“I’m just saying, we paid to see her. We should get to see all of her.” The groom reached for the tie of Zyanya’s cheetah-print bikini top and tried to pull it loose. Again.
Zyanya turned to put her back out of his reach, and then it became a game. Each time she turned, there was another set of hands eager to tug on the straps. A man in gray slacks finally succeeded, and Zyanya clutched her loose top to her chest with both hands.
“Let her go.” I put one arm around the shifter’s shoulders and turned to the nearest handler, who was leaning against one black-draped wall, sipping from a bottle of water. “Aren’t you supposed to step in here?”
The handler slowly screwed the lid on his water, then pushed away from the wall and sauntered toward us. He towered over most of the partygoers. “What’s the problem?”
“I paid to see her, so I want to see her.” The guest of honor pouted like a child as he flicked the untied bikini strap from beneath my protective grip. Before I could point out thathehadn’t paid for anything, the handler shot me a censoring glance.
“That’s not part of your package.” He crossed thick arms over his chest, and I was almost as relieved to hear that as I was horrified that such a package existed.
“This should cover it.” James Lansing pulled a clip of bills from his pocket as he pushed his way into the huddle, and though I only got a glance, they all appeared to be hundreds. “But for that much, I want a private show. Just me and the groom and your pretty little pussycat.”
“That can certainly be arranged,” the handler said.
Lansing tossed him the entire clip. “Take one for your trouble.”
The handler thanked him and peeled a bill from the stack, then shoved it into his pocket. “Follow me.”
“Wait!” I tightened my grip around Zyanya’s shoulders.
The handler grabbed her arm and pulled her away from me. “Customers get anything they want at the Spectacle—as long as they’re willing to pay.”
“Hey,” Lansing said as the handler pulled back a section of the black drape to reveal a door in the rear wall. “I want her too.” He nodded at me, then pulled a credit card from his wallet.
A cold wash of fear froze me in place. The handler shoved Zyanya into the room he’d just opened, then marched toward me. “No.” My voice was hardly a whisper, but it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d screamed. The handler dragged me toward the small room as if I weighed nothing. “No. I won’t do this.” I closed my eyes and dragged my feet, to no effect.
Over the handler’s shoulder, I saw Gallagher clench both fists. Eryx’s bovine nostrils widened when he huffed, and he pawed the marble floor with his right hoof. His promise to keep Gallagher in check seemed to have been forgotten.
“Let her go!” Gallagher bellowed.
The entire room went still. Every head swiveled toward him, and several people gasped. He lookedswollenwith rage, every muscle in his body standing out beneath his skin, his neck bulging against the confines of the steel collar.
“Gallagher, don’t!” I cried.
One of the handlers stepped in front of him and ordered him back. Gallagher reached out and snapped the man’s neck with one hand.
The body fell to the floor. The crowd gasped. A current of fear ran through them, raising the hair on my arms. Stroking the sleepingfuriaeinside me like petting a purring cat.
But Gallagher fell to his knees. He roared, his face contorted with the agony coursing through him.
Three more handlers ran toward him, each wielding a remote control, and he fell onto the floor, convulsing in pain.
“The bigger they are...” My handler laughed. His grip on my arm tightened, and he pulled me toward Zyanya and that empty room.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered from the doorway.
But it wouldn’t. She didn’t deserve this. Gallagher didn’t deserve to be electrocuted for trying to protect me.
Rage surged inside me. I felt my hair lift from my scalp, fighting the pins that held it in place. My nail beds began to itch and burn as my nails hardened, growing into thin points.
Behind me, someone gasped, and when I opened my eyes, my vision had sharpened so dramatically that I could see individual folds in the fabric draping the wall all the way across the large room.
The handler dropped my arm and stepped back.
“What the fuck?” Lansing demanded, staring at my eyes. “What is she?” But he didn’t back away. In fact, the entire crowd of inebriated, privileged young men was closing in on me, as if wealth and entitlement exempted them from a healthy fear of death.
The handler pressed an icon on his remote, then frowned at the screen when the collar failed to inhibit my transformation.
