Circle of Desire

Chapter Two

Ethan impatiently thrust the paramedic's hand away.

"Enough, already. The cut is not that bad."

"Sir, the wound needs stitches — " "It's stopped bleeding, hasn't it?"

"Yes, but there's still the possibility of concussion — " If the ache in his head was anything to go by, it was more than a possibility. But right now, he had no intention of going anywhere — as much as the paramedics and the captain might wish it. "I haven't got a concussion, and I have no desire to go to the hospital."

"Sir — " "Goddamn it, Morgan." The second voice rose out of the night, cutting through the paramedic's words like a foghorn. "I thought I told you to keep away from this investigation."

The captain huffed to a stop three feet away, nose and cheeks beacon bright in the stark light coming from the ambulance's interior. Ethan knew the cause was not so much the cold as blood pressure. This case would surely kill Benton if they didn't solve it soon.

"You didn't tell me to keep away from the warehouse," he said with a calm he certainly didn't feel. "Not my fault one of the suspects decided to head my way."

"I told you to stay completely away. That means out of the whole damn area."

Benton dragged a stick of gum from his pocket and undid the silvery wrapper. He offered it to Ethan, who shook his head. The captain had given up smoking two months before in an effort to save some money more than save his health, but he now appeared to be spending more on gum than he ever had on cigarettes. And his health hadn't improved — although this case certainly wasn't helping anyone's physical or mental state.

"Just what the hell happened in that warehouse?"

Ethan shrugged. "As I told Mark, I heard the man and woman enter the building. I wasn't sure who they were or what they were doing, so I waited. When the man attacked the woman, I intervened, but the woman somehow managed to knock me unconscious. You know the rest."

Benton grunted. "Was there anyone else in the warehouse other than those two?"

"No." Though he'd certainly had a sense of something else, something he couldn't exactly define. "Why?"

"Because the woman claims there was."

"From what I saw, that woman isn't exactly sane."

Refusing to run after he'd pulled that man off her, then knocking him unconscious? What sort of stupidity was that?

Benton snorted. "Ain't that the truth. She and her grandmother are the oddest pair you're ever likely to meet."

And meeting them was next on his priority list — as much as the captain was likely to disapprove. He crossed his arms. "They're certainly not cops, so why the hell are they on this investigation?"

"Pressure from higher up."Benton shrugged. "I'm not happy about it, but I've got no choice. And they did save the kid tonight. You have to give them that."

Yeah, but there was no guarantee tonight was connected to the other kidnappings… murders. The word sat like a dead weight in his gut. He rubbed a hand across his jaw and caught a scent that reminded him of summer rain. The woman. Even though he'd barely touched her, her fragrance branded his skin. His pulse quickened and lust rose, as hot as anger.

He took a deep breath, battling for control. Damn the moon's rising. It couldn't have come at a worse time.

"Are they FBI?" He wouldn't have thought so — not with the way the woman had acted in the warehouse.

"No, they're psychics. Working for an organization known as the Damask Circle ."

"Psychics?"Scorn edged his words. Magic mumbo jumbo was not what this case needed right now. "The press are having a field day already. What are they going to do if they discover we've resorted to psychics?"

The captain sighed. "I know. But as I said, I haven't a choice on this one. Besides, I'll use whatever — and whomever — I can to stop the bastard doing this."

Amen to that. Ethan grabbed his jacket and stood up.

"You mind if I go talk with Mark for a few minutes?"

"Like it's going to make any difference if I say no."Benton unwrapped another stick of gum and shoved it in his mouth. "But a few minutes is all you're getting, then I want your ass out of here. As of tonight, you're on leave."

This time it was anger that rose in a red tide. He struggled to keep his voice calm as he said, "Captain, you know I can't — " "You're too involved, Morgan."

Of course he was too involved — his goddamn niece was one of the missing kids. He flexed his fingers and took a deep breath. Anger wouldn't help his cause. It would only confirm the captain's opinion that he couldn't keep a clear mind on this one. "I know this case better than anyone.

And I've a better nose for hunting out killers than anyone else in the squad." Which was certainly more truth than the captain would ever know.

"I'm not denying either of those facts."Benton paused, beady eyes narrowing. "When was the last time you slept properly?"

Ethan didn't answer. Didn't need to.

"And when was the last time you ate a decent meal?"

"Cap, they have nothing to do with my ability — " "They have everything to do with it. You're running on anger, Morgan, nothing else. God, man, you look like shit."

Wasn't that the truth. But the cause wasn't just lack of sleep or food or his missing niece. It was the heat of the moon pounding through his blood.

"Your few minutes are ticking by, Morgan. Move it."

He put on his jacket and pushed past the paramedic and captain.

"Morgan?"

He hesitated and looked over his shoulder.

"Leave. No choice. I catch your ass in the area again, and it'll be locked up until this thing is over."

Ethan's smile was grim. With the full moon rising, there wasn't a prison cell in the country that could hold him.

"Sure, Cap."

The moon caressed his shoulders as he walked away, a touch that burned clear through to his soul. The darkness stirred deep within, and hunger boiled through his veins.

He thrust clenched hands into his jacket pocket and tried to ignore the moon-spun fever. He didn't have time to quench physical needs right now. Not when every minute that passed brought the reality of Janie's death one step closer.

Not when the fiends behind these kidnappings were so close he could almost smell them.

He walked into the warehouse and made his way down the stairs. Floodlights had been brought in an hour ago, and the shadows had long fled. Oddly enough, the room looked smaller than it had when encased in darkness.

Forensics methodically searched for the smallest of clues, but he doubted they'd find anything beyond the oddly human ash impression.

Mark Baker, his friend and partner of the last three years, squatted near the dark stain on the concrete floor. Ethan stopped next to him.

"They figured out what that is yet?"

"Human, if the small bits of bone they've found are anything to go by." Mark's voice was grim.

"A fire hot enough to do this to a human would have killed me."

"Yeah. And made a mess of the warehouse, too." Mark looked up. "By your reckoning, you were only unconscious for three or four minutes. Not enough time for this to happen."

"No." But the fact was, it had. "You questioned the woman?"

"Katherine Tanner? Yeah. She's not saying much, but I have a feeling she knows exactly what went on here."

Her name was Katherine? Odd. He'd expected something more… feisty. "Is Benton taking her downtown for questioning?"

"Nah. Apparently the pair of them have friends in high places, and he's walking on eggshells around them.

Besides, until we know for sure what this is and how long it's been here, what the hell are we going to question them about?"

They could try asking just what in hell it was before it burned. He'd hit the thing with every ounce of strength he'd had. No human could have stood up to those blows.

He knew that for a fact.

"Nothing else in the warehouse?"

His effort to keep his voice carefully neutral failed, and Mark's expression became sympathetic.

"No," he said softly. "Nothing at all."

Ethan nodded. At least he could hold onto hope just that little bit longer — however false he knew it to be.

"The two women still here?"

"Benton let them go about half an hour ago."

"We know where they're staying?"

Mark considered him. "Benton told you to keep away from this case."

"Would you?"

"I guess not." He rose. "They're at the Motel Six down Beach Road ."

"Thanks."

Mark nodded. "I'm guessing you want me to keep you updated on anything that happens?"

"You said it." He hesitated. "As of tonight, I'm on leave.

Don't call me from the office."

"Dumb, I'm not." He looked past Ethan. "Benton's headed this way."

"Which means my time here is up. Keep in touch, partner."

"I will if you do."

Ethan swung around and raised his hands. "I'm outta here, Captain."

"Good. Go home and rest, Morgan. Let us catch this bastard."

He nodded and looked at Mark. "I'll see you Saturday."

"Morgan, I'm warning you — " "It's my wife's birthday," Mark cut in. "No business allowed."

Benton's expression suggested he didn't believe it for a second. "Leave," he said, stabbing a finger in Ethan's direction. "Go. Now."

He went.

Kat flopped onto the sofa and placed the aromatic herbal pack on her forehead. Though the trembling had eased, every muscle still felt weak, and her head boomed. Right now, she needed sleep, she needed coffee and she needed chocolate — and she was only likely to get one of those in the near future.

A soft sigh filled the silence. She cranked open an eye and looked across the room. Her grandmother sat at the laminate table, chin resting on palms as she stared at the small crystal ball in front of her.

"No luck?"

"Not a damn thing." Gwen leaned back and rubbed her forehead. Moonlight danced across the multicoloured stones decorating her gnarled fingers.

"It's been a long night. Maybe after a break you'll get something."

"Maybe." She met Kat's gaze and smiled. "I did see one thing."

She'd seen that smile before, and it usually meant trouble headed her way. Wariness edged her voice as she said, "What?"

"Your werewolf is on the way here."

Kat frowned at her word choice. "Werewolf?"

"The man you met in the warehouse."

"He's a werewolf?" It would certainly explain the anger she'd sensed in him. And her own, somewhat surprising, attraction to a man she couldn't even see. Werewolves were sexually alluring when the full moon was rising. "So why didn't I sense that? I thought he was a shifter."

"He is."

"Well, I suppose if you're going to get technical — " Gwen laughed softly. "No, I mean there're two types — those who are born and those who are bitten."

She raised her eyebrows. "Really? I didn't know." Mainly because they'd never actually come across any werewolves in their travels for the Circle. A couple of wolf shifters was as close as they'd ever gotten.

"Those who are bitten are the ones responsible for all the bad press werewolves get." Gwen rose, her movements stiff as she hobbled over to the kettle. "They're usually bitten well after puberty and haven't the experience or knowledge to control the sexual and emotional turmoil the rising moon causes. And of course, the physical change makes most quite mad."

"And those that are born?"

Gwen filled the kettle and plugged it in, then grabbed three cups and spooned instant coffee into them. "The werewolf born can generally control the worst of his urges. And they can generally shift shape any time they want."

"Does the moon still force the change?"

"Always. That's part of the legacy that can never be escaped."

Like the weakness and headaches she got after using her abilities to the fullest. Like the arthritis ravaging her grandmother's body. "So why is he coming here?"

"He's one of the cops on the special task force. And his niece is one of the missing kids."

"Oh, great." A werewolf seeking vengeance was not what they needed to deal with right now. The kettle's shrill whistle sounded. She put the herbal pack on the coffee table and swung off the sofa. "And you didn't answer my original question."

"No." Gwen hesitated. "He comes here because he thinks we know more than what we are saying — " "Which we do." She grabbed the kettle and poured the water into the three cups. "Does he take milk?"

Her grandmother shook her head. "Three sugars."

"Black syrup. Yuck."

Gwen smiled and continued, "And because he's desperate for a miracle and willing to chase the most remote lead."

She nodded. Had their positions been reversed, she'd be doing the same thing. "So, what's the plan?"

"I think we need to keep your wolf on a very tight leash."

"He's not my anything, so quit it." She stirred some sugar into the second coffee then handed it to her grandmother.

"You don't have to try to set me up with every eligible male that comes within sniffing distance."

"Someone has to. You're doing a somewhat foul job of it yourself."

Kat rolled her eyes. "I thought gray-haired grannies were supposed to warn their granddaughters against the evils of casual sex, not sit down and plot ways of getting them into the sack with some guy."

"My dear, you're so much easier to deal with when you've been laid."

"Gran!"

Gwen's green eyes twinkled. "Well, it's the truth, isn't it?"

"Maybe," she muttered. A good night of sex certainly did have a way of easing tension — but she didn't have the time for that sort of thing. Not with this case.

"My dear, there's always time if you use your imagination." She patted Kat's arm then hobbled over to the sofa.

Kat picked up the two remaining coffees and followed.

"What do you mean by a tight leash?"

"Just that." Gwen eased her feet onto the coffee table and sighed. "Would you mind massaging my feet later?

They're aching something fierce."

Kat nodded and placed one coffee cup on the table. The other she held on to as she walked to the door. "We can hardly hog-tie him and keep him captive."

"We won't have to. Trust your grandmother and open the door."

She did. "Welcome, detec — " The words died, snatched away by the potency of the man approaching. In some ways, he was nothing out of the ordinary — dark hair, nut-brown eyes, a determined chin that desperately needed a razor. He wore a black leather jacket that strained across his shoulders, a white shirt pulled over the top of faded denims and black boots.

An everyday man. Except on this man, everyday was not only powerful but sexy as hell.

"Coffee?" She inanely offered him the cup.

One dark eyebrow rose as his gaze rolled languidly down her body. It was a touch that wasn't a touch, and yet one that sent lust winging through every fibre of her being.

Though she wore an old T-shirt that exposed far too much of her midriff and loose sweat pants, the intensity of his gaze suggested she might well have been standing there naked. His desire burned her. Made her tremble. Ache.

"Thank you."

He wrapped a hand around the cup, and his fingers briefly caressed hers. Energy jolted her spine. Knowing werewolves were sexually magnetic during the rising of the full moon and actually coming under the effects of one were two entirely different things. She resisted the urge to mop her brow, and stepped back.

"Come in."

"Thanks."

He moved past, and she caught a whiff of his after-shave.

It was an odd mix — the rich aroma of freshly cut wood combined with the tang of earthy spices.

"Evening, Detective Morgan." Amusement touched her grandmother's voice. "Nice of you to finally drop by and say hello."

"You were expecting me?"

"You seem surprised."

"A little." He folded onto the chair opposite Gwen.

"Though Benton told me you were both psychics."

Kat sat crossed-legged on the floor and grabbed her coffee. "But you didn't believe him." It was a statement rather than a question. One that had echoed through their entire lives.

His gaze met hers. There was nothing to see in those rich depths now. No emotion, no heat. What had passed between them at the door had been carefully controlled and thrust away.

"I had no reason to. I still don't."

A werewolf who didn't believe in the supernatural.

Interesting. She shared a glance with her grandmother, then said, "So what did you come here for?"

"To satisfy curiosity." He took a sip of his coffee.

"Perfect. Thanks."

Kat ducked her head to hide her smile. He might not believe, but he wasn't about to query. Not when he wanted help.

It was Gwen who continued. "Ask your questions, werewolf. It's been a long night, and we both need to rest."

A raised eyebrow was the only reaction Gwen got to her calling him a werewolf. Maybe he thought ignoring the statement was better than confirming what he was. "You found the body of the second victim — how?"

His tone was deliberate. Controlled. Looking at him you'd never guess his niece was one of the missing kids.

Still, you didn't have to be psychic to see where this line of questioning would lead. She glanced at her grandmother. Usually Gwen didn't go too in-depth with details, but she had an odd feeling it would be different with the werewolf.

"Scrying," Gwen answered.

"Which is?"

"You want the short form or the proper explanation?"

He hesitated. "Proper."

"Then it's a type of divination in which a trance is induced that allows the practitioner to see events or people — be they past, present or future. My preferred method is via a crystal ball, but any polished surface will do in an emergency."

"Then you've tried finding the other victims?"

Absolutely nothing showed in his face. But then, he was a cop, long schooled in the art of questioning without revealing. And despite the earlier instances of sensing his emotions, right now Kat was getting zip.

"Yes. But it's not something you can turn on and off. It often takes time."

"Time those children might not have."

"We know that, Detective."

He nodded. "Does talking to the victims' families help any?"

"No. It usually only muddies the psychic waters." Gwen hesitated. "You do know the chances of your niece still being alive are small, don't you?"

He didn't react, not physically. Yet his anger stepped into the room, became a presence that was almost overwhelming. "Until I see her body, I won't give up hope."

"That is as it should be."

"So will you try to find her? Now?"

Gwen pursed her lips. "I can't guarantee — " "I'm asking you to try, not guarantee."

His voice was brusque, harsh. A man not used to asking for anything.

Gwen considered him for a long moment, then nodded.

"Kat, get the crystal."

"Gran, you need to rest — " "I feel the need to do this. Get the crystal for me."

Kat shot an annoyed look the detective's way but he absorbed it without impact. She climbed to her feet and retrieved the small ball from the table, handing it carefully to her grandmother.

Gwen eased her feet off the coffee table then carefully placed the crystal on it. She rolled her neck, stretched gnarled fingers until they cracked, then began to stare at the glittering surface of the ball. After a few moments, her gaze became glassy and unfocused. A sure sign that this time it was working.

Kat walked over to the sink, grabbed a glass of water and a couple of pain killers, then sat back down. There was nothing to do now but wait.

The detective made no noise, no move, his expression intense as he watched Gwen. He might not believe in psychics and witchcraft, but right now he was obviously desperate and willing to go to any lengths. Even if it meant relying on the unbelievable.

Kat finished her coffee and reached for the herbal pack, then lay back on the floor and placed it over her forehead.

The detective's gaze swept her, something she felt rather than saw. Desire stirred deep inside. Gran was right — it had been far too long since she'd been with a man. And self administering to ease the ache was certainly a colourless substitute.

But by the same token, casual sex had lost its allure. She wanted something more. Something deeper. Something that just couldn't work with what she did.

Lord, why did this man have to be a werewolf in the midst of moon fever? She'd been doing all right until he came along to remind her she had needs just like everyone else.

Time ticked by. The sofa creaked as the detective leaned back. His gaze was a heated touch that began to sweep her more often. Hunger stirred between them, though it was less of a potent force than what she'd faced at the door. He could obviously control it better at some times than others, and she wondered what the deciding factor was.

Inactivity, perhaps? Or the touch of the moon itself?

Gwen sighed. Kat sat up, catching the pack as it fell. Her grandmother's face was ashen, her breathing shallow. Kat scrambled to her feet and grabbed the water and pain killers.

"Here, take these."

She placed the tablets in her grandmother's mouth, then held the glass while she drank. Gwen's fingers were locked in a hooked position, and she wouldn't be able to hold anything until the rigidness had eased. It could take minutes, or it could take hours.

Gwen's gaze met Kat's. The depth of despair and horror so evident in those green depths told Kat it was another bad one. She swallowed heavily, not sure she could stand it again so soon. She didn't have the strength — physically or mentally.

"Where?" she whispered.

"Warehouse on Tenth Avenue . First floor."

Kat rose, grabbed her coat and keys, then finally looked at the detective. His face was expressionless, but his shoulders were taut, an indication of the tension she could feel.

"You coming?"

"Yes." His gaze flicked to Gwen. "Is it her?"

Gwen sighed. "I don't know."

He rose. "I hope to God it's not."

So did Kat. Because if the violence so evident in his aura was anything to go by, they didn't want to be around him when her body was discovered. She slipped on some shoes then headed out the door.

"Detective?" Gwen called.

They both paused and looked back.

"Be prepared, because what you're about to find will not be pleasant."

"I'm a cop. I've seen humanity at its worst." His voice held an edge that was both anger and resignation.

"But humanity has nothing to do with what is happening here." Gwen's gaze flicked to Kat. "Don't go too deep.

Even surface level readings will be bad."

Kat swallowed back bile. It had been bad enough last time. What the hell had the soul sucker done now?