you after I've given it very careful consideration."

I kissed him back. “Fair enough."

He gazed down at me, his blue eyes burning into my soul.

"Make love to me again."

"If you wish."

Chapter Four

The next morning we were at his breakfast table eating toast and drinking tea. I felt fantastic. There's nothing like a night of non-stop sex and orgasms too many to count to put a rosy glow to the new day.

Funny thing about rosy glows: they tend to turn sanguine without warning.

"Who is Jason Gentle?"

He was gazing at me with those steady blue eyes. “I don't know,” I said, truthfully.

"He's the guy you not so gently turfed out the taxi the other night."

"Oh."

"You really didn't know his name?"

Oh shit. How was I to explain this? Honesty, I guess. “I was lonely. I'd not done anything like it before. I don't like the idea of one-night stands but I needed ... Have you ever been so lonely you needed the touch of another human being?"

"Is that what last night was about?"

Shit, wrong direction entirely. “No, it was far more. This was a big step for me."

"Would Jason Gentle have been a big step too?"

Double shit. “No, I didn't intend to...” Guilt was replaced by anger. I don't like being interrogated. “Why are you doing this?"

"I just want to know where I stand. Am I a one night stand?"

I touched his lips with my finger and traced their sensual curve. “No."

"According to the taxi driver, just before you threw Jason Gentle from the cab, you received a phone call."

Enough was enough. I stood up so suddenly my chair fell over backwards. “Do you normally conduct your interrogations over breakfast?"

"Who called you?"

I went to the door. “I'm sorry I've upset you. There's nothing I can do about it now. I enjoyed the theater. Thank you for inviting me."

I pulled the door shut behind me. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I ran down the stairs and out into the street.

* * * *

Simon was waiting for me when I got home. He clearly wasn't pleased. The feeling was mutual.

He sniffed the air. “You've been with the cop."

"None of your business."

"You positively stink of him."

"Enough!"

"He's hunting me..."

"You want to explain why he's hunting you?"

He opened his mouth to give me an excuse, like he used to do when he was a kid. Whenever he got into trouble for being naughty he'd protest, knowing he should say something in his defense. But when it came down to it, he often didn't have anything sensible to say. He'd open and close his mouth a couple of times like a stranded fish. It was so ridiculous we'd all laugh about it. There was nothing funny about him now.

What could he say anyway? He was a killer. I was disgusted and repulsed by what he'd done. My stomach churned at the thought of the terror and the pain those women had suffered.

"You lied to me."

He appeared startled by the accusation. “What do you mean?"

"You said it was the quickening making you do it, but you kill them in human form, with a knife!"

He shrugged. “I don't know what I do. A red fog closes in on me and I lose myself."

"Why? Why kill? I don't understand why you killed them."

He drove his fist into his forehead and sank to the floor. “I don't want to talk about it!"

I went and sat on the floor beside him, cradling him in my arms while stroking his hair as I used to do when we were children, before we were turned.

I shivered at the memory. Our guardian uncle, of all people, did the deed. With our parents murdered years before, he'd raised us as his own, turning us after we'd reached puberty.

One disgusting night, himself a victim of the quickening, my uncle had tried to rape me. Simon had fought him off with a broom. In the frenzy, Uncle had killed him, and then me. Remorseful at what he'd done, he changed us into werewolves by washing our wounds with his tainted blood.

Uncle had always been mad; and, wracked with remorse at what the quickening had made him do, he fell further into the abyss. As our wolfen master he treated us abysmally and we had to obey his every command, though he never touched me again. It was a horrible existence until one night he left the house and never returned. His naked, mutilated body was found floating in the harbor. Simon and I inherited his fortune as well as our parent's. I feared, sometimes, we had inherited the family madness too.

I thought back to how my brother had fought to save me from my uncle and died as a result. As ugly as his crimes were, he was still my brother. I had to protect him as he had once tried to protect me.

"What are we going to do?” I asked.

"I don't know."

"Do I lock you up? Do I chain you to the back step? Tell me, what do I do?"

"Don't be angry at me. Believe me, I don't want to kill again."

"Then we chain you up."

"Okay. Whatever you think is best."

"The day before the full moon, yes?"

"Trust me. It's the quickening. I hate what it does to me."

I gave him a cuddle, just like in the old days. “Destroy your mobile phone. They know I received a call from someone the other night. I don't want it traced to you."

"It wasn't my phone,” he muttered into my collarbone. “I threw it into the harbor."

"Well, then. We must go away, I think."

"Where to?"

"The network will help us."

"You think we need go to them?"

"What else can we do?"

The wolfen network was the organization which protected werewolves worldwide. They had their claws into every level of every government and national bureaucracy. It arranged for the legal documentation allowing us to live forever in a world of mortals. I was sure the network would be able to spirit Simon away to another country where he could hide and in time assume a new identity. How they would feel about his murderous activities, I had little doubt. Drawing the attention of mortals was frowned upon. He'd have to promise to be good or else.

I knew Simon didn't like the idea of the network being involved. They can be just as brutal and uncompromising as humans sometimes. “The network will know what to do,” I said, trying to reassure him. “In the mean time, you have to lay low."

"Thanks. I knew you'd come through for me."

It had already come with a cost. “Just do as I ask. Make helping you easy for me."

* * * *

Michael was at the door. He was furious, his expression dark, his jaw clenched tight.

"Where's your brother?"

His voice was abrupt and cold.

"Simon?"

"Where is he?"

"What's wrong?"

"Is he here?"

"No. He's out."

"When do you expect him back?"

"He didn't say. Michael, what's wrong?"

"You lied to me."

I had, but which lie did he mean? “What's wrong?” I repeated. “Come in."

He stepped past without looking at me and I followed him into the sunroom. “What's happened?"

He stood for a long moment gazing out the window.

"Does your brother own a dog?"

"No."

"Do you?"

The question he must ask, I realized, just in case he got lucky. “Of course not. What are you getting at?"

"Your brother has a record."

"What for?"

"Assaulting women."

"I don't believe you."

"In Western Australia. He has two assault charges pending. He attacked them in parks, slicing their faces with knives."

My mind reeled. By omission, Simon had lied to me. I took a deep breath. “I don't believe you checked up on my brother."

"I should've much earlier. Officer Meyer woke up. She didn't remember much, just her attacker's hair was blonde. I ran Simon's name though our national database. There is a warrant for his arrest. He broke his bail conditions and left Perth three months ago. Just before the murders started here."

I couldn't think of anything to say. By keeping his past a secret, Simon had let me fall into a trap. No wonder he hadn't wanted me to spend any time with Michael. I gazed into my dogberry's baleful eyes.

"In Perth he committed each of his attacks on the night of the full moon."

"I didn't know."

"He's disturbed, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, but never violent."

"Stop lying to me, Justine. He's got a string of juvenile offences as long as..."

"He's my brother."

"He's a killer."

"I love my brother."

"He's a killer, isn't he?"

My silence told him all he needed to know. I knew Simon was the killer, the butcher of helpless women.

"I want you to tell him to turn himself in. We're hunting him now and we mean business. For your sake, I don't want him to resist arrest and end up dead."

"I don't know where he is."

"Perhaps it would be best if you kept it that way."

I reached out to touch him but he backed away. “I don't like being lied to, Justine. Not when innocent lives are at risk."

He went to the door, paused there for a moment before facing me. “For your information, though I wanted to, I didn't intend to make love with you the other night. It wasn't a cynical interrogation technique. I genuinely enjoyed your company. You are a witness and I admit I lost control of myself. It was unprofessional of me. I'm sorry for letting myself down.” His voice was so cold, so distant.

"Michael, no, please."

"Had I known you were using me, I would not have enjoyed it so much.” He turned stiffly and strode out of my house.

I slid down to the floor, my back against the wall, and wept.

* * * *

"The copper bastard hurt my little sister,” Simon said, his voice strange against my ear, like he'd regressed to childhood.

He'd found me sitting on the floor crying. “My fault,” I said.

"No. It can never be your fault, Just. Never your fault.” He cradled me in his arms like I had done for him. He stroked my hair, softly cooing into my ear as he did when we were children. “I love you."

"I love you, too."

He kissed my forehead. “We twins are closer than the usual brother and sister aren't we?"

I nodded. It was his favorite subject. As children we'd often talk about this supposed uniqueness of twins, psychic connections and such, though we never felt it for real. At least I never had.

"When he hurt you, he hurt me too."

Fear sliced through my chest. “What are we going to do?"

"Teach the bastard a lesson."

"No, what we need to do is lay low. Lick our wounds and keep out of trouble. I'll call the network and they'll get you to safety."

"These human scum think they're so fucking good. They think we're beasts. I'll show them beasts!"

"Simon, no. Stay here. We'll find help for you."

"Help? I don't need help. I need to show the bastard he can't hurt my little sister."

"Calm down. It was my stupid fault."

"You were trying to help me and he hurt you."

Simon was incoherent now, his face a mask of red rage.

"Don't do anything stupid."

He laughed, the sound cruel and distant. “Too late. He's gone too far. He'll pay for your tears. Just like Ricardo, the sniveling bastard."

"What do you mean?"

"You're too good for these human scum, Just. But don't worry. I'll protect you from them."

He left me sitting there, crying. It all fell into place for me. Ricardo's death had not been an accident after all, the fiery car crash engineered to hide his wounds. Simon had been traveling when it happened, or so he'd led me to believe. Of course, he'd sneaked back and killed the man he thought had broken my heart.

I'd always suspected Simon had killed uncle, but had buried the suspicion deep in my mind. After all, I'd wished uncle dead enough times myself.

Simon was protecting me, just like he had a hundred years ago, punishing those who had hurt me.

Now he had Michael in his sights.

I had to do something.

* * * *

No matter what Michael thought of me, he was justified in thinking I had lied to him. The fact I'd done it with the best of motives, to protect my brother, was irrelevant. I'd lied to him, used him, and he would never forgive me.

His accusation that our night together had been nothing more than a one-night stand had cut deep into my heart. It was not true, no matter how it appeared. Michael was not merely a scratch to satisfy a persistent itch. I had let him into my heart. I had loved him, physically and spiritually. If only he could look into my heart and see the truth.

I had to accept the cruel reality. Misunderstanding or not, I had probably lost him. In time, I could deal with his jealousy over my stockbroker adventure; maybe I could even convince him it was not what he thought. His anger at my lying to him about Simon, however, was insurmountable.

Still, I couldn't let Simon hurt him because I'd fucked up.

I rang the station and was told Michael was unavailable. I went to his apartment but he wasn't there either. I went to the Gardens and the Opera House. As the sun set and the moon rose, panic stirred in my belly.

I rushed back home and found them in the garden.

Oh God.

Simon was in wolfen form. Michael was lying prone beneath him, unconscious and in an ever spreading pool of blood.

"Leave him, Sim. He's mine."

Simon gazed back at me and growled. His lips curled back, blood glistening on his razor sharp teeth.

I ripped open my loose fitting tunic and willed myself into wolfen form. I do it so rarely the rearranging of my bones and sinews sent spears of agony jabbing through my body.

I growled in pain and anger.

If it came to a fight I'd be no match for my brother. He is sleek and muscular, an alpha male by any description. But I would fight him if I had to.

He snarled back at me.

I had to act quickly. Michael was bleeding to death. I could see his throat had been torn open, his blood was bubbling in the wound. At least his heart was still pumping.

Something was glinting on the tiles beside his body—Michael's gun.

Simon growled and, in a flash, he gripped Michael by the shoulder and dragged him away into the darkness. He was heading down the path towards our boatshed.

I quickly reverted to human form and picked up the gun.

"Sim!” I shouted and followed him into the darkness.

I had to be quick. The blood trail down the darkened path was easy to follow. Simon had dropped Michael outside the door to the boathouse and I almost tripped over his body. I fell to my knees beside him.

"Michael?"

He still lived! His throat was bubbling blood. I had only a few moments to save his life and there was only one way to do it. I bit into my wrist until the blood blossomed into my mouth.

"What are you doing?” Simon yelled from inside the door of the boatshed.

I didn't look up, concentrating on getting the blood directly into Michael's wound. I noticed the bubbling in his throat had ceased all together. I felt his chest with my other hand and could not feel it beating. I pushed down hard. I had to keep his heart beating. I had to keep his heart beating no matter what. The moment it ceased, no amount of my blood healing the torn arteries would help him.

"I won't let him die!"

"Why? He hurt you. He's hunting me!"

"I love him and he trusted me. He loved me."

Simon growled in frustration. “He's my kill.” His voice was closer now, his scent growing stronger. “I won't let you take him from me like you did the other one."

"Listen to yourself. You need to think about what you're doing. You wanted to stop, remember."

"I've decided not to."

I stared into the darkness. I was getting lightheaded from my own blood loss and the effort I was making keeping Michael's heart beating. He hadn't stirred yet. Come on! Live!

"You can't have him,” I shouted at Simon. “I've already turned him. He's mine."

"Don't lie to me, Just."

Michael's body shuddered. His back arched in a mighty convulsion which sent me flying into the garden. Thank God!

"Fuck you, Just! Fuck you!"

There was a moment's silence then the sound of Simon's running steps on the dock filled the silent night.

"Simon! Come back!"

I cradled Michael's shuddering body in my lap as he roared into his new life. He convulsed violently again and pushed my petite body out of the way. He was changing into his wolfen form, his body transforming at a cellular level. My blood had healed his neck and was now multiplying in his veins, doubling in number every moment. By now my blood would have seeped into his brain and his new consciousness would be dawning, the wolfen mind stretching out and exploring its new body, testing every cell, sinew and muscle.

I remembered my own awakening. It is a primal moment. A feral moment: fear, terror, incomprehension, anger and lust are the only things Michael is feeling right now.

The transition to wolfen form after it began took only a few moments to complete. Michael was a beautiful looking wolf. His glossy new coat was silky soft and shimmered in the pale light of the moon.

He opened his werewolf eyes and considered me for a moment. I hoped he recognized me. His feral mind would be searching his memories and with any luck he'd find me pretty quickly. I hoped he would remember he once loved me.

To be safe, I changed to my wolfen form. Afraid of what might happen in the next moment. I was his master. I created him. He had to obey me, though he didn't know it yet. I had to express my dominance and I had to do it quickly.

I growled at him, baring my teeth, standing muzzle close to him.

He growled back at me, his ears lying flat against his skull. His eyes drilled into me. I snapped at him. He sniffed the air, and I hoped my scent was communicating my dominance.

From the harbor a motorboat roared into life, the sound of the engine only slightly muffled by the boatshed separating us from the dock.

Michael flicked his gaze in the direction of the water and growled. He glanced back to me and his glowing eyes softened and his lips covered his teeth. I imagined his tortured mind putting together the facts. I was impressed he could think logically, still maintaining his human psyche despite the physical change he had undergone.

Suddenly, he leapt away from me and darted down the path to the boathouse.

Shit. He was still the dogberry doing his duty. He was going to get his man.

I was afraid Michael, in his nascent state, would be no match for an experienced werewolf like Simon, a wolfen used to killing. Wolfen fights are savage beyond belief, and as inexperienced as he was, Michael could still injure Simon. My gut tightened in fear.

I returned to my frail human form and snatched up Michael's gun. I dashed down the path and into the darkened boathouse.

The boat had just pulled out from the dock. Simon was at the wheel in human form, apparently unaware Michael was racing down the length of the dock after him. His strides were lengthening as he prepared to leap towards the boat.

I ran, though my chances of catching up are more than hopeless because I'm chasing a werewolf.

He's swift and sleek. I love him so much I'd do anything to protect him.

I'd even kill.

I stop. I take aim. I fire.

* * * *

I traced Michael's jaw line with my fingertip. His eyes fluttered open. The first thing he did when his deep blue eyes focused on mine was to smile. Then he winced and felt his head.

"I suggest you call in sick,” I said, wanting to kiss the corners of his mouth.

Michael gazed at my naked breasts.

"I feel funny. I ache all over, and my head hurts."

"You fell."

"I fell?"

He clearly did not remember. Memories would come later.

My memories, though, had plagued me as I nursed my lovely dogberry through the long night.

The moment before I fired the gun, Michael had leapt off the dock. He landed on the aft deck just as Simon had peeled the boat away into the harbor. The bullet grazed Michael's head and lodged in my brother's shoulder. Michael didn't remember tumbling unconscious into the water, nor my frantic attempt at rescue. He didn't remember Simon circling back and despite his injuries, lifting him into the boat and bringing him back to the dock.

He didn't remember Simon gazing down at his unconscious body, studying the head wound; or, when Simon had stared at me with hurt suspicion in his eyes, wincing at his bleeding shoulder. Michael didn't yet remember Simon saying he wouldn't ask me who the bullet was meant for and then swearing if Michael ever hurt me he would rip out his throat.

"We were dancing on the dock,” I said, promising to myself I would tell him the truth when he recovered.

"I don't dance."

"I can tell.” I gave him the phone. “I want you to call in sick. You will stay here with me to recover."

"You're that good for my health?"

"Of course.” I kissed the nearest corner of his mouth. “And as a reward, I'll tell you all want to know about me, and more."

I saw in his eyes when he recalled part of who and what he was: a human dogberry. I wondered how he would respond to his new wolfen state. “I can't just call in sick. I'm in the middle of a murder investigation."

I studied his beautiful blue eyes. I was grateful he had for the time being forgotten his suspicions of Simon, the confrontation and the attack. By the time he remembered, he'd have bigger things to consider, like eternity, and I wondered if he would like the idea of spending it with me. “Those dogberries can handle it for a day or two, surely."

"Well, I guess."

Simon had fled. The wolfen network was on his trail as well now, and I expected him to disappear—maybe to return in a few decades, maybe not. The network can be ruthless and Simon may have attracted too much attention for their liking. Michael may wish to track Simon down, or he may not. I somehow think he will. He's that sort of man.

A smile suddenly broke across his face. “I know why you slept with me,” he said triumphantly.

"Well, my dogberry, tell me why?"

"Because I didn't let Macbeth off the hook."

I touched his lips with my finger and he kissed the tip.

"Close,” I whispered.

He frowned, thinking hard and his smile returned, though this time a little uncertainly. His nose twitched as if he was smelling the air for the first time. My dominant pheromones would be telling him who and what I was. He was starting to realize what I'd done to him. He gripped my hand tightly in his. “Then, it's because we both agree life is far too short."

I nodded. “Absolutely correct, my dear dogberry.” I kissed him quickly. “Now, get some rest. When you're fit, there's another Shakespeare opening at the Opera House."

"Which one?"

I kissed him again on the lips, a lingering one this time. “Much Ado About Nothing."

About the Author

Mikala Ash lives on a beach in Australia overlooking the beautiful Pacific Ocean with her faithful Border Collie, Ricky.

Management Consultant by day, after the sun goes down, Mikala becomes a creature of the night, well, in her imagination anyway; bent over the keyboard till the small wee hours.

Writing is a passion that cannot be denied, she says.

Mikala can be contacted through her blog: mikalaash.blogspot.com or via mikalaash@yahoo.com.au.

Spicy, sensual love stories which leave a reader breathless, intense plots, alpha males, strong heroines and sizzling dialogue—find it all at Whispers!

www.whispershome.com

Coming October 5, 2007

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