by Dannika Dark
“It’s a cat. They’ve lived outside for millions of years.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What did I say about wearing your dirty shoes in my house? Take them off.”
Not going to happen, he thought. “Think I’ll keep ’em on. My feet are shy.”
The next thing he knew, she was undoing the laces and tugging off his boot. Something about feeling her removing any article of clothing from his body made him panic; he might end up drilling a hole to China through her couch.
Wheeler bent his leg, trying to pull it away. “Let me sleep. Promise I won’t walk on your couch.”
“Hold still.”
She moved closer, unraveling the lace from his bent leg. He caught a whiff of her perfume and suppressed a groan. Wheeler had experienced all kinds of torture in his life, and yet nothing compared to this. When the second boot came off, she wrapped her hands around his sock-covered foot and he felt himself twitch.
“You have nice feet.” Her fingers pressed into the sole, as if debating on whether or not a massage was in order.
Hell no, a massage was definitely not in order. Wheeler straightened his leg. “Can’t a man sleep in peace?”
Naya appeared in front of him, squatting on the floor. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an antisocial, introverted asshole? I’m trying to be nice and you’re…”
He moved his head more to the side to look at her. “I’m what?”
She craned her neck forward and furrowed her dark eyebrows. “Mr. Grumpy.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Diva.”
Her tongue swept across her lips and the direction of her gaze altered, looking up at his head. It made him self-conscious, but it wasn’t as if he could go anywhere. “I’m going to strip out of these clothes, lather my body with soapy suds, and take a long, hot shower. Why don’t you do me a favor and look for my pussycat?”
“Sure thing.”
Naya stood up, and he listened to her bare feet tread across the plush carpet out of sight. The door squeaked as it moved, but before it closed, she said, “I just had that couch steam cleaned, so I better not find one stain on it.”
When the door shut, Wheeler felt his cheeks heat. Was she making the comment because of his shoes, or did she know?
He glanced over his shoulder and everything looked okay from the back. Damn women—always making elusive remarks that left a man paranoid.
Wheeler flipped over and quickly fixed his pants, feeling like a stupid young wolf before hitting his prime. His phone rang and he pulled it from his back pocket. “Yeah?”
“It’s Austin. How’s it going?”
“Swell.”
“By the sarcasm in your voice, I’m going to assume the opposite. Look, you were the only one available I could trust with this job. I know you don’t like her, so just be thankful I didn’t ask you to stay by her side. Just sit tight in your car and follow close behind. I know it’s boring, but just make sure you let me know if you see anyone acting suspiciously. Especially if you sense a Mage.”
“A Mage, huh?” Wheeler washed his hands in the kitchen and then leaned against the counter, drying them with a dish towel. “Want to tell me what all this is about?”
“Did I just hear water running?”
“Car wash,” Wheeler quickly said.
“Right. Well, Naya’s a friend of the family, and she asked for my help. It’s not my business to discuss the details surrounding her request. This is serious, brother. Keep a close eye on anyone around her who looks suspect.”
“She works in a strip club. Everyone surrounding her looks suspect.”
Austin sighed. “Then pay attention to the men who don’t have bulges in their pants. This shouldn’t be for much longer. She should be okay inside her apartment at night, but just stay on her as much as you can.”
Wheeler picked up a potato scrubber shaped like a smiling spud and used it to brush his short beard. “Why couldn’t she just hire a regular bodyguard?”
“She has trust issues, like all women,” Austin said with a chuckle. “It’s not like we need her money, but she’s done a lot to help Lexi over the years. I think it’s time we did her a good turn. I’m only charging her so she doesn’t make this into a habit. By the way, Ben wanted me to let you know he’s gone for the night. He said a big tournament is going on and wanted you to keep your phone on.”
Wheeler set the scrubber down and stewed for a minute. That meant Ben wanted him on standby so he could hit him up for money if he lost his ass in a game. Why couldn’t his pack see what was really going on? As much of a screwup as Ben was, Wheeler couldn’t betray his brother and tell the pack. He felt responsible for Ben, and unlike the rest of the brothers who were spaced apart in years, he’d grown up alongside his twin and they had developed a close bond of loyalty and secrecy. Maybe because they shared the same genes, turning Ben away would be like betraying himself. Wheeler’s love for his twin was unconditional, even though Ben was the reason he’d almost lost his life in the panther pits.
“I’ll call you if I see anything out of the norm,” Wheeler promised. He stroked his chin, thinking about her tires getting slashed, their trip to a body-wax shop, breaking into Delgado’s office, a fistfight with a human at a diner, and then him impaling her sofa cushion with his penis.
No, nothing out of the norm about today. Nothing at all.
***
I sat in my dressing room, chilled by the cool air blowing from the vents. I enjoyed hot weather, and sometimes I thought I might be happier living on a tropical island, basking in the sun. Maybe it had to do with my panther, but it seemed like I was overly sensitive to air-conditioning. The song before my act was still playing, so I waited nervously while the girls finished their dance. The stages were booked except at nine, twelve, and three in the morning. During those hours, one girl got the floor, and it gave others a chance to either enjoy a well-deserved break or earn extra money performing private lap dances.
When I’d left my apartment to head to work, it was with a heavy heart. Misha hadn’t returned, and I worried. Wheeler followed behind me in a separate car, suddenly deciding he needed to keep his distance. I thought about when I’d crouched beside the sofa and looked into his eyes. There was such need there—a craving buried so deep that it made me wonder about his wolf. I didn’t know a man could have naughty eyebrows, but Wheeler had them. Pensive and yet slightly arched, like a man thinking about dismantling my outfit.
“You’re up,” Daphne said, out of breath. She sat next to me on the bench and used a wet towel to wipe her neck and then armpits. “I swear. Dean needs to turn on a little air out there. It’s a full house and the only air circulating in this building is in this room. What’s wrong? You look like a chicken about to take a swim in the deep fryer.”
“I always get jittery when I try a new act,” I said, applying a dusting of body shimmer to my neck and chest.
“Well, that’s an interesting outfit you have on.” Her orange eyebrows arched as she glanced down at my scantily clad body.
“I found a costume shop and did a little work on it with some scissors. You like?”
“You look like a ragamuffin, but if you think the men will go for that kind of thing, then more power to you.”
I smiled and stood up, admiring myself in the mirror. I pulled a lock of hair in front of my face and added extra blush on the contours of my cheeks to look animalistic and hungry. I already had defined cheekbones, so the shadowing drew attention to my face. I’d bought a short dress with jagged edges in brown and black—resembling something a cavewoman would wear. I cut it short, added a giant hole from my navel to my right hip, and ripped one strap away from my shoulder. I looked like a sexy woman in the midst of an escape.
I’d spent the past hour applying my makeup. A little rouge and eye shadow marked my wrist where I planned to cuff myself. The manacle at the end of the chain looked realistic even though it was thick plastic. The large links were dark and rusty looking, and I planned to attach th
em to the pole. I wore heavy liner to draw attention to my dark brown eyes.
“What exactly are you scheming, missy?” Daphne gave me a serious once-over as she stood up. “You do realize you look like a dirty slave?”
“Exactly,” I purred, swinging the chain. “These men have primal instincts I’m about to tap into. Human men want to be taken care of, but this fantasy plays into the Breed mind.” I wrapped the chain around the back of her neck, pulling her close. “And you know how our men love being heroes. The Shifters and Chitahs won’t know what hit them when they see a helpless woman in need of their protection.”
Her eyes widened. “Girl, you might start a war in there.”
“Let’s just say I’m taking no prisoners.” I winked and let the chain fall free from her neck. “I’m about to prove why you should stop learning all your tricks from those human clubs.”
I’d given all my plans to our stagehand earlier, and he’d volunteered to help with the effects behind the curtain at the back of the stage. Manny designed props, adjusted the lighting, cleaned the stage, and helped repair torn costumes. One of the girls had told me he was a Relic born without his parents’ knowledge having been passed on to him—a defect. Relics made careers from the knowledge their ancestors genetically passed down, making them experts in certain fields. Without that knowledge, they were nothing but a human with a slight chance of being able to have Relic children who might or might not inherit the wisdom that had skipped their parent.
I walked onstage, shrouded in darkness. Customers were happily getting their drinks refilled by beautiful women. I searched the room, looking for Wheeler. When I caught sight of him in the back, twirling a silver butterfly knife, I actually blew out a breath. He had his eyes on the crowd, watching every man sitting alone or who walked past him.
The music changed over and a steady beat and the sound of drums filled the room. I’d selected a rhythmic song that didn’t have the distraction of lyrics, and if sex could be translated to music, this song would have been it.
I clamped the cuff around the pole and crouched down on my side. It wasn’t until the spotlight showered me that the men turned their attention my way.
And boy, did they! I peered through my hair and saw the tip rail fill up. It wasn’t the kind of routine where I collected the money by hand or in the strap of my thong. Breed bars had their own system, and during the main attraction, the stage bouncers set my boxes at the designated areas on the stage for tipping. After the show, I’d walk around and find out who really enjoyed my performance… and how much.
Visual effects appeared on the thin blue curtain behind me where Manny had adjusted the lights along with props. It looked like ripples of midnight blue bringing to life a silhouette of twisted tree limbs. I rose to my hands and knees, looking around as if something were hunting me.
A couple of men gripped the bar around the stage, leaning forward, eyes wide, enthralled by the action unfolding.
Then I slowly tugged at the chain attached from my wrist to the pole. Unable to free myself, I walked around the pole and leapt up, spinning in an acrobatic move with my arm outstretched.
When the beat dropped, I collapsed to the floor. A man gasped and lurched to his feet, thinking I had fallen by accident. I glanced over my shoulder with a panicked expression, every move calculated and dramatic. As I did this, I stood up and pulled at the chain, spinning under it and combining dance moves with an artistic interpretation of a woman in peril. My unkempt hair caressed my body with each sultry turn.
I climbed the pole in search of escape, turning upside down and locking my long legs. Once I had a good grip with my hands, I slowly spread my legs and then swung around, twirling off the pole. The beat sounded like native drums, and I frantically gathered up the chain as the shadows shifted and changed on the curtain.
A predator moved into sight—the silhouette of a black panther.
I looked upon the men with smoldering eyes, drawing them in. The next thing I knew, men were getting out of their chairs to put money in my boxes but also to inch closer to the stage. The bouncers continued pushing them back to their seats, but the men were riveted.
A Chitah’s fangs punched out—top and bottom—and a bouncer forced him away from the stage before he flipped his switch and went primal. Luckily, his eyes were still golden. I paid closer attention to how the crowd was responding since I’d never performed this act before and didn’t want to incite a riot.
I fell to my knees and arched my back, letting the chain slip between my legs. The beat intensified and I pulled myself up, swinging hard around the pole. After the music reached a crescendo, it fell quiet. Just long enough that a growl ripped through the air and sent a chill up my spine. It was just sound effects, but maybe the intense reaction from the crowd had me on edge. When I sexily approached them, the lights shut out and the panther snarled.
A dim, lustrous red light enveloped me—a foreboding symbol of blood and death. I slid along the polished floor, turning and struggling against an invisible force.
All I could see were bills flying into my boxes and onto the stage. The men were entranced, and I felt like a woman reborn. I’d finally broken away from my gimmicky acts and struck a chord with the audience in a completely artistic way.
My heart raced when I saw a man in black approaching me from offstage wearing a ski mask that only revealed his eyes and mouth. I furrowed my brows. As the man neared, my heart galloped in my chest when I stared into a set of blue eyes.
Panic set in. The beat intensified, the crowd held their breath, and I fumbled with the chain in a feeble attempt to free my hand. It was only plastic—but hard plastic, and there was a trick to getting the shackle undone.
The men in the audience thought it was part of the act. I wanted to yell for help, but they wouldn’t believe me, or even worse, it could start a riot and erupt in a fight. I swallowed hard and backed up toward the pole.
“Wheeler?” I called out, looking toward the back of the room. Surely this man wouldn’t do anything stupid in front of all these people. I didn’t see Wheeler, and that’s when my panic ripened into a dark emotion.
I grabbed the pole with both hands and kicked him in the chest. The men cheered, some of them slapping their hands on the tables. Whether or not this was a joke, I wasn’t taking any chances.
The masked man stood up and rushed me. The next thing I knew, he gripped my hair so hard that I screamed. A strobe flickered in front of my eyes from a slender instrument…
And my panther emerged.
Chapter 9
I clenched my teeth around something hard and splintery. As I blinked a few times, I realized I was coming out of a shift. I was also chewing on a wooden leg that belonged to a coffee table. I scooted back and picked a wood chip out of my mouth.
Where am I? The last thing I remembered was dancing… and a man forcing me to shift. Oh my God, the memories were rushing back. When the crowd laid eyes on my panther, it was pandemonium. Thankfully, the shackle around her paw had given the customers enough time to escape. She’d fled the stage, panicked by the movement and shouting. I’d struggled to regain control but had lost the battle.
I wiped my mouth and quickly sat up, my hands trembling. The first thing I noticed was the smell. Fresh varnish mixed with pine. The floors and walls were all wood, and there were no windows. A giant flat-screen television hung on the wall ahead of me, behind me was a brown sofa. Beyond the sofa was a bed in what looked like an extension of the room.
“Hello?”
My legs felt like bags of cement as I struggled to stand. I smacked my lips when a specific food craving suddenly ripped through me, creating a gnawing hunger in the pit of my stomach.
“Clothes would be nice,” I murmured, glancing around in search for something to cover up with. I snatched the green chenille throw from the back of the couch and wrapped it around me.
In the left-hand corner of the room were two doors. The right door led to a tiny bathroom with a standing
shower, toilet, and a vintage pedestal sink. Someone had locked the other door from the outside.
I gave the room another glance. To the right of the television was a kitchenette. Scenic paintings decorated the room with images of grassy meadows, a winding river that stretched toward a mountain, and two wolves standing in front of white birch trees. The landscapes of nature compensated for the absence of windows. No overhead light or fan, just a couple of brown lamps with dingy shades.
“Someone answer me!” I pounded my fist against the door, dizzy with fear and anger. The latter emotion had won the battle. “Open the motherfucking—”
I gasped when the door suddenly swung inward.
“That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you,” Wheeler said, leaning on the doorjamb.
I didn’t know whether to slap or kiss him. Maybe both. “Where am I?”
“The heat house.”
“The what house?”
Then it clicked. He meant the small house Lexi had mentioned—the one that gave the girls a private place to let their hormones fly, or at the very least, a room separate from the house for the couples to unleash their passion.
“You’re staying here the night,” he said matter-of-factly.
“But Misha—”
“That’s not an offer, Naya. Packmaster’s orders.”
I jutted my hip out. “Well, he’s not my Packmaster. What happened? Did I hurt anyone?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Did you catch the man who attacked me?”
Wheeler stepped forward. “Someone attacked you?”
“Where were you!” I screamed. Accused. Blamed. My lip quivered, not afraid of what could have happened to me, but what could have happened to others because of me.
He gripped my shoulders. “Chill and get some sleep. You’re just wired up because of the shift.”
I wriggled free of his grasp. Wheeler stroked the bristly hair on his chin, and the way he looked at me was different—not like before. Not the same. My skin crawled as if I’d been exposed to the core and he’d seen every bit of what I’d been hiding from everyone my entire life.