3. Karina
Karina
The black dress feels painted onto my skin, like a second coat I can't shed when the moon calls. Britney's stilettos—torture devices she swears are totally comfortable after the first hour—make me tower over her even more than usual, bringing my wolf uncomfortably close to the surface.
“You look fucking incredible. I knew that dress would work on you. It's like it was made for those hips.”
I tug at the hemline, trying to coax it lower on my thighs. “It's a bit...revealing.”
“That's the whole point!” She laughs, the sound bright against the midnight backdrop of redwoods. “God, I can't believe you've been hiding that body under those baggy clothes all this time. Those legs should be illegal.”
I swallow hard, feeling exposed in more ways than one. “I'm not used to showing this much skin.”
“That's exactly why you needed this.” She loops her arm through mine, steadying me on the borrowed stilettos as we walk toward what looks like an abandoned mill nestled among towering redwoods. “Travis kept you hidden away like some dirty secret. Time to remind yourself you're a goddamn goddess.”
My wolf preens at the compliment, even as anxiety churns in my stomach. I'm walking into a sex club filled with humans when my control is at its weakest. Stupid. Reckless.
“So, the bartender I mentioned—Axel—he's got these arms that should be in a museum.” Britney chatters as we approach the unassuming entrance, her words tumbling out faster as her excitement builds. “And he makes this drink called a Silver Bullet that will change your life. One is enough to knock me on my ass, so maybe don’t get that to start off.”
Silver Bullet? My steps falter as the name of the club comes into full view, illuminated by subtle red lighting against the old timber facade.
Crimson Howl.
My heart stops.
Howl. Crimson. Like blood. Like pack.
This isn't just any sex club. It's a were club. It has to be.
Shit.
“Britney,” I manage through suddenly dry lips, “how long have you worked here?”
She doesn't notice my panic, too busy digging through her clutch for our invitations. “About six months. Best job I've ever had. The owners are loaded—some rich family that owns half the town. Super private people, but the pay is amazing.”
My mind races. Does Britney know what I am? Is this some elaborate trap? But no—her heartbeat is steady, her scent unchanged. There's no trace of deception. She genuinely thinks she's just bringing her repressed neighbor to a kinky human club.
“You okay?” Britney's looking at me now, head tilted. “You are like super pale. I promise no one's going to make you do anything you don't want to do. Consent is like the number one rule here.”
“Fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just a little nervous. I've never been to a place like this.”
Inside, I'm spiraling. I have to get out of here. Now. But my feet won't move. The pounding of my heart must be audible to everyone within a mile radius. My palms are sweaty, and I'm struggling to maintain my composure.
“That's totally normal,” Britney says, patting my arm. “First-time jitters. Trust me, after one drink, you'll be fine.”
One drink won't solve the fact that I'm in a literal wolf’s den. The moment I step through those doors, every wolf in that club will catch my scent.
“Maybe we should go somewhere else,” I suggest, trying to sound casual. “Get a drink at a regular bar first?”
Britney laughs. “No way! Do you know how hard it was to get these invitations? They never let us come in to play on our days off. Come on, it'll be fun.”
She practically drags me toward the entrance. I could break free easily—my strength would send her stumbling—but not without revealing myself.
A large man in an impeccably tailored suit stands at the door. Human, from the smell of him, but every movement radiates the calm alertness of someone who knows exactly what he’s guarding.
“Good evening, Miss Carr,” he greets, “And you must be the guest.”
His attention lingers on me a beat too long before he finally steps aside and gestures toward the heavy wooden doors behind him.
“Do you need my ID?” I ask, fingers fumbling through the small, chained purse I insisted Britney let me bring to hold my phone and small wallet.
He shakes his head at me. “No names are used here. Special invitations only. Masks are mandatory once you cross the threshold,” he explains, producing two elegant pieces from a velvet-lined box. “They remain on for the duration of your visit.”
The mask he offers me is a black leather mask with ears. Metal studs line the outline of the ears and the brow bones. It’s a cat mask.
I stare at the mask in his hands, my throat closing up. The universe has a sick sense of humor—dressing the predator as prey. But I can't refuse without drawing attention, so I take it with trembling fingers.
“Thank you,” I manage.
Britney gets a sleek black bunny mask with silver whiskers. She slips it on with practiced ease, transforming into someone mysterious and confident. The mask suits her perfectly.
“Your turn,” she says, her voice slightly muffled but still cheerful.
I lift the mask to my face, the leather cool against my heated skin. The moment it settles into place, something shifts. The anonymity should be comforting, but instead, it feels like I'm walking into a trap, wearing a sign that says, eat me.
“Perfect,” the doorman says, but there's something in his tone that makes my wolf's hackles rise. “Enjoy your evening, ladies.”
The doors swing open, and the scent hits me.
Pack. Multiple packs. The air is thick with werewolf musk, arousal, and power.
Ancient, territorial power that makes my wolf want to both submit and run.
I freeze in the doorway, every instinct screaming at me to run.
But Britney's already pulling me forward, her excitement palpable as she leads me deeper into what I now realize is enemy territory.
The interior is all wood, shadows dancing in the amber light from wrought-iron fixtures.
A bar dominates one wall, bottles of expensive liquor gleaming like jewels.
The main floor opens into a larger space where I can see figures moving—some watching and some participating in activities that make my cheeks burn even through the mask.
But it's not the sight that overwhelms me. It's the scents. Layer upon layer of werewolf pheromones, so thick I can barely breathe.
“Isn't this place amazing?” Britney beams, completely oblivious to my internal crisis.
The air practically crackles with supernatural energy. I count at least a dozen different werewolf scents, maybe more. All male. All dominant. All now aware that a female has just entered their territory.
A low growl rumbles from somewhere to my left, and I turn to see a man in a wolf mask watching me from the bar. Even from this distance, I can feel his stare. My wolf whimpers, caught between attraction and terror.
“Let's go to the bar. I'll introduce you to Axel.” Britney starts toward the bar, but I catch her arm.
“Actually, can you get me something? I need a minute to...take this all in.”
She studies my face through the mask, and I pray she can't see how badly I'm shaking. “Of course! What do you want?”
“Something strong. Not the Silver Bullet—just...whatever you think is good.”
“I'll be right back,” she promises, squeezing my hand before disappearing into the crowd.
The moment she's gone, I press my back against the nearest wall, trying to steady my breathing. This was a mistake. A catastrophic, potentially life-threatening mistake. I need to text Britney some excuse and get out of here before—
“You smell like moonlight and honey, baby.”
The voice comes from directly beside me, low and rough with barely contained power. I turn to find a man in an elaborate wolf mask leaning against the wall, his towering presence radiating the kind of dominance that makes my wolf want to bare her throat.
“I'm sorry?” I manage, though my voice comes out breathier than I intended.
“Your scent.” He pushes away from the wall, moving closer. “It's...intoxicating. I caught it the moment you walked in.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. Panic floods my system. He can smell what I am. Of course he can. I'm broadcasting my scent like a neon sign to every wolf in this place.
“I don't know what you mean,” I lie, taking a step back only to find myself pressed more firmly against the wall.
He follows, closing the distance between us with predatory grace. “Don't you?” His head tilts, studying me. “You meeting someone here?”
My mouth goes dry. “I'm here with my friend. She works here.”
“Britney.” It's not a question. “Sweet girl.” He leans closer, and I catch his scent—tobacco and whiskey. “But you aren’t sweet, are you, baby?”
I can't breathe. Can't think. The space between us crackles with tension, and I'm hyperaware of how the black dress clings to my skin, how exposed I am in this den of predators.
“I should go,” I stutter.
“Should you?” His voice drops lower, and I feel the rumble of it in my chest. “Tell me, little wolf, what pack do you belong to?”
“I think you've confused me with someone else.”
When I try to slide past him, his hand catches my wrist, not roughly, but with unmistakable strength. Warmth radiates from his touch, a jolt of electricity shooting up my arm that makes my wolf whine.
“You didn't answer my question.” His voice drops an octave, the kind of tone that makes lesser wolves submit instantly. “What pack?”
“Let go of me.”
“What fucking pack are you from?”
I press myself harder against the wall, desperately scanning the room for Britney.
“None.” The word slips out before I can stop it, and I watch his entire body go rigid. “I don't belong to any pack.”
The silence stretches between us. Even through the mask, I can feel the intensity of his stare boring into me. Around us, the club continues its rhythm, but it feels like we're trapped in a bubble of tension.
“Impossible.” His grip on my wrist tightens slightly. “Every she-wolf belongs to a pack. Especially one like you.”
“One like me?”
He sniffs me again, smiling wide, “Fuck. Are you a desperate little wolf slut looking to be bred, baby?”
My blood turns to ice. Shit. I hadn’t noticed. I’ve been with a human so long that I didn’t even think about it much anymore. Travis was never the wiser when my cycle started. He only cared that our active sex life went into overdrive.
I have to get out of here.
“Let. Go,” I say through gritted teeth, struggling to keep my claws from extending.
“Do you honestly think I am about to let you slip through my fingers so easily? Coming here was a mistake,” he growls, his voice dropping even lower as he leans in so close I can feel his breath through the eyeholes of my mask.
“Not one male will let you walk out of here smelling so fucking good. Not until you’re bred. ”
My heart hammers against my ribs. I try to pull away again, but his grip remains firm. Not painful, but immovable.
“I can smell him on you,” he continues, disgust evident in his tone. “A human male. His scent clings to you like a disease.” He leans closer, inhaling deeply near my neck. “I could teach you what it's like to be with a real wolf. What it's like to be fucked properly.”
“I don't need to be fucked by anyone,” I hiss, finding my courage. “Least of all you.”
“You have no idea who you're talking to.”
“I don't care if you're the king. Let. Go.”
His grip tightens around my wrist, and before I can fight back, he's pulling me away from the wall, dragging me toward a dimly lit hallway at the back of the club. I dig my heels in, but these ridiculous stilettos offer zero traction on the polished floor.
“You're not going anywhere,” he snarls low enough that only I can hear. “Not until we figure out exactly what to do with a rogue she-wolf in heat.”
I struggle against his hold, careful not to use my full strength with so many human witnesses around. “Let me go. You have no right—”
“I have every right,” he cuts me off, voice dropping to a growl that makes my wolf whimper despite my anger. “As an alpha, I can take whatever the fuck I want.”
Two men materialize on either side of us, their expensive suits and blank expressions marking them as security. They flank us as the masked wolf continues dragging me down the hallway, away from the main floor and any chance of Britney seeing what's happening.
“My friend will look for me,” I warn, desperation creeping into my voice.
“Your human friend will be told you left with a handsome stranger,” he says dismissively. “It happens here all the time.”
The hallway stretches before us, doors lining both sides. He reaches for a door handle, and I see my chance. I twist my wrist sharply, using a technique my father taught me years ago—one quick jerk with all my strength. His grip loosens just enough, and I wrench free.
“Fucking bitch!” he snarls, lunging for me.
I kick off the ridiculous stilettos and bolt down the hallway, my bare feet silent against the polished floors. Behind me, I hear shouting and the thunder of footsteps. My heart pounds in my ears as I race past door after door, testing handles as I go. Locked. Locked. Locked.
“Stop her!”
I glance over my shoulder to see the security guards giving chase, their human speed no match for my wolf-enhanced legs. But the wolf moves faster, gaining on me with every stride.
The next door handle gives under my desperate grip, and I throw myself inside, slamming it shut behind me. I fumble for a lock, but there isn't one. Panic rises in my throat as I back away from the door, searching for something to barricade it with.
That's when the smell hits me—copper and iron, hot and fresh. Blood. So much blood.
I turn slowly, my senses overwhelmed by the metallic tang filling the small room, and freeze.
A man stands with his back to me, and another on the ground before me, unmoving, with blood pooling around his body.