The lightness of it was surprising. From the outside, it looked like cheap plastic, but once on, it molded to my face like a second skin. Every groove, every plane, sealed in.
The lift groaned to a halt, then the gate wrenched open.
Chaos.
The sound of the main floor—called theFountain of Desire, according to Nova’s packet—hit me like a wave. Moans. Cries. Slaps. Laughter. Chains rattling. Music pulsing. It was overwhelming and raw, primal and electric.
I stopped moving. Closed my eyes. Breathed in deep. Let the ache bloom and settle along my ribs like a bruise.
It was everywhere now… that scent. Sweet, thick, maddening. My body throbbed for it. I could feel my pulse behind my teeth, but it wasn’t real. Not her. Just magic, twisted to smell like something I’d give my soul for.
My wolf whimpered, low and guttural, confused.
Laughter crackled nearby. A moan answered. Someone yelped.
Then, above all the noise, a sound cut through, clean, mechanical, final.
A switch.
Then light.
Bright, blood-red spotlights sliced through the dark, all aimed at the stage at the back of the room. Shadows danced along the walls, and the crowd fell still for a heartbeat. Anticipation washed through the space like static before a storm.
Whispers broke the silence like fire licking up dry wood.
“I wonder what she’s gonna look like tonight…” someone murmured behind me.
My eyes snapped open.
The room had shifted. Bodies were no longer writhing and grinding on each other, but twisting to face the stage, shoulders bumping, heads craning. The entire crowd moved as one animal, drawn to the heat of a flame.
Another voice, breathless. “If we don’t get closer, we won’t see anything. Youknowhow her shows get…”
The ones in the back were already pushing forward. Not desperate. Worshipful.
I was caught in it, swept into the tide, each step pulling me toward the stage whether I wanted it or not. The scent lingered, still clawing at my throat, but I forced myself to shake it off.
Focus.
This was why I was here. Learn the layout. Learn the hierarchy. Learn the rules.
But this? This felt like something else entirely.
As I cut through the throng, weaving between bare skin and mask-painted faces, I caught a voice, low, hungry, from a man with a red slash across his cheek.
“Whatever she has planned,” he said to no one in particular, “I hope she picks me tonight. I wouldn’t mind being her slave for an hour.”
A pause.
Being used by her would be an honor?
I stared at him.
What the actual fuck?
This wasn’t just a club. This was something far more dangerous.
And I was walking straight into the center of it.
