Ripple 01 _ Beneath a Rising Moon by Keri Arthur

Author:Keri Arthur [Arthur, Keri]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Paranormal, Romance, Fantasy, General, Werewolves, Fiction, Horror, Paranormal Romance, Mystery & Detective
ISBN: 9780440246497
Google: cvNqpwAACAAJ
Amazon: 0440246490
Publisher: Dell
Published: 2012-07-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Duncan shivered and pulled up his jacket collar. As he headed across town to Neeson Jones' place, the force of the wind was pushing him along the street so hard that he was almost running. The old wolf had only recently retired as editor-in-chief of the Ripple Creek Gazette, and if there was anyone in this town who'd know all the secrets and hatreds, it would be him.

Though right now, battling this storm and talking to the old wolf were really the last thing he wanted to do. He'd much rather be curling up with Neva in her big old bed, loving her and holding her until the storm had fled. But given what he'd done over the last day or so, it was very doubtful that she'd dance with him willingly. Not during the day, anyway. And he certainly wasn't going to force her. He wasn't that callous.

He briefly closed his eyes, remembering her shocked expression, seeing again the hurt and anger shining in her pretty eyes, and swore softly. Part of him had needed to push, had needed to confirm what he already knew in his heart — that she had no part in whatever was going on. But mostly, he just felt like the bastard she kept calling him.

And that he regretted. Very much.

But he'd set his path, and it was too late to change it now. He just had to be thankful the moon was still rising. If nothing else, he at least had the nights to enjoy.

He sped past houses he couldn't really see, their shapes lost to the white blur of the storm. Neeson lived up on Seventh Street, not far from the building that housed his beloved paper. Duncan wondered why he'd finally decided to retire. Ten years ago, he'd been adamant he'd die on the job.

He swung onto Seventh Street, and the wind hit him broadside, sending him staggering several steps before he caught his balance. The dance was in trouble tonight. It was doubtful if even the most dedicated follower would be willing to battle this storm for the sake of pleasure.

He ran across Neeson's lawn and rang the doorbell. Inside the house, bells chimed an annoying melody that seemed to go on and on. After several minutes he heard shuffling steps approaching.

"Who is it?"

"Duncan Sinclair. I need to talk to you."

The door opened, revealing the stout, silver-haired figure Duncan remembered. But as his gaze met the old man's, he saw the reason for Neeson's retirement. His blue eyes were all but white. The cataracts were so bad he had to be nearly blind.

And the white cane he held confirmed it.

"Come in, come in," Neeson said, opening the door wider. "You want a drink to warm the ice from your bones?"

"Coffee would be good."

Neeson snorted softly as he slammed the door shut. "I can remember a time when you would have sneered at the mere mention of coffee."

"A few days in jail can alter a wolf's thinking," Duncan said wryly.

The

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