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My eyes settle on the blonde in the black thong. Another girl, different face, but the same dance, the same smell, the same… everything.
I take another sip, half my attention on the girl who is nothing more than an invitation for a different kind of excitement, and the other half on the dancefloor where two girls in short dresses and high heels have their dark heads bent together, whispering furiously.
Wonder which one of them I take home tonight. Or should I try for both?
But that will involve talking.
Fucking small talk.
Maybe I won’t bother this time.
I’ll just pick a girl at random, tell her I want to fuck, and see what happens. If that doesn’t work, I could wave some cash at her, or tell her I drive a Ferrari. It isn’t like it hasn’t worked before.
But I don’t move from my seat.
Where the fuck is Dariel?
Is he watching me on the security cameras the way he always likes to? Or is he just as lost in his memories as he plays bar owner from his fancy office chair?
My nose twitches and I wrinkle it in disgust as the acrid stench of piss drifts in from the front door.
Did the security guards let a dog in?
Aden steps inside, a bulging bag of limes in his hand. A girl follows behind him.
I take in his tailored black pants and perfectly pressed white shirt. He has his hair styled by one of the best hairdressers in the city, and there’s an easy confidence about him that would make you think he’d been born with a silver spoon rammed down his throat.
No one would believe he’d been little more than a street rat until we took him in fifteen years ago. Even I struggle to recall the eleven-year-old boy with the dirty hair and filth clinging to every inch of his skeletal frame.
The ladies love his easy charm and prettiness, but that’s not all Aden Shaw is.
One of three.
A hound.
And just like me. Just like Dariel. Shadows linger. Better hidden than most, but they’re there.
The girl steps to one side, no longer obscured by Aden’s figure.
At first, I think she’s just a homeless girl Aden has taken pity on. A dark-haired, street girl drowning in a man’s wool coat. Beneath the coat, a distinctive pale blue hospital gown peeks out at me. But it’s her eyes that draw me and suck me in.
“Where did he find you, angel eyes?” I murmur.
Aden turns to her, but she’s not looking at him anymore. Those incredible eyes scan the bar, smoky blue and overly large on her narrow pale face.
She doesn’t see my face. She can’t. I know how dark the shadows are in this corner, and it’s why I’ve made this area mine.
But I see her.
My wolf, endlessly restless, always hungry, never satisfied, just like the man, stills.
I lower my glass.
Who the fuck is this girl that smells like piss, who wears a man’s coat that drowns her, a hospital gown, and bandaged face?
And why do I care?
The dancer's ass sways, blocking my vision. I lean a little to the right.
