“It’s a short jump from mayor to governor,” the satyr cut in, his wide, pink mouth curved in a sly smile. “Especially these days, especially with a recognizable name. A name in a state with a heavy were population. Once you open that door, the sky’s the limit. Governor. Attorney General, perhaps?
Grayson does look so good on camera. Surgeon General for the trifecta . . . well, I suppose Trapp spoiled that part of the plan, but maybe the young one, pre-med aspirations, from what I hear. Still, it’s paving the road up for the next generation. If anyone actually thinks Jack has been resting on his laurels all these years, they’ve not been paying attention.”
The others murmured their agreement, and she heated, his words leaving her with an odd sense of déjà vu and an uncomfortable twist in her stomach. She didn’t belong with this well-heeled crowd any more than this satyr did, but she had discovered that she was able to completely disappear amongst them. Everyone in their whole little far-too-impressed-with-itself town whispered and speculated over the werewolf orgies, as she’d heard the parties called, but none of them would ever cop to having attended, even if they were permanent names on the guestlist. No one knew who she was, why she was there, who she might have known — and more importantly, no one cared. The masks gave each guest the guise of invisibility . . . invisible to everyone but the smirking satyr. Tris Tatterswain saw everything, paid attention to every thing, and the weight of his all-seeing eyes chafed at her skin like a rasp of sandpaper.
“How do you keep getting in, Tris? Who invited you? This is a wolven holiday, are you aware?”
“Are you under the impression there weren’t satyrs at the first celebration?” he shot back without hesitation. “Werewolves might have founded Rome, sweetie, but they didn’t build an empire alone.
And I’m fairly certain I was invited by the same person who invited you.”
“Cambric Creek may be small, but the collective voice of our community shouldn’t be discounted against a place like Bridgeton,” burst in a churlish-voiced man on the other side of the group, clearly impatient with the current conversation taking place above his understanding.
Vanessa held the satyr’s eye for an interminable moment as the conversation continued around them, Tris’s shrewd smile never slipping.
“How dull,” she interrupted again. “You should have met up and got this out of your systems before tonight. We’re supposed to be celebrating the holiday, not having the same boring conversation every three feet.” Gossip wasn’t what this night was about, after all.
“I’m with you.” The voice at her elbow belonged to a man she’d not noticed edging into the group, but once her nose caught his scent, she wondered how she’d been able to focus on anything else.
Her wolf rippled beneath her skin, too close to the full moon to not react to the smell of such virility, and as she turned, Vanessa worried she might rock off her heels. He towered over her, and his gleaming white smile was matched only by the sparkle in his bright blue eyes, beaming down at her.
Honey-blonde hair, tanned skin . . . he looked as if he’d just stepped off the pages of a yachting advertisement, and deep inside, her wolf whimpered. Down, girl.
“Who gives a shit about politics on a night like this? That’s not why we’re here. At least,” he lowered himself to brush his lips against her ear, “that’s not why I’m here.”
It was her wolf’s fault, Vanessa reminded herself. The hedonism of the holiday, coupled with the fact that the full moon was less than two days away . . . it was embarrassing to admit how desperate she was to be fucked, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation. Every twenty-eight days, it was the same, a superficial heat brought on by her birth control. She’d be crawling out of her skin in the days leading up to the moon, hornier than should have been possible, and it usually didn’t abate until after the moon had passed. Her wolf was just as frenzied, just as desperate to be fucked, just as whiny and needy as she was on two legs, and every month ended the same way — she’d not be happy until she’d taken a thick cock and an even thicker knot, her womb flooded, left a gasping, panting, cum-and-sweat covered mess in the dirt — but at least it ended.
“That’s definitely not why I’m here . . . but my dance card might be full,” she laughed, almost able to hear the way his wolf growled at her own. Skating her nails down the front of his dress shirt, she felt the hard plane of his abdomen, the way his stomach muscles jumped beneath her hand. His cock was already swollen as she traced its shape, pressed to the front of his trousers, giving the tensity of the zipper a run for its money as he hardened. “I wonder how much he wants to come out to play?”
she mused, giving him a final squeeze before releasing. “But I guess it depends . . .” He leaned down once more, nearly vibrating in eagerness, until she could dart her tongue out and lick the shell of his ear, her wolf begging to lick something else. “How fast are you?” “The chase is half the fun, you know.” she laughed again at his scowl, shrugging before depositing her second champagne flute on a passing tray.
Vanessa felt eyes on her back as she moved on from the group, pushing through the crowd, stopping to grope several strangers and be groped in turn, one twisting her nipple until she cried out, stumbling, but she avoided turning to find the source of observation. She didn’t need to turn and wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. She knew what the weight of his eyes felt like, had felt them on her
more times than she could count — across meeting rooms and courtrooms, through the glass wall that had separated them, across hotel lobbies and restaurant dining rooms, and the long, ridiculously extravagant backyard of his suburban home. She didn’t need to turn, for she knew he was watching, and that was enough.
She could pick out the event’s seat-fillers with relative ease as she crossed the ballroom, for every party had them — giggling girls, humans mostly, with influencer-perfect hair and cleavage up to their chins. They came from all over, the plus ones of invited guests or pleading for entrance at the doors; all eager to say they’d actually gotten in, to go back to their universities and jobs, boasting to their friends that they’d fucked a werewolf. Their presence had irritated her in the beginning, but now she appreciated their role and the function they served. They’d all be cruising for the party’s host upon entry, realizing in short order that their aspirations were too lofty and that beggars couldn’t be choosers, giving the other attendees something to chase for the night. We all have our roles to play.
After all, she hadn’t been lying to the model-handsome stranger — the chase was the fun part. If he wanted to play, he needed to run.
Helping herself to another champagne flute, she moved forward, drawn in like a homing beacon by the man leaning against the far wall of the gilded ballroom, smirking at his leer as she approached.
There was no hiding what they were, not on this night, nor what they’d all come for.
“I could smell your cunt from across the room,” the stranger hissed against her hair as she leaned into him, not even bothering with hellos. “You’re dripping already, and we haven’t even gotten started. Do you want to take my knot, little girl?”
She didn’t waste time with the pretense of wandering down this one’s body, gripping the meat of his cock with her whole hand, squeezing until he grunted. He was a wolf, but she was as well, and there would be no seat filler simpering from her, no wide eyes or innocent giggles.
“Just like that,” the man groaned, shifting his pelvis until she could feel the flare of his cockhead, groaning when her hand squeezed again. “I want you to choke on it. Do you want to get down on your knees for me?”
