A part of her wanted to protest, but it felt oddly pleasant. His fingertips were warm, gentle against her skin. “Do you need anything?”
“Water, please,” she murmured.
Richard lifted a tall glass of water from the nearby table. Sliding a hand beneath her neck, he lifted her head and held the rim of the glass to her lips. Cool water trickled into her mouth, down her throat.
When she’d finished drinking, he carefully let her head slide back to the pillow. “Rest,” he urged.
Her eyes felt heavy, and the bed was soft and warm. She tried to hold her eyes open, but the lids kept drooping, until at last, she surrendered and let herself sink once again into sleep.
———
Richard sat beside the bed, gazing down into Jessica’s sleeping face. He touched it lightly, fingertips tracing the soft curve of her cheek. Her eyes were closed, the lashes dark crescents on her pale cheeks, her soft, full lips parted slightly. He tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear, then forced himself to pull his hand back.
He had wanted her for so long. To have her here now, so vulnerable, in his own bed, was an exercise in resisting temptation. Everything inside him burned with the need for her.
Involuntarily, his eyes wandered down the length of her body, over her full breasts, straining slightly against the blouse with each breath, down the length of her slim waist, to the juncture between her legs, outlined by tight denim. He wanted to unbutton those jeans, to slide them off her slim, smooth legs. He wanted to possess all the secrets of her body.
With all his willpower, he forced himself to turn away. He rose from his chair and walked out of the room, but the memory of her face and body lingered in his mind.
Whoever had hurt her, he would see him dead.
———
Jessica woke slowly. Her eyes opened, and she looked around the unfamiliar bedroom with growing alarm. For a moment, she had no memory of where she was or how she had gotten there. Her mind was a frightening blank. Then the incidents of last night rushed back. She exhaled a soft, shuddering breath and closed her eyes.
The spell had been removed. If she focused, now, she should be able to remember. She had wanted for so long to remember, to reclaim the piece of her mind that her attacker had stolen from her. But now, she found, she was afraid. Whatever had happened to her that night, it had been horrible. She was sure of that. Remembering it would be painful. But it wasn’t in her nature to hide from anything for long.
She took a deep breath, remembering….
———
Jessica stared into her bathroom mirror as she applied blood-red lipstick to her mouth and pressed her lips together. That done, she opened her contact lens container and removed one of the tiny plastic circles. Her vision was fine. She needed the contact lenses in order to hide what she truly was. Naturally, her eyes were a pale amber gold. Not strange enough to immediately give away her nature, but the color was rare enough among humans that it attracted too much attention. It made people remember her.
She applied the contacts, blinking several times, and when she looked into the mirror again her eyes were an ordinary, human brown.
Of course, where she was going, such disguises didn’t matter, but there was always the chance that she might encounter humans on the way there. Always better to be cautious.
There were too many humans who didn’t like her kind.
Her heart beat quickly, and there was a ball of tension in her stomach. She would have preferred not to leave her apartment tonight, but she had no choice. She was performing at the Cat’s Cradle. She would only have to hope she didn’t run into Victor. Among the shape-shifting clans, word traveled quickly. By now, he surely knew it was she who had killed his brother. Words like ‘self-defense’ didn’t make any difference to a man like Victor.
Jessica took a deep breath and smoothed her sleek, scarlet dress. Only then did it occur to her that wearing a blood-colored dress was, perhaps, not the best choice, but it was too late for her to change. A glance at the bathroom clock told her she had to be at the Cradle in half an hour. She slipped into the black, snug-fitting leather boots waiting for her outside the bathroom door and laced them up. Grabbing her purse and umbrella, she left the apartment.
It was raining outside, and the night smelled fresh and cold. The moon and stars were hidden by clouds. Raindrops rattled on the top of her umbrella as she walked across the lot to her car and got in.
As she drove, she stared silently through the windshield, listening to the hypnotic swish-
swish of the wipers. In the rain, the city was a wash of gray, scattered with blurry spots of light. Ahead, she saw the club’s neon sign, the words Cat’s Cradle splashed across the darkness in bright blue cursive. Beneath the sign was a black door, the door to the city’s most private, exclusive club, a club with a carefully selected membership. It was a place where humans and shape-shifters could mingle, where ordinary people could enjoy the spectacle of transformation and magic. It was also one of the few places where a shifter like her could find permanent employment. Most employers quickly found an excuse to get rid of her once they learned her true nature.
She pulled into the private lot behind the club, got out of the car and circled around to the front entrance. She knocked, and the door opened.
The man who greeted her with a sharp-toothed smile was none other than the club’s owner, Richard Strykes. As usual, he looked stunning, his black hair sleek and shining, falling to his shoulders in soft waves. Along with his usual all-black ensemble, he wore a cape with a red, silk-lined interior. It would have looked absurd on anyone else, but he pulled it off, somehow.
Jessica averted her eyes. She had hoped he wouldn’t be here tonight.
Richard made a sweeping bow. “Miss Jessica,” he said, still smiling. “A pleasure, as always.” He reached for her hand, bending over slightly, as if to kiss it, but she pulled her hand back before his fingers could touch it.
“Good evening,” she said.
“You could cool molten lava with your voice tonight, my dear. Have I done something to offend?”
She brushed past him, stepping into the club. “I’m here to perform tonight, Richard. That’s all,” she said.
“But of course,” he said. “You’re on with Bruce, just after the Swan Sisters. They’ll be starting in a few minutes. Why don’t you have a seat and enjoy the show?”
Jessica nodded without looking at him. That, she had decided, was the only way to deal with Richard, to place herself behind a wall of ice that he couldn’t break through. She knew, all too well, what would happen if she let him get under her skin. He would woo her with relentless charm, use her, and cast her aside, as he had so many others.
She walked deeper into the club, looking around. The Cat’s Cradle was softly lit with blue-
tinged lights that bathed everything in an otherworldly glow. The walls were draped in soft, black curtains, and the floor was lustrous, black stone tile. One half of the large room was occupied by round tables, their tops the same black stone as the floor. The room’s other half was taken up by a stage and dance floor. Currently, the stage was empty, the backstage area hidden by more velvety black curtains.
People milled about on the dance-floor area, talking and laughing. Others were seated at the tables, sipping drinks. Many of them moved with the liquid, inhuman grace innate to shape-shifters. Jessica’s eyes flitted from face to face as she seated herself at an empty table. Sometimes, as a sort of game, she tried to identify by sight what the animal self of a particular shifter was. When they were in human form, it wasn’t always easy to tell, but there were clues.
She saw a long-legged, willowy woman in a dark brown dress, with sandy brown hair and large, liquid brown eyes. Her movements were quick and restive. She stood on the dance floor, a glass in one hand, her eyes wide and watchful.
White-tailed deer, Jessica decided.
There was a man who sat alone at a table, observing everything. His brows were blac
k, bold slashes, drawn together in a frown over sharp, piercing dark eyes. His shoulders were slightly hunched, giving the impression of wings drawn close to his back.
Hawk, thought Jessica.
There was another man, grinning ear to ear and leaning back in his chair, his eyes bright and sly.
Jackal.
“Ladies and gentlebeasts!” boomed Richard’s voice. He had appeared on the stage, seemingly by magic, though Jessica knew it was only his skill for moving quickly and silently. He swept his arm out, smiling. “If I may have your attention for a moment, our show is about to begin. Do have a seat, and give a warm welcome to the lovely Swan Sisters, Cecilia and Sandra!” There was a thundering of applause as he stepped off the stage with a flourish of his cape. The lights went dark, and a spotlight fell on the empty stage. The black curtains parted, just enough for a slender, white arm to slip through, followed by a woman of such exquisite and fragile loveliness she seemed made of glass.
Another, nearly identical woman followed close behind.
The Swan Sisters moved gracefully across the stage, dressed all in white, with plumes of downy feathers trailing from their dresses--long, sleek, snow-white dresses which began at the waist, leaving their upper bodies and small, pert breasts exposed. The nipples were pale pink, like their lips.
Even if their clothes hadn’t made it obvious, it would not have been difficult to see what their animal selves were. Their necks were long and slender, their skin milky white, their hair a washed-out, pale gold. They did not seem to walk so much as glide. And, like swans, they possessed an aloof loveliness that suggested they were too pure to be looked upon by mortal eyes. They moved in perfect rhythm, as if they were one entity separated into two bodies.
The music started, a violin concerto, sweet and pure. The Swan Sisters began to dance, their movements slow and languid, as if they were in a trance. In the spotlight, they seemed to glow like otherworldly creatures. One--Cecilia or Sandra, Jessica couldn’t tell them apart--reached out to caress the other’s face. Their eyes locked briefly, then they broke apart again, gliding and dancing around each other, eyes closed, as if they were lost in a private rapture.
The music suddenly turned ominous, shifting to a minor key. A dark, wiry form crept out from behind the curtains, pushing the velvety folds aside. Jessica’s shoulders tensed and her breath caught in her throat.
It was Victor. The Black Fox was dressed all in snugly-fitting dark leather, from his boots to his gloves. His lank, shoulder-length hair was tied back in a tight queue, and his face was hidden beneath a molded, black fox-mask, but even so, she had no doubt it was him.
He crept toward the Swan Sisters, who appeared not to notice him. Pausing, he turned to the audience and lifted a finger to the muzzle of his mask. A few ripples of nervous laughter swept through the crowd.
One of the Swan Sisters turned. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth in a silent shriek, hands flying to her face. Victor pounced and seized her. She struggled, her small, white hands beating against him, as he gripped her throat.
Her fear seemed so real. Jessica watched, unable to draw a breath.
She felt a touch on her shoulder, and gave a start. She looked up to see Richard standing beside her. “It’s only a show,” he said.
Jessica stared at him for a moment then looked back at the stage where the swan was still struggling in Victor’s grip. Her sister cried out silently, reaching for her. The captive swan thrust a hand out toward her, fingers spread, eyes wide and desperate. She seemed to be screaming, without words, for her sister to run, to save herself. Weeping, the free Swan Sister turned and spread her arms. There was a writhing, a rippling of flesh. Clothes fell to the stage, and snowy white feathers burst from her skin. The audience gasped and ooh-ed appreciatively as a swan flew offstage, vanishing from sight, leaving the second sister in Victor’s clutches.
With one black-gloved hand, Victor caressed the young woman’s face. The dark eye-holes of his mask seemed to stare deep into her wide, terrified eyes. Her breasts heaved with each gasping breath.
The violins rose to a crescendo as Victor pushed her to the ground. One hand gripped her slender wrists, pinning them together, while the other hand squeezed her throat. He ripped off his mask, and his human face contorted and stretched, becoming the grinning face of a black fox, looking unnatural and frightening atop his human body. He licked his lips and hunched over his prey.
With a final crash of strings, the music died, and the stage went dark. Applause filled the club. When the lights returned, the stage was empty. The crowd went back to talking and milling as they waited for the next act.
Jessica sat stiffly in her chair, heart pounding.
“My dear,” said a low voice, “you are trembling.”
She glanced up. Richard was still standing there, his face neutral. “I’m fine,” said Jessica.
Richard leaned close. His lips moved closer to her ear as he whispered, “Victor will not harm you.”
“I am not afraid of him. What makes you think I am?”
“I was watching you at the moment he came onstage. You did an admirable job of keeping your expression blank, but your perfume can’t quite mask the smell of fear, not to a nose as sensitive as mine.”
Jessica clenched her jaw. She hated him for being right, and for seeing through all her carefully constructed masks. “Why should it matter to you?” she asked.
“Jessica.” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “No one faults you for Vincent’s death. He was eaten up with madness. He attacked you. You acted only to preserve your own life. Victor knows that.”
Her teeth pressed into her lower lip.
“He would not dare harm you,” said Richard. “He knows that if he so much as lays a hand on you, I’ll cut off his balls and string them up to dry. Besides, he is weaker than you.”
“Are you so sure?” she whispered.
“Victor has always been weak. He is cunning, but he has no true courage or power. If I thought he was a threat, I would not allow him to set foot in this building.”
Jessica drew in a slow breath. “I know. And I know that it’s not fair to assume that just because Vincent was cruel and mad, that his brother will be the same. But there is something about him, something unspeakably loathsome. I can’t even describe it.”
“I don’t like him either. He’s a prick.” Richard’s mouth twitched in a faint smile. “But he draws in the crowds. And, as you said, he is not like Vincent. He does not share his brother’s madness, or his thirst for blood.”
“It felt very real. The act, I mean.”
“That’s why he and the sisters are so popular. It’s not exciting if it doesn’t appear real. The audience wants something that feels dangerous, something to make their pulses quicken. But I assure you, it’s all farce. A spectacle. Look.” He pointed. Jessica followed his gaze and saw the Swan Sisters talking to a third woman. All of them were laughing gaily. “Do they seem frightened?”
The tension eased from Jessica’s shoulders. She felt suddenly foolish. “You’re right,” she murmured. “I’m a little edgy tonight, that’s all.”
“Understandable. This is, after all, the first time you’ve been to the club since the incident with Vincent. But rest assured, when you are within these walls, you have nothing to fear.” He grinned. “Now, my lovely creature….” He touched her chin, lifting it. “You have an act to perform. You’re not going to keep your audience waiting, are you?” His thumb brushed her lower lip.
The touch sent a surprising tingle of pleasure down her spine. Irritated that he could elicit such a reaction from her against her will, Jessica frowned and pushed his hand away.
“How many times, Richard,” she said, “have I asked you not to touch me without my permission?”
“Probably quite a few. I haven’t been keeping track.”
She made an exasperated sound in her throat and stood. Every time she started to like him, to think there was more to him than the irresponsible pl
ayboy that everyone saw, he retreated behind his usual smirking arrogance. She was a fool to expect more out of him.
He could not respect her. A man like Richard respected no one, least of all himself.
Without looking at him, she strode across the room and through the door that led to the dressing room behind the stage. It was small and dimly lit, the only furniture a wooden stool and a dresser with a tarnished mirror.
Bruce was already waiting there. He was a large man, solid and stocky, with thick, bushy brows and skin almost as dark as his eyes. She had worked with him before. He gave her a small nod of greeting, which she returned.
Jessica faced the mirror and carefully removed the contact lenses from her eyes. She placed the lenses in their small, plastic holder, which she then tucked into her purse, and set the purse on the dresser. Looking up at the mirror, she stared into her eyes, no longer a deep brown, but rings of yellow-amber fire. Wolf’s eyes. The eyes which had set her apart her whole life, even before she discovered what she was. The eyes that had gotten her mercilessly teased every day at school, until she learned to start hiding them, as she hid her true nature from the entire human world.
Jessica took a deep breath. She undid the buttons of her dress and let it slip to the floor.
Her undergarments quickly joined it. She stood naked, goose-bumps on her flesh, nipples erect in the cool air. It was necessary to strip down, in order to avoid ripping her dress when she transformed. She couldn’t afford to go through that many dresses.
“Are you ready?” asked Bruce. He was already naked. His smooth, dark, muscular body appeared to be sculpted from stone.
“I’m ready,” said Jessica. Her heart was pounding. The Swan Sisters’ act, she knew, had been only a teaser, something to whet the audience’s appetite. She and Bruce were the main act.
As she watched, he turned and strode toward the curtains. Sweeping them aside with one hand, he stepped onto the stage. Jessica watched, pulling the curtains aside just enough to peer out without being seen. Bruce stood, facing the audience, and raised his arms, hands fisted, as he unleashed a deep, thunderous roar. The audience cheered. Bruce dropped to all fours and threw his head back, back arching as he transformed. Tawny fur swept over his skin. A long, tufted tail sprouted from his spine, and a thick, reddish mane grew to cover his head and neck. The lion lifted his head and roared again, fearless and ferocious, the very image of savage virility.
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