~DARK AND SULTRY~

~CASSELBA'S POV

A DISMAL FEAR closes over me as I hurry across the smooth granite-tiled floors of a lecture building.

Up above, stunning architecture paints the archs and blocks of the high ceiling; massive engravings made upon sculpted stonecraft that could hold the eye, but I have no thought for it. Only one recurring horrible image fills my head. The corpses of the RavenClaw pack.

My pack.

How the other packs would laugh? Especially the Ferals.

White supremacist anti-feminist cock-sucking bastards!

They believed no woman should be an Alpha—especially not one of my 'race' as their Alpha, Hiram had so eloquently put it before his fist sank into the back of my head.

As his band of terror tore through my wolves like sheep, I could only stare with tears in my eyes. I didn't let them fall though. The big fucker would get no weakness from me. He didn't kill me, just left me to watch all the black blood and gore that remained of my pack. A huge mistake on his part.

...One day, my wolf whispers. One day, we will sink our teeth into his fucking neck.

I just needed to find one of his stupid henchmen. Surely, they must be lurking around somewhere; waiting to pounce on some other Pack they agreed was weak. To the racist dicks, they were the law.

The fur beneath their skin was a just way to exert more dominance on unsuspecting enemies.

I feel a warm stirring over my belly and I stop. My heels click sharp on the glinting floors of the archway. The flutter spreads higher over my flesh, whispering in butterfly caresses.

When it hits me hard in a particular liquid zone, I shiver and bite back a moan. Not now! I didn't need this slow torture at this moment but when a shewolf called, you damn well need to answer.

I needed release—the intense kind. That is the only way I'm able to cope with loosing over two dozen werewolves that chose me to be their leader. They put their faith in a woman and look where it got them, but I'll be damned if I let it be said by Ferals that a woman was not fit to lead a pack. The bastards just had to wait—for my rain of fury.

I needed revenge but for now hot, sweaty sex will do.

The moment I think it, the image of the young man from earlier floods into my head.

NO! I whisper to my inner wolf. The boy was my student but somehow the way his liquid brown eyes lighted into mine and the way his blonde hair fell over his face got to me.

The boy was hot. That was a given. Not much younger than me too, probably two years or less. As the stirrings over my skin grew stronger and began to hum lower, I knew I had to satiate the urge—somehow. But not with the cute brown-eyed student.

I already knew what my wolf was saying. This mystery Sophomore that somehow turned me on from a distance could be something more. Infact, he was. But he was also human.

Canines didn't take mates among humans for obvious reasons. The last time someone tried, his mortal spouse ended up in the belly of the Ferals. Her werewolf husband, mad with fury, went to face the Ferals alone. Long story short, Hiram the Puritan bastard made a coat from his fur.

As I slide into my car and drive away, I'm aware of the hot stares of men directed towards me. How hilarious it is, that some men openly hated powerful women but secretly wanted them.

I push a button and the windows slide down. I moan as the cold breeze washes over my skin. Nature is still a wonder to me even after the many years I had spent frolicking in it. As my thoughts veer back to my murdered pack, I make a decision.

Tonight won't be about blood and smoke. It won't be about men either.

It will be a night of claws and lust. And women too.

~. ~. ~.

THE SKY IS DARK WITH NIGHT and the air is windy with the whispers of a cold weather as I drive towards a place notorious for it's brazen sexual activities.

A haven to the needs of men.

The Aston Martin revs to a stop and I slowly climb out in front of the abandoned St. James Parish. Only it isn't actually abandoned and it is definitely not a place where you can find an angel.

The entire surrounding is silent and a few devious bats lurk around, swirling past the crooked spire of the Church. My boots crunch on gravel as I walk in. I remember to place my keys in a dank flower vase to the right. Someone would be here to pick it up and drive it away to the underground garage.

When I first visited the INFERNO; the secret sex club I'm walking into, I was still the RavenClaw Luna. A woman who just wanted to have some fun. It was until my canine eyes saw the hidden cameras under the bushes and felt the soft rumble beneath my feet that I knew that the Inferno was more secret than I initially thought.

People paid top-dollar to ensure the environment of St. James stayed as natural as possible. The cops wouldn't even blink if they past the Church now. It was so stark and hidden, not hinting at any form of activity below.

The doors creak, slowly opening as I push in and a faint mustiness filters into my nostrils. As I make my way past the dusty pews towards the altar, I hear the start-up rev of my car which signalled that it was now in safe hands.

Someone was driving it away to the underground garage. Visitors to this extreme and completely secretive club were given certain stipulations after signing the hundred-dollar-a-week contract.

One, you always come alone. Always.

Two, you never tell anyone about it's location. Never. A particular Sicilian Mafia squad ensured that interested parties maintain this principle.

Three, fuck all you want. Nothing was wrong behind the altar.

Behind this cobwebbed platform that is supposed to hold pieces of holy ware, a certain humming sound caresses my ears. I walk towards it, stopping at a pale blue light.

I've been at this club many times but the intricacy of it's privacy never ceases to amaze me; the depths humans will go to to assuage their desires.

I slowly remove my black entrance card from my jacket pocket, placing it on the blue light. As the computer verifies my invitation, I peer closer at the card.

Wonderful hand-written cursive in gold letters peer back at me. This is what rich people do at night. Creep into abandoned churches to have a night of untamed lust. I was just here to participate also.

The blue light beeps once and the stone walls slide apart, just like that. Black granite gives way to the plush lighting of the elevator. I gingerly walk in.

The doors sweep back closed and I hear the stones grind back in place. The elevator stays in place, as if unmoving but from the rapidly changing numbers in front of me, I know it is going down. Way down.

The elevator dings, slides open, and the next thing I see is pure lust hidden beneath the spectre of a holy place.

I slowly walk in, my boots sliding softly over polished chrome floors. I immediately see my prize. With my eyes on her, I move forward, across the expanse of spotless expensive atmosphere.