by Allison Moon
8
The Den buzzed with activity, but Lexie stood in her closet, bereft. Sharmalee danced down the hallway, waving a stick of incense outside Lexie’s room.
“Hey Lexie,” she called.
“Hey,” Lexie groaned.
Sharmalee poked her head through the doorway. “You okay?”
“I have a date. Trying to figure out what to wear.”
“Tonight?! It’s the full moon!”
“I’m not going to turn, Sharm. It’s pointless to try, and I don’t want to get stoned alone and watch YouTube videos all night like last time.”
“Fair enough.” Sharmalee entered and peered into Lexie’s closet. The selection consisted of mostly a pile of dirty shirts and a few sweaters half-falling off their hangers. She cocked an eyebrow. “What are you going for?”
Lexie made a face. “Rebound?”
“Oh, yeah, totally. Forget this,” Sharmalee said, dismissing the closet. “Wait here.”
Sharmalee walked around the corner to her room, wafting the incense over her as she went.
Lexie turned to her mirror and sectioned her hair. She needed to look like she knew what she was doing, like she belonged among the motorcycle dykes and leather women. She was tying the first braid when Sharmalee reentered, clothes in hand.
“Nu-uh. Hair down.”
“She’s picking me up on her motorcycle.”
“Hair in a loose braid, then. Undo it when you get to the club. Here, try this.”
She threw a shirt at Lexie: a simple black-ribbed tank top with red floss serging at the edges. It was nothing too special, and it was soft.
Lexie tried it on while Sharmalee watched. It fit with just the right amount of give and cling, making even her boyish top look curvy.
“Yep,” Sharmalee said, then threw a pair of jeans at her. “These haven’t fit me since oh-six. You can keep them.”
Lexie checked out her reflection and was weirdly pleased. Except—
“I look straight,” Lexie said, grimacing.
Sharmalee giggled and flipped her hand, dismissing Lexie’s concern. “You look like a baby dyke.”
“Is that a good thing?” Lexie asked.
“Yes,” Renee shouted from downstairs.
Lexie and Sharmalee laughed. Hazel bounded down the hallway and peeked through her doorway. “Baby dykes are the puppies of the lesbian world. Everyone’s gonna want to pet you.”
“Yep,” Sharmalee said. “Shake out your hair and put on a little liner. It’s perfect.” Hazel nodded and ran back down the hall.
“What about a jacket? I can’t wear a flannel.” Lexie paused. “Right?”
Sharmalee looked Lexie up and down and wiggled her mouth, thinking. “Yeah, okay.”
She gave the waning stick of incense to Lexie and walked downstairs to the hall closet.
“Renee!” she called. “Come here, please!”
Lexie stuck the incense in an empty soda can and dug around her limited makeup bag for some eyeliner. She stroked the pencil along her lashes in jagged, awkward lines. She grabbed for some tissues and tried to unfocus her hearing so as to ignore Sharmalee and Renee as they spoke downstairs.
Lexie was ambivalent about not running with the Pack tonight. Relief wrestled with hurt, and a whole mixture of resentments accompanied the contradictory emotions. She wanted to blame everyone for pushing her aside, even when it was she who had figured out a new and subtle way to exclude herself from their adventures. She tried to pretend she was doing better, stepping into her fears and becoming stronger, but she couldn’t; it just wasn’t true. She was running like always, and Randy was just a convenient excuse.
Lexie wanted to change her plans. She couldn’t. She’d already said yes to Randy, and the girls of the Pack … didn’t seem to care. She turned away from the mirror and dug for un-crunchy socks in the pile of dirty laundry.
A minute later, Sharmalee stood at the door frame, offering up a black leather jacket. “Here.”
“Wow,” Lexie said. “Really?” It looked expensive enough to make Lexie recoil for fear of somehow breaking it.
“It’s no biggie, just try it.”
Renee appeared and leaned against the doorframe to watch.
Lexie took it. The leather felt like velvet. She tried it on. It fit her perfectly, molding along the slopes and angles of her body when she zipped it up over her narrow frame. She shook her hair over her shoulders and glanced at the mirror, then away. She’d never thought she could look so stunning.
A scent curled up from the leather. She pulled the collar up to her nose: freesia and peroxide.
“Blythe?” Lexie asked.
Sharmalee nodded. Renee said, “It doesn’t fit any of us. Her shoulders were narrow, like yours. Seems appropriate.”
“Are you sure?”
“None of us are very sentimental,” Renee said. “Take it.”
Lexie stared at the mirror and caught the gazes of Renee and Sharmalee sharing her reflection.
“Are you sure you’re going to need it?” Sharmalee asked. “The moon’s like, right here.”
Lexie shook her head and clipped her knife sheath to her belt, making sure the jacket concealed it. “No. I mean, I feel something, but not the irrepressible beast-something. Just a presence that I’ll attempt to ignore for the next eight hours.”
“Well, if you change your mind,” Renee said, “we’ll be running in the south woods.”
“Archer’s territory,” Lexie said. Renee shrugged part of an apology that didn’t need to happen at all. “Cool,” she said. “See you in the morning.”
Lexie could hear the exhaust pipe of Randy’s motorcycle from two miles away. When she pulled up to the drive, the girls all went to the front door to peer out. Lexie wished she had been ready, so she could run through them, avoiding their eyes and questions. But she was lacing up her boots when Randy walked onto the porch and rang the bell.
Hazel answered. “Hi, Randy!”
“Hey, Bijou,” she said with her permanently sly grin.
Hazel beckoned her in. Lexie called from the kitchen table where she was fumbling with her laces. Randy stepped into the kitchen. The Pack drifted in after her to resume their pregame preparations: Jenna making sandwiches and placing them in the fridge, Corwin bringing up fresh towels from the basement, and Mitch in the backyard, heating up the hot tub.
“Big night?” Randy asked.
Lexie offered her an awkward, closed-mouth smile. “Yeah. The girls like to tear it up once a month. Bonding.”
“Did you want to reschedule? Spend time with them?”
“No, no, no.” Lexie waved away the question. “I can’t … handle it. It’s not really my scene anyway.”
“Lexie,” Renee called from the basement, where she was taking fresh changes of clothes out of the dryer.
“I’ll be one second.” Lexie was almost relieved to leave Randy alone in the kitchen.
Downstairs, the laundry room smelled like heaven.
“We’re going to try and catch some scent trails tonight,” Renee said. “See if we can gather any clues.”
“Be careful.”
“We’re going to avoid the Barrens, and the west where Bree was found, at least for now. But hopefully we’ll get something farther to the east. I’ll let you know what we get.”
Lexie bit her lower lip and nodded. So much for last-minute reprieves. She headed back up the stairs to her date.
They walked to Randy’s bike. Lexie’s shoulders tightened with each step.
Randy chuckled nervously. “You sure you’re into this?”
Lexie nodded. “I just don’t like leaving my truck behind. I like being—mobile.”
“Do you want to take it instead of my bike?”
“No, I’m cool, I’m just … ” She tried to wiggle it off. “Just a bit nervous, I guess.”
“Well, you look amazing, and you smell delicious. I’m happy we’re doing this.”
“Me too,” Lexie sai
d, determined to mean it. “Is it going to be … ?”
“You’ll be fine, I promise. It’s mostly bark, very little bite.”
Lexie had never ridden on the back of a motorcycle before, and she wasn’t keen on getting her first lesson in front of the Pack. Randy revved and Lexie squeezed the metal bar at her coccyx. The engine’s vibrations rattled through her, and Lexie fought to suppress a squeal.
“Hold on,” Randy said.
“I am,” Lexie replied.
Randy laughed. “You’re such a dude.”
At the first turn, Randy made a sharp left. Lexie yelped and threw her arms around Randy’s waist.
“That’s better,” Lexie heard Randy mutter beneath her helmet.
The Thorny Rose was nearly an hour’s ride north, but the cool, dry night made the ride bearable, and the motorcycle’s thrumming vibrations provided enough of a pleasurable distraction from Lexie’s creeping anxiety.
Along the dark road, Lexie felt as though she were in a submarine, rolling with the curves, only able to see what the lone headlight illuminated. A low, chilly fog slithered through the trees on either side of the road. Above the forest to the east, the full moon rose. Something prickled under Lexie’s skin, like an itch on the inside. She gripped her knife and swallowed hard.
She stared at the bold white disc and felt pulled to it, as though it were a Siren and she a hapless sailor, lonely, desperate, eager to feel the touch of beauty. She squeezed Randy tighter, tying herself to the mast that was this woman. She’d be willing to hold on forever if it would keep her from being rent apart on the rocks.
A few seconds later, Randy took a turn in the road, speeding past the beginnings of an on-ramp. A sign declared it part of Governor Blackwell’s new highway project. For now it was just tamped-down dirt and construction barriers, but soon it would split the north woods in half. Crisscrossed along its path lay the fresh corpses of dozens of trees. Lexie’s heart twitched, and she buried her face back in the leather of Randy’s jacket to stifle her urge to howl their pain to the moon. The motorcycle passed the construction zone and the trees rose up again to cover the moon, freeing Lexie of its pull for the moment. She released her held breath, grateful for the respite.
The club was a cement warehouse. There was no sign and only a small, packed dirt parking lot. Lexie’s anxiety welled within her. This didn’t seem like the kind of place where good people would hang out.
Inside the black-painted lobby, a chemical odor punched through Lexie’s sinuses, seized her skull like a vice, and pressed into a headache. She snuffed and sneezed, woozy.
“You all right?”
“Yeah, I’m just … sensitive to odors.” Lexie couldn’t place the smell—it was more toxic than rubber, more synthetic.
“This is a fragrance-free space. No perfumes or lotions. You should be fine.”
PVC, Lexie thought in a flash. She exhaled forcefully through her nose. Fragrance-free. Hah.
The sounds of chains clinking and leather slapping on skin echoed from behind the next door, stealing Lexie’s attention.
The lobby smelled like Freon and sweat, leather, steel, and grease. A chuckle came from the coat room.
“Well look what the cat dragged in.” A spherical woman with a white crew cut and dead tooth emerged from the coat-check booth and pulled Randy into a bear hug. “Nice to see you, sweetheart,” she said in a voice roughened by life and cigarettes.
Randy slapped the woman’s back. “It’s always great to see you. How’s your boy these days?”
The woman grinned. “Blacking in the back if you want a shine.”
Randy nodded. “This is Lexie.”
“Well aren’t you just a downy innocent,” the woman said. “But not for long, eh?” She elbowed Randy in the ribs and laughed.
“You a hugger?” she asked Lexie.
“Uh … sure.”
“I’m Glenda,” she said, pulling Lexie into her plush torso. The smell of her freshly-polished leather vest made Lexie woozy.
“Welcome to the Thorny Rose.” Glenda gestured grandly to the dark lobby. “This here’s coat check. You can change out of your street clothes in the bathroom.” Lexie unzipped her jacket. Glenda eyed the knife on her hip.
“We don’t allow blood play here, sweetheart, but you can use your blade for intimidation and psychological play. Just be aware that a lot of folks run around barefoot, so be extra careful.”
“Oh. No, I. Uh … Okay.” It hadn’t occurred to Lexie that they would take her knife away. She let her fingers glance the hilt for assurance.
Glenda escorted them through yet another set of heavy curtains. “Ready, youngblood?” she teased. She held the curtain back to reveal a room the size of a gymnasium decorated with chains, silver pipes, and leather. The sounds of smacks, cracks, whimpers, and moans filled Lexie’s ears, so densely packed she couldn’t discern one from the next. The scent of sweat assailed her, and she found her mouth pooling with saliva. She swallowed, embarrassed, though neither of the other women noticed.
A young, shorthaired person in a black leather chest harness hurried over to where they stood. “Glen, we’re out of nitrile gloves in the makeout room.”
“Ugh. Savages, all.” Glenda grinned, that brown tooth shadowed in the low light. “Randy, I can trust you to give youngblood here the tour and rules and regs, yeah?”
“Aye aye,” Randy said with a two-finger salute.
Lexie already felt overdressed in her black tank and jeans. The guests all seemed to dress by merely accessorizing their nude bodies with black leather. One severe-looking woman appeared fully dressed in a quasi-formal red latex gown, until she turned around and Lexie saw her complete rear exposed through a hole in the dress.
Randy wore a black dress shirt with a brown suede vest, pinstriped pants, and a fedora. Lexie only half listened to her reiteration of the rules, too captivated by the colorful setting to hear much beyond “Get permission before touching anyone.”
The rules seemed easy enough to follow, especially since she couldn’t imagine herself in the position of any these people.
“So, what are you into?” Randy asked.
Archer.
Lexie shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Nothing?”
“What? I mean, puppies. Ice cream.”
Randy laughed. “I meant more along the lines of—”
“I know,” Lexie interrupted. “Just, I’ve never really put much thought into it. I like things as they come, and I guess I don’t pay much attention until they’re not around anymore.”
The regret tied into that statement made Lexie bite her tongue.
“See anything you like?” Randy asked.
Lexie wiggled her jaw, whether out of discomfort or fear, she couldn’t say.
In the corner of the room, a large cage sat empty. Lexie’s eyes lingered on it until she realized she was staring. She diverted her gaze to a tiny, pale woman bound to a St. Andrew’s Cross. An ample, brown-skinned woman in a black corset and purple latex skirt slapped the woman’s breasts with a riding crop. The restrained woman shrieked and grunted, her skin swelling with purplish-red lines.
“Are those pleasure sounds or pain sounds?” Lexie whispered.
“Yes,” Randy said.
“I don’t know that I see the appeal,” Lexie said.
“Give me your arm,” Randy said. She placed the fingernails of her right hand lightly against Lexie’s skin. “Does that feel good?”
Lexie nodded. Randy increased the pressure, so that her nails barely indented Lexie’s flesh. “Now?”
Lexie nodded again.
Randy’s nails dug further, burying themselves in the flesh of Lexie’s upper arm. “Does it hurt yet?”
“A little bit,” Lexie whispered, not wanting to draw any attention.
“But there’s still pleasure there, too, right?”
Lexie nodded, watching the shadows Randy’s fingers drew on her skin.
“Good,”
Randy said. “Feel into it. Where does the pleasure end and the pain begin?”
Lexie closed her eyes and concentrated on Randy’s grip. She found the estuary in a cloudy and clear space: the pleasure a warm throbbing with a gentle tingle, the pain hard and sharp, the tingles becoming prickly shocks.
Lexie breathed into that space and savored the intermingling of those feelings. Randy dug harder, and Lexie was surprised to find not only the pain increase, but the pleasure too. It lurked just below the superficial sensation of pain. Her neck prickled as adrenaline trickled into her system. It ran through her veins, chasing the sensation, running it down and circling it. She drew air into her lungs, hard, fast. Her wolf stirred, rippling beneath the layers of pleasure and the tumult of pain.
“A little more,” Randy whispered, her breath puffing at Lexie’s ear, sending sizzles of pleasure down her arm to clash against the sharp cut of Randy’s nails.
Lexie breathed deep through her nose, not wanting to cry out. She exhaled through o-shaped lips and felt her wolf begin the slow rumble of a growl.
But the pleasurable pain Randy inflicted confused Lexie, and in the space between the layers of pleasure and pain emerged doubt. She wasn’t sure why she was here, what she was expecting to feel. She told herself she was fooling herself with this distraction. Randy wouldn’t solve anything, this pain wouldn’t heal her. She needed something else, more elusive, more personal, less carnal.
The prickly pleasure swelled again, and Lexie spoke. “Stop.”
Randy’s grip eased; Lexie’s muscles relaxed. Her blood pumped hot where Randy had gripped her. Lexie looked at her arm and saw four crescent indentations. The white of her skin gave way to pink, then purple as her blood swelled to the damaged area.
She savored the adrenaline high that came with it—a mix of relief and high-alert. She rubbed her wound.
“All right?” Randy asked.
Lexie nodded, intrigued by this sensation, though she was not sure she was grateful for it.
“Cool. I’m gonna go grab a quick smoke,” Randy said. “You okay alone?” Lexie smiled. “Take a look around. See if you find anything you like. Nobody bites. Unless you ask them to.” Randy winked and headed for the front.