Beneath a Blood Moon

by RJ Blain

  “I’m pretty sure that’s not how losing works, Wendy,” Sanders complained. “You pay the wager to me. I’m not your slave. Go get a rental.”

  “Nonsense. I thought you’d want to drive it as much as possible.” Desmond grinned. “Come along, Miss Sara, or we really will be late.”

  I sighed, lifted my head, and pushed away from the table. Sanders offered his arm. Eager to touch him, my wolf dredged up enough energy to stand. “Thank you,” I murmured.

  “Of course. Where’s the show, Desmond?”

  “The Bellagio. It’s probably faster to just walk. We can come back for the car after or catch a taxi.”

  I stared down at my shoes, wondering how I was going to survive the hike between the two hotels. Even in heels, it wouldn’t take more than ten minutes, but all I wanted was to find somewhere to curl up and take a nap, and my wolf made it clear she wanted Sanders at our side when we did so.

  With the issue of food resolved, my wolf’s desire once again roused, leaving me shaking, hot, and aching in response to her need. Her focus mostly remained on Sanders, although she paused and considered other eligible males who fit my list of criteria.

  They, however, had not pleased her. Sanders had, without question or complaint, fulfilled her every request. The trait boded well for her needs in a mate.

  I flushed at her desire for puppies, preferably with Sanders, although she’d consider some other dark-haired male, although she didn’t approve of our current lack of fur.

  Maybe the full moon had driven me insane when it had changed me into a werewolf.

  With my arm linked with Sanders’s, we headed out of Caesar’s Palace and took to the streets. It was quiet for a Friday night, but my wolf insisted I lean on Sanders to help her stake her claim on him and drive away unwanted females.

  When Sanders slipped his arm around my waist, my wolf delighted in the feel of his hand on my side. His gentle touch made her want more, and I once again fought to restrain her urge to make a very public demonstration claiming him as her—our—territory.

  When we reached the Bellagio, the fountain show was under way, forcing us to weave through the thick crowds to reach the hotel. Sanders took hold of my hand so he wouldn’t lose me in the bustle, and I kept a tight hold on the red and gold purse matching my dress.

  “Tickets,” Desmond ordered, holding his hand out to Wendy when we reached the resort’s entry. With a flourish, she handed over a small envelope. Instead of the main doors, he guided us to a private entry, handing over the tickets to the usher. “The tickets had to be purchased in pairs,” he explained as we were led up a flight of stairs. We were escorted to a private balcony suite overlooking a circular stage with a swimming pool set in the middle of it. I sucked in a breath. Instead of single seats, the suites had benches upholstered in blue.

  “Ladies first,” Sanders murmured in my ear, gesturing to the bench closest to the railing. I slid around the table centered between the seats. He sat beside me.

  Wendy smiled at me from where she sat across from me. “Charles has a weakness for circuses and zoos, and Cirque du Soleil blends the best of both worlds. He’s been sitting on these tickets for months, counting down the days to the show.”

  “I did no such thing, you naughty woman,” Desmond scolded, and when a waiter came, he ordered a bottle of champagne and chocolate-covered strawberries. “While I had acquired these tickets some time ago, my calendar reminded me at appropriate intervals.”

  When the waiter returned, Sanders took charge of the bottle of champagne, pouring a flute and handing it to me. “Don’t let him fill your ears with nonsense, Sara. I bought the tickets because I lost a wager with him. He decided I had to join him.”

  “As I said, I acquired the tickets,” Desmond replied, accepting a flute of champagne from Sanders.

  After the show, Desmond took custody of his wife and me, sending Sanders to Caesar’s Palace to retrieve the car while we cabbed to the Venetian. Although I thought separating was ridiculous since the two hotels were across the street from each other, I kept my mouth shut.

  My job was to look pretty and provide company.

  Despite living in Vegas, I hadn’t ventured to the Venetian before, but by the time we reached the lobby, I was too exhausted to focus on anything other than staying on my feet. If they wanted more out of me than looking pretty, they would be disappointed.

  In my tired state, I couldn’t feel my wolf. The euphoria of being alone in my head lasted until we reached the top floor and Desmond led me to a pair of double doors. The realization he had one of the hotel’s penthouse suites hit me hard. When I froze, he took my elbow in his hand and guided me into the room.

  It had a foyer with marble floors and gold inlays, which opened into a main living area complete with a baby grand piano. Wendy dumped her purse on the floor, and with a tired groan, collapsed on the couch, ignoring the fact she wore a dress that probably cost more than I did.

  “Go sit, Miss Sara,” Desmond said, giving me a gentle push in the direction of the armchair near the couch. More than half asleep, I obeyed, sinking down on the floral upholstery to stare at the polished wood of the coffee table.

  Desmond cleared his throat to catch my attention. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Please,” I replied, amused something as mundane as coffee was available in a place so opulent.

  “I want some as well,” Wendy said. “Sara, have you been in Vegas long? I couldn’t help but notice you have a bit of an accent?”

  I flushed. While I had gone to lengths to mask my New York accent, it slipped out from time to time, especially when I wasn’t paying attention. “Three years.”

  Sucking in a breath at my carelessness, I stared at Wendy with wide eyes. While Isabella had known how long I’d been in town, I avoided telling people. If they knew when I had arrived, they might be able to track me to my home.

  Isabella had been the only one who had known why I had run, and she yet hadn’t hesitated for more than a moment before turning to Rory and deciding to sleep with him. The betrayal left a sour taste in my mouth.

  “Do you like it here?” Wendy asked, smiling up at her husband when he brought a golden tray with three cups. They were the type I expected tea to be served in, made of delicate, gold-rimmed china. He set a saucer and cup in front of me.

  “No.” Once again, the truth popped out of my mouth before I could stop it. Shaking, I clapped my hands over my mouth.

  “Relax, Miss Sara. Have some coffee.” Wendy smiled at me, taking a sip of hers. “Honesty is refreshing, even if the answers aren’t necessarily what one wishes to hear. Don’t feel like you have to give us pretty answers. The truth’s always better.”

  It took several deep breaths to steady myself enough to obey without spilling the coffee all over the place. It was served strong and black, and while I would have preferred some sugar, I was too embarrassed to ask for some. The first sip scalded my tongue, and I focused my attention on blowing on the coffee so I could sip it without it burning all the way down to my stomach. “Okay.”

  “Do you like Sanders?” Desmond asked, sinking down on the couch beside his wife. They smiled at each other.

  I wondered if I’d ever be so relaxed and happy with someone. My wolf slept, and without her constant driving need to mate, I wondered if I liked dark-haired, amber-eyed Sanders. I certainly liked the way he touched me, light, gentle, and courteous. He hadn’t tested any boundaries with me despite my nose informing me of his interest in things more intimate.

  “He’s nice,” I replied, relieved I managed to think a little before speaking. “He’s courteous.”

  “Good looking,” Wendy supplied, winking at me. “In the rugged cowboy way.”

  “Cowboy way?” I asked, tilting my head to the side. “He’s not so rough.”

  Cowboys wore worn jeans, boots and often lacked the refinement I saw in Sanders. There was something sophisticated about him, but not in the wealthy, suffocating way I knew too well fro
m my mother and father.

  “Just wait until you see his truck,” Wendy replied. “You said you had a stomach bug earlier. No problems tonight? How long were you sick?”

  “I’m fine now, I think,” I replied, taking another sip of my coffee. Since I doubted there was any harm in telling her, I said, “Three bloody miserable days.”

  At the awkward silence following my answer, I stared down at my coffee and wished I could disappear. When I had prostituted, the men had been simple to keep entertained. They wanted one thing from me, and they had no interest in social pleasantries.

  Sipping my coffee gave me something to do while I waited for them to tell me what they wanted.

  “No wonder you were so hungry,” Wendy said, setting her coffee down. “I wonder what’s taking Sanders so long.”

  “Probably taking my Mercedes on a joy ride,” Desmond muttered.

  “Traffic, Mrs. Desmond. All of the late shows are letting out at the same time, and those who went for a drink on the casino level are hitting the streets right now,” I explained, emptying my coffee cup before setting it back on its saucer. “If he doesn’t know his way around, he’s likely figuring out how to find the valet parking.”

  “Do you drive, Miss Sara?”

  I shook my head. While my fake ID would likely let me get away with getting behind the wheel, I’d never driven before. My father had believed it beneath me to learn, and my mother hadn’t questioned his decree.

  “Unusual.” Desmond picked up my saucer and cup. “More coffee, Miss Sara?”

  “No, but thank you,” I murmured.

  Wendy leaned towards me, steepling her fingers together. Her brown eyes gleamed with a hint of Sanders’s amber. “Why did you accept our invitation?”

  I snorted, and unable to stop myself, I burst into laughter. “You won’t like the answer.”

  “You need the money.”

  I shrugged. “Sure. We all do in this town. Think half the women would dance if they didn’t need the cash? No. Most would rather have a cushy job behind a desk or some hot number to pay her way. Now, don’t get me wrong, some of the girls like the work, but most of us started because we needed the money. I need it for school and rent. The showgirl act pays well enough, but it’s not enough.”

  “Why do you think I wouldn’t like that answer?” Wendy demanded, her expression puzzled. “Paying for school is a good reason.”

  “It was the ‘I’d get fired if I didn’t’ part you won’t like,” I muttered under my breath.

  “You would have been fired?” Wendy straightened, her gaze shifting by me to her husband. “You were told this when our offer was given to you?”

  “Oh, no. He accepted your offer before I was asked.” I slapped my hands to my mouth, going cold as I realized what I had said. My throat tightened until I wheezed with each breath. My heartbeat hammered in my ears.

  What was wrong with me? My tongue was never so loose. Tears burned in my eyes.

  The back of my chair shifted. Desmond’s hands seized my shoulders, his grip firm. Ducking his head down, his breath tickled my ear. “Breathe, Miss Sara. Slow and deep,” he ordered.

  My body obeyed him, and despite the painful clenching in my chest, my lungs filled and I exhaled, long and slow.

  “Did anyone give you anything to drink or eat in the past few hours?” he asked, his hands massaging my shoulders. “Keep breathing slow and deep. Stay calm. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “You. Wendy. Sanders,” I answered.

  “Before us.”

  “Oh.” I blinked. Working the pole, dancing for Sanders, was a blur in my memory. The first dance was clear enough, before the heat of working in vinyl for so long had gotten to me. “Water at the club. From bottles,” I murmured, slumping in my seat from the way Desmond’s hands relaxed my tense muscles.

  “Anything else?”

  “Oh. I was nervous. Danny gave me a shot of vodka, straight up. Not uncommon, especially when one of us finds out we’re likely going home with someone.” I shook my head, wishing I could get my hands on the whole bottle to smother my embarrassment over the way I was running my mouth. “I headline, so he doesn’t usually send me home with someone.”

  At least, he often didn’t. Usually, I tried to escape the club as soon as I had gathered my tips for the night, which insured I only went home with men I wanted—or when I needed the money to help pay the bills. The rest of the time, I made my interest in potential men known to him between acts.

  Until tonight, the boss hadn’t crossed the line between my encouragement of certain prostitution offers and him making the arrangements without my consent.

  A shiver ran through me, and I clenched my teeth so I wouldn’t say another word. If the boss ever found out I was giving the Desmonds information about his club, he’d ruin me.

  “Who is Danny?” Desmond paused in his massaging. “Wendy, get some water, please. Also, call Sanders and find out how long he’ll be.”

  Wendy shot to her feet and headed around the table to the other room, pausing to grab her purse. Puzzled, I watched her go. Watching Desmond’s wife let me keep quiet. The ongoing commentary I expected from my wolf didn’t come. I frowned, wondering if she didn’t like coffee and it had driven her away.

  Getting rid of her couldn’t be so simple, could it?

  Desmond cleared his throat, giving my shoulders a squeeze. “Who is Danny, Miss Sara?”

  My mouth ignored my efforts to keep quiet, and I answered, “Oh. She’s a regular. One of the club’s best dancers. She danced after me in the rotation with the green girls, teaching them the ropes. Had fives.”

  “Fives?”

  “Five minute shifts. Makes the club look like there are more dancers than there actually are.” I sighed. “Boss is going to ruin me for sure.”

  “He’s not going to touch you,” Desmond growled, his grip on me tightening. “Why do you work at that scum’s club?”

  “Gently,” Wendy chided, returning with a glass of water, which she set in front of me. “Drink that, Sara.”

  In my head, I refused, but the glass was in my hand and I was doing exactly what she told me to. I drained it empty, gasping to catch my breath.

  Wendy took the glass and sighed. “You didn’t have to drink it down all at once.”

  “Any luck on Sanders?”

  “He’s at the valet and will be up in a few minutes.”

  Letting me go, Desmond circled my chair to sit on the arm. “When did this Danny give you the vodka?”

  “Not long before I came downstairs with George,” I reported.

  Desmond checked his watch. “Sometime between eight and eight-thirty, then. Miss Sara, look at me and listen to me very carefully.”

  I obeyed. Instead of his usual brown, Desmond’s eyes matched Sanders’s, a burning amber gold. For a brief moment, my wolf stirred, but she retreated again, her presence a sleepy murmur in my head.

  He lifted my chin with his finger, forcing me to meet his gaze. “The only person you will obey is me. If someone gives you an order you do not want to obey, you will ask me before you follow it. You will do nothing you are not comfortable with. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” my mouth said despite the panic settling over me.

  “Breathe, Sara,” he ordered.

  Because he told me to, I obeyed.

  “Wendy, another glass of water,” Desmond said, rising from where he sat to slump down on the couch.

  When Wendy returned, she once again set the glass down on the coffee table. “Drink that, Sara.”

  I shook my head, trying to scoot away, but the chair was heavy large to push away from the coffee table. Twisting to face Desmond, I stared at him with wide, tear-blurred eyes.

  “I was hoping that wouldn’t work,” Desmond replied, scowling. “Sara, it’s just water. You can drink it if you want to. Please be assured we are not going to make you do anything you do not wish to do.”

  “Charles, perhaps you should relax a little. You�
�re quite tense,” Wendy murmured.

  The door behind me opened. “Sorry I’m late. Traffic was obnoxious; I ended up missing the bloody turn into the hotel and had to circle around,” Sanders announced. He sighed, tossing his wallet onto the coffee table before dropping down on the armchair opposite me. “Did I miss anything interesting?”

  “Charles is contemplating murder,” Wendy replied, sitting beside her husband on the couch.

  I stared at Desmond, wondering how his wife had come to that conclusion—and why.

  “What now?”

  “Sara, did anyone give you anything to drink before our, ah, invitation was extended to you?” Desmond asked. “Any water?”

  “Had a bottle, was guzzling water between dances,” I replied, shrugging. “Danny was on after me so she was fetching them.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sanders demanded.

  “I have reason to believe she was drugged at the club, perhaps to make her more interested in joining us for the evening,” Desmond growled.

  Sanders sat up, his amber eyes flicking to me before focusing on Desmond. There was something odd about the way he stared, as though he wasn’t quite willing to meet Desmond’s gaze. “Are you fucking serious?”

  “Sara, go sit on Sanders’s lap and cover his mouth with your hand, please.”

  My sleepy wolf stirred, her interest immediately roused. She, as much as Desmond’s command, drove me out of my seat. I meant to straddle Sanders, but he caught me by the waist, turned me, and sat me down on his knees. I twisted, reaching for his mouth, pressing my fingers to his lips.

  “Okay, point made, Desmond. Don’t force her to do something like that!” Sanders growled, deep in his chest, and a pleasant shiver ran through me at the feel of his mouth moving beneath my fingertips. I lowered my gaze to the top two buttons of his shirt, both of which were still undone.

  The heat of my wolf’s desire spread from my belly through the rest of me.

  “She is under orders to obey Charles and only if she’s comfortable with doing what she’s been told to do,” Wendy replied, her tone smug.