“For me, battle,” he said, not sounding like he relished it. “For you? If I’m reading the Mother right, you’re headed for a crucible.”
“A crucible?”
Jack chose his words carefully. “That’s what we call coming face to face with your spirit beast. Sometimes it’s a celebration. Other times it ends in disappointment.”
Yasmin nodded, appreciating Jack’s honesty.
“Then again I’ve never experienced a Flux,” he went on. “Up till now crucibles have just resulted in folks becoming lycans. Now that a Flux has started, people will begin finding out all kinds of things about themselves.”
Yasmin tried to suppress her anxiety. Her terminal condition had been cured with Jack’s own blood - surely that meant she was a lycan too?
“Whatever happens in Berlin, I want to come back with you,” she said honestly, tears welling in her eyes. Jack took her hand and looked into her eyes urgently.
“I won’t let anything bad happen,” he said. “You’re safe with me, Yasmin. I promise.”
Yasmin smiled through her tears, immensely relieved to have Jack on her side. She believed him with all her heart, sensing he would give up his life to protect her.
“Besides,” he said. “You’ve got a great body. ”
Yasmin almost swallowed her tongue. It was a wild comment, particularly for Jack. Perhaps an attempt at humor? It was inappropriate on so many levels considering the moment they’d just shared. And yet it did nothing to weaken his pledge of protection. Perhaps it was just how he operated. A man of animalistic desires. In a way his urgent need to sleep with her just made her feel more safe and secure. Her instincts told her to roll with it. Besides, she liked him too.
“You’re a bad man, Jack Foley,” she said with a chuckle. Jack looked relieved that she hadn’t taken offense. It was like they’d broken some kind of seal. The night took on an extra tone, a wildness that felt intoxicating.
“You feel like dancing, Yasmin?”
Yasmin downed her beer in one long gulp. She was a lycan, goddammit, and felt ready for anything. Jack held out a strong hand. She couldn’t imagine him dancing. Or having any fun at all. This she had to see.
Feeling inspired, Yasmin nodded vigorously. Jack stood, laying a wad of bank notes on the table.
The streets outside became an exciting blur of light and noise. They were filled with New Yorkers out on the town. Yasmin hugged Jack’s arm as he led them down 5th Avenue and straight to the front of a long line outside the Daijon building.
“Evening, Jack,” said the bouncer warmly, lifting the rope for them.
Yasmin looked up at Jack. “Is there anyone you don’t know in this city?” she asked in exasperation.
The club itself was on the top level of the tall building. Better still, it was an amazing glass pyramid that offered skyline views in all directions.
The dance floor was a swarming, throbbing pit. Yasmin squealed when she heard the thumping electronica, dragging Jack down several tiers of marble steps. Not for the first time she wished she was wearing heels and a nice skirt, but apparently you could wear whatever you wanted if you were by Jack Foley’s side.
Yasmin pushed into the center of a throng of dancers, relishing the smell of sweat, perfume and cocktails. She eased into the rhythm of the music immediately, entranced by the milky veil of stars visible through the glass roof. She felt electric, totally in sync with those around her.
Jack pushed close, gyrating provocatively. She felt his groin against hers, welcoming the sensation. She put a hand on his butt, holding him there for several seconds. Jack didn’t miss a beat, swerving from side to side like a cobra. Surprisingly, he could really dance!
Yasmin gave in to the primitive flow of the music, the rhythm, the collective night work. The heady aroma of sweat was a real turn-on in her current state. She pressed her body against Jack, wishing she had less clothes on.
Yasmin gradually became aware of Jack’s heavy breathing. And her own.
“Wanna leave?” he breathed. She nodded, looking into his eyes and saying yes.
Out into the cold night air again. This time they didn’t have far to go.
Jack hustled Yasmin into the foyer of a plush apartment building. They rode the elevator to a mid level and stopped outside number 671.
“Don’t tell me you own this place,” Yasmin said in disbelief.
“Of course not,” Jack said a little irritably. “But a friend of mine does. Stay here.”
And with that he was off down the corridor, disappearing into the fire exit. An uncomfortable minute later he appeared in the doorway, having unlocked it from the inside.
“Does your ‘friend’ know we’re here?” asked Yasmin doubtfully.
“Don’t sweat it, we won’t leave a trace,” promised Jack, closing the door behind them. Yasmin wandered through the apartment as Jack rummaged through the designer kitchen.
“Keep walking, Yasmin,” he called.
The place was amazing, a true Manhattan loft apartment. The kind only lawyers, doctors or actors ever owned. She padded down a long hallway to a jaw-dropping deck area, replete with a luxurious marble spa. Jack must’ve hit some hidden button, because the outer wall broke into two halves that folded neatly into lateral alcoves. The frigid night air filled the deck, but the spa began to bubble and steam.
That was when Jack emerged with two champagne flutes and a bottle of Dom Perignon.
“Oh, no,” Yasmin said incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”
Jack assumed the most serious expression he had in his arsenal. “I never kid around, Silver.”
Yasmin laughed, accepting a glass of champagne. It tasted wonderful.
Jack stood deliberately close. “I’m going to warm my bones.”
Setting aside his champagne, Jack began stripping down. Bemused, Yasmin didn’t know where to look. In the end she watched him slide into the spa and arch his back. It did look heavenly in there. And despite her best efforts to look away, she’d gotten a glimpse of Jack’s butt. Rock hard.
The intense physicality she’d felt on the dance floor was still bubbling away inside her. She unbuttoned her blouse. Jack was gallant enough not to watch her undress. She stripped down to her underpants, deciding not to go fully naked. Topless was enough at this point.
Feeling goosebumps from the snow drifting in from the city, Yasmin sidled in alongside Jack. The water was a dream, soothing her body immediately. She never thought a spa could feel so good. Especially when Jack draped his arm around her.
Yasmin let the moment linger, watching tiny snowflakes drift into the water to be extinguished. In the end her questing mind got the better of her.
“What’s the worst thing you’ve seen, Jack?” she asked.
Jack sighed, playfully scooping a handful of bubbles at her.
“Asking questions is one thing,” he said at length. “I never promised to answer all of them.”
At that moment they both became aware of the red, glistening skin of Yasmin’s breasts through the steam. The water rose and fell gently over her nipples. Yasmin was embarrassed to discover that they were furiously erect.
She looked up at Jack, half expecting him to be grinning. No - he was smoother than that, already curling an arm around her petite waist. His hand was delightfully warm in the water, and she slid across the seat to be closer to him.
Their lips met. It was an earthy, primal kiss. Yasmin could taste Jack’s hunger, his urgency. He pressed his full lips against hers passionately, exploring her with his tongue. She found herself responding with relish, realizing that she wanted him inside her. She’d been preparing herself all night.
Yasmin locked tongues with Jack as the snow fell silently around them. His hand lingered on her left breast, cupping it gently, making fleeting contact with the nipple. Yasmin pushed his hand against her, savoring the sensation. Before long she moved into his lap, her back to him. A message that she wasn’t going to be dominated - she wanted a leading rol
e too.
Facing the glittering, winking city skyline, Yasmin couldn’t see Jack’s face but she knew he was happy. His hands had settled on her hips as she began to rock back and forth. She could feel his hardness and tried to picture how big he was. It definitely felt heavy and warm. Jack seemed content to let his shaft rest between her butt cheeks for now, thrusting forward a little whenever Yasmin rocked back.
Arms splayed on the spa seat for balance, Yasmin enjoyed the rhythm, feeling ripples of pleasure radiate down her spine.
All of a sudden Jack was inside her, his rock hard cock sliding in from behind. Yasmin gasped as he worked himself into a nice, long motion - she was almost embarrassed at how wet she was.
The sensation was amazing. Unlike anything she’d felt with Hugo. Jack seemed to know where her hot spot was and made sure he hit it repeatedly. One strong hand strayed from her hip and played with her dripping breasts. Slowly it made its way down between her legs.
Yasmin opened her mouth in silent rapture when Jack expertly teased her clitoris, massaging it gently between his fingers. She rolled back and forth along his cock with renewed vigor, assaulted by waves of pleasure from behind and in front.
Whatever Jack was doing, she was helpless to resist, to string things along. It was unusual for her to lose control so easily, so quickly. She could feel her tide overflowing and she shuddered involuntarily. Sensing her climax, Jack squeezed her hips, silently encouraging her to roll with it. He’d known exactly when to remove his fingers.
Yasmin gasped as her body shook with pleasure. The freezing cold night, the falling snow, the steamy spa, the balcony, it was all perfect. Eventually Yasmin’s body stopped throbbing and she climbed off Jack. She went to grab his shaft but he waved her away with a smile.
“Sit back, enjoy it,” he said in a hushed, slightly awestruck voice. He seemed to have enjoyed the show. What kind of man did this? A man who had seen it all. A man with hundreds of years of experience. A man who had learned the simple joy of giving pleasure to a woman.
“Can I marry you now?” Yasmin said jokingly. At that moment she probably would have. She’d never felt so content as she looked out over the wintry cityscape. The distant wail of sirens emerged as a haunting reminder of the real world.
All of a sudden the water wasn’t as warm as before.
“I’d better get you back,” Jack eventually said. Yasmin was thrilled to hear the note of regret in his voice, but she had to agree with him.
A commotion in the street below drew her attention.
Jack noticed it too, but his reaction was more immediate. He passed her a gown and led her to the rail.
Bathed in flickering neon, Times Square spread out far below them. As usual it was filled with people, but they had formed a ring around a single figure who walked slowly across the open space. Yasmin tried to focus her vision. Was it a street artist? A madman carrying a gun? She glanced up at Jack, who had gone pale very quickly. A knot of dread tightened in her chest.
“That’s not normal, is it Jack?”
“Let’s take a closer look,” Jack said firmly, dragging Yasmin back through the apartment.
Fully dressed, he paced up and down like a caged tiger as they rode the elevator down. Yasmin followed close as he hustled out into the eerily quiet street.
Snow continued to fall - a gentle, ponderous delivery that coated everyone’s head and shoulders. Yasmin hugged herself for warmth as she pressed through a thick band of spectators.
The flash of cameras gave the scene a crackle like electricity. Hundreds of onlookers were holding their phones above the crowd, hoping to record what was unfolding.
A fairly big man, Jack was able to muscle his way to the front of the crowd. He draped an arm over Yasmin’s shoulder, holding her close to him. She felt an inexplicable chill on the edge of her mind. The effect was disconcerting to say the least.
Not twenty yards away the lone figure was passing by. It shimmered in white, its clothes hanging from its frame in tattered rags. ‘It’ was probably the only apt description for the figure - Yasmin couldn’t determine any gender or indeed any human characteristics. It stood at least seven foot tall and seemed impossibly thin. The shimmering white light it generated made it difficult to pick out details, but Yasmin was certain the thing had a skeletal face.
But that wasn’t the worst thing about the creature. The way it moved made Yasmin’s skin crawl. It seemed to slide across the ground as if hovering less than an inch above it. Yasmin held on to Jack as tight as she could, wondering if the world was about to end. Once the dreadful figure had moved on, dragging the crowd with it, all she could do was look at Jack expectantly, hoping against hope he had some kind of explanation.
“Wight,” he muttered under his breath. “Come on, there’s not much we can do here.”
Jack took Yasmin in the opposite direction, hurrying along 5th Avenue. They passed several squad cars, no doubt alerted to the freak show.
Jack began talking quietly. It took Yasmin a moment to realize it was to someone else. The way he held his ear it was probably someone back at the lycan chapter house. He was describing what he’d seen in a grim voice.
The pair didn’t talk much on the way back to the chapter house. They didn’t need to - the spa rendezvous was worth a thousand words, enough to fill the night with the promise of something grand. Or so Yasmin hoped. She was content to huddle against Jack as they trod the immense foundation tunnel under the city. The crash of the ocean took on a more ominous tone at night.
Jack escorted Yasmin right to her room and kissed her on the cheek. It was a lingering kiss, full of care and affection. Then he was gone.
Yasmin lay herself down with a star burst of thoughts running through her head. Somehow her buzzing mind found its way to sleep.
Florence’s voice plucked her from sweet, dreamless sleep at dawn, but Yasmin could’ve sworn it was only five minutes later. She felt incredibly thick-headed, immediately feeling guilty for spending her first lycan night out on the town.
On the other hand, Florence looked just as seedy as she felt.
“Big night?” she asked her new mentor before Florence could ask the same question.
“You got me,” the redhead said with a sigh. “Damned barman has his claws in me.”
Yasmin chuckled, still riding a sweet high from the previous night.
“We have five minutes,” Florence reported sleepily. “The plane leaves within the hour.”
The werewolf left Yasmin to collect herself. She couldn’t help but smile as she began rummaging through her clothes. If this was what being a lycan was all about, life was about to get very interesting indeed.
8 - Florence
New York, USA
FLORENCE GATHERED HER travel documents and submitted to customs, keeping Yasmin in her line of sight at all times.
Her head had only just stopped throbbing and her mouth wasn’t quite so dry. She silently cursed herself for letting that fucking barman seduce her yet again. She was almost thirty - surely at some point she should stop acting like a teenager? But even as she scolded herself she knew it wasn’t entirely fair. The fact was she wasn’t like most humans - she was a werewolf, with a werewolf’s needs and desires.
Not only did she crave the attentions she received last night, she knew the hangover wouldn’t last very long. By the time they reached Berlin she’d be very close to 100%. She almost felt guilty that she was able to party so hard and not suffer the same consequences humans did.
No, the real issue was her failure to lead by example. That arrogant Jack Foley had clearly spent the night with Yasmin last night - it showed in the dark pits under her eyes. It showed in her almost impossibly pale skin.
If Florence was going to be an effective mentor to the girl, she needed to set the right example. She also needed to keep her away from Jack Foley. Like many werewolves he was hopelessly narcissistic, the ravages of time warping his sense of loyalty and common decency.
Florence was
sure that he would chew Yasmin up and spit her out. It was what he did with women. He justified it by claiming that he was only protecting them from long term pain. His favorite saying was that no one outlived a werewolf.
Of course, Florence usually had a thousand retorts ready, but she wasn’t exactly a monk herself. It always came back to a werewolf’s unusual needs. Perhaps there was no easy solution to the problem of human-werewolf relationships. Besides, now that the Flux had begun, things were about to get much more complicated.
Once she’d cleared customs, Florence sat with Yasmin, warning Foley away with her eyes. The brooding werewolf went and prowled the terminal with Paulie, Eddison and Max. She could tell the males were already preparing themselves for action. She couldn’t fault them for that. Things were liable to happen very quickly in Berlin.
While Yasmin sipped an apple juice, Florence checked the New York Times on her phone. She knew about the appearance of the wight in Times Square - Jack had briefed her on the way to the airport.
The newspaper had published the most dramatic photos taken by civilians on the scene. The wight certainly looked horrifying. The garish lights of Times Square seemed to drain the thing of color.
She wondered what Mother Aurora made of the incident. Apparently the wight had gone underground and had not been seen since.
One thing was certain - sightings such as this one were about to be far more commonplace. Not only that, but it was only a matter of time before someone was attacked and killed by a spirit creature. The world was filled with lunatics - when one of these types found some way to connect with their spirit animal, who knew what would happen?
Florence shivered inside. She’d gotten used to the idea that she would always have the edge on anyone that attacked her - unless they were another lycan. And now? Now all kinds of creatures would be emerging from the dark, each of them with varying strengths and weaknesses. There was a whole division of the New York Chapter devoted to the study of flux creatures as they appeared during the Dark Ages. A visit to the library might well be in order when she got back …
The Lycan Society (The Flux Age Book 1) Page 9
