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The pounding noise, darkness, and press of people with all their scents drowned my senses and emotions. Pure sensory overload. There wasn’t room inside my brain for anything other than the club itself.
From our vantage point in a recessed, dimly lit alcove on the second floor, I could see the bar at the far end of the first floor, bathed in blue-purple light, and a sea of glossy-skinned sweaty people pressed to the bar. Scattered around the perimeter of the second-floor VIP area were more alcoves with more groups of people in the shadowy purple-tinted darkness.
The first drink was excellent, and then Sterling took me downstairs into the writhing mass of entirely human bodies.
“I don’t dance,” I told him nervously. Like… at all. Ever. I was lucky to be able to walk up and down stairs in these heels. My idea of dancing at the Meetings had been me sitting and bobbing my head while maybe swinging a paw in a pathetic attempt to keep time.
Sterling tugged me after him.
“You dance?” I asked.
“Does that look like dancing?” He gestured to the writhing mass of flesh below us.
I peered over the railing. “It looks like a mating ball.”
His smile was devilish, and in the purple-and-blue light, dusted with some of the glitter off my skin, he was a creature of sharp edges and ice. He tugged once more, and I went after him.
I had on body glitter and not much else, why not?
In the end I probably left half my glitter on other people, sweated off the rest, but acquired some of theirs. Afterwards I laughed with Sterling as we reclaimed our alcove, heart still beating hard from the thrill. A waiter brought us fresh drinks. Apparently I was going to have to turn twenty-one before anyone bothered to card me.
But the waiter had also brought a third tumbler, this one filled with ice. Sterling downed his whiskey shot and plucked one of the ice cubes from the third tumbler. He lifted my glass from my hand and set it on the table.
With delicate care, he pressed the shard of ice against my lips. A shiver raced over my skin. His wintery eyes followed the track of his fingers as he drew the shard over my chin, under my jaw—pressing up into the soft spot—then down over my throat.
I gasped and swallowed as the ice cube travelled over my windpipe, the freezing cold igniting nerves as it passed, and the shocks bloomed over my shoulders, the chill caressed the hollow of my throat and dusted my nerves with a powdery coating of snow. He paused before continuing to draw the shrinking ice down my chest. Droplets sluiced along my throat and chest, crawling towards my breasts like frigid heralds.
The shard of ice disintegrated, and his frigid fingertips pressed into my skin instead, tracing lower, and lower, until they caressed the skin between my breasts.
My nerves shivered from cold underneath my hot skin, although other nerves begged him to not stop.
But he did stop. A fresh shot of whiskey had already appeared for him, and he passed my glass back to me.
I squirmed a bit as my moist panties rubbed my ladybits, and my ladybits demanded the rough touch of his hand or tongue instead. Though I had the satisfaction of knowing he was very, very uncomfortable. I laughed and closed my eyes, brain drowning in an ocean of booze, noise, and endorphins.
“Sterling?” a female voice asked, that sort of high-toned false surprise that told me the owner had actually spotted Sterling from a distance away and had just taken her time making her way over.
The owner of the voice came over to us, a large smile painted on her face, and a twitch in her walk, and she was beautiful, tall and lithe and with a mane of dark hair and flawless skin and a gorgeous body on full display courtesy of a red sheath dress. Behind her were two almost-as-hot friends for moral support.
“Hey there, stranger.” She smiled at him, nudging his knee with her own. “Long time no see. How have you been?”
Sterling tensed all over, but kept his tone neutral but cordial. “Good.”
She shoved her hand at me instead. “I’m Marissa.”
“Winter.” I replied, taking her hand. She gripped mine, the nails pricking into my skin with a little extra squeeze.
Ooo, the night had just gotten even more interesting. One of Sterling’s old flames had shown up! And she was territorial to boot, like most human women I’d met.
Seemed fair though: they got to choose their partners, but betrayal was common. She-wolves got one partner, and only one, so fidelity was more or less guaranteed, but that didn’t assure happiness. If you weren’t a happy human, you could start over. If you weren’t a happy werewolf, say hello to dysfunctional and toxic. No wash, rinse, repeat for us.
Maybe humans had it better, although they’d probably trade their freedom for soulmates, just like werewolves constantly tried to subvert divine will in favor of a choice we weren’t permitted.
Marissa sat herself down next to Sterling. So close to him she was practically on him, and actually, the way she hooked one ankle around his shin and leaned into him, she managed to arrange herself halfway up his thigh. “So what have you been up to?”
Sterling recoiled as much as he could without him obviously having to give ground. My first clingy ex experience! A passing waiter caught my eye, and I pointed at my drink. He nodded, looked at Marissa, and nodded again. I sipped my existing drink and watched for what would happen next.
“The usual,” Sterling said.
