It’s just getting dark out by the time Max and Grace and I leave Lamé’s, arm in arm.
We’re heading for the massive, open-sided hangar which, for tonight only, is filled with experienced kinksters offering to share their expertise with others. Lamé is apparently amongst them.
“What’s Lamé showcasing, exactly?” I ask as we skirt the lake in the direction of the big corrugated roofed structure.
“You’ll see,” Max says.
Grace smiles.
Up ahead, people dance around a bonfire, drumming and singing and howling to the moon.
“Primals!” says Max, grinning the way she does whenever discussing kink. I love her evil grin with that sharp little tooth of hers that peeks out to dig at her bottom lip. “Why aren’t you and Liev there, Gracie?”
Grace snorts, bending forward to glare at Max, who I found out has been her best friend literally forever. The two of them grew up together south of here. “Have we met?” she asks, rolling her eyes. “First off, they’re filming. Look.” She points out a small film crew, documenting something that looks like some kind of ritual. “Nobody films me. Ever.”
“Grace is not the most demonstrative person.” Max kicks her chin back toward the fire-breathing, screaming revelers, and giggles. “Liev’s not either, so it works.”
“We’re Primals,” Grace informs me. “You know, I like the bestial side of things. Getting chased down, hunted, taken.” She flicks long fingers toward the group, which is now literally howling at a nearly full moon. “I’m not really into the drumming and chanting shit. Although I get why people like it. I do. It’s just not for me.”
“She prefers a quiet stalking in the woods.”
I’m sure I’m wide-eyed when I look back at Grace. “So, like the Big Hunt?”
“Absolutely.”
“I was thinking about doing that,” I tell them.
“Yeah?” Grace considers me. “You into that idea?”
My shaky inhale is audible enough to make them both laugh.
“Guess so,” says Max.
“Nervous, but excited?” Grace asks.
“And scared,” I confirm. “But in a good way.” I shrug. “Mostly.”
Grace’s nod is easy, calm. “I know the feeling.” She squeezes my arm into her side and shortens her long stride. “It’s like nothing else in the world.”
“Evening, friends,” says a man, walking by with two people on his arms. “Have a lovely night.”
I smile and Max replies and we continue down the path, passing people who wave and smile and greet us easily. “Oh my god, you all are stunning,” says a person I met earlier today. Kevan? Kiernan? I don’t remember.
And it’s true. We do look pretty amazing. My overtly sexual, bejeweled outfit’s definitely eye-catching, even in the near dark, while Grace is rough and gorgeous in an entirely different way. She’s got on a ripped, ancient-looking Metallica T-shirt, cropped and tied at her waist, baring a flat belly, complete with a piercing and a good amount of ink. Below that, she’s wearing cut-off denim shorts that show miles of leg—and more tattoos—with scuffed black flip-flops on her feet.
Max’s look, which during the daytime is a tough, kick-ass, post-apocalyptic steampunk, has turned sultry. She’s in a sturdy, brown leather corset with a bunch of straps and buckles. Makes me think of tankards of mead or Vikings or something. She’s paired the corset with a short suede skirt, wide-gauge fishnets, and thick-soled combat boots.
“I love this so much,” I tell her, nudging the bustier with the arm I’ve wound through hers. “You’re like a warrior princess.”
“Nikki makes these. Didn’t you see her stall?”
“No!” I sigh. “But I’m gonna need a whole lot more income for the full kink wardrobe of my dreams.”
Grace makes a coughing sound. “Zed can afford it.”
“I’m not taking his money.”
“You should,” Max says, with a smile. “Not like he has any use for it.”
