The music was so loud I felt it in my bones.
Club Eclipse. I'd only ever seen the name in magazines. Tonight I was inside it, wearing a dress I borrowed from my roommate and a silver mask that hid half my face. My heart kept racing like it knew I didn't belong here.
I just needed one night where I wasn't Aurora Vale, broke college student, waitress, girl with a sick grandma and bills I couldn't pay. One night to feel pretty and free.
At the bar, someone touched the small of my back. A simple touch, but heat shot through me like I'd been shocked.
"Careful, little fox."
That voice. Deep, rough, like smoke and whiskey. I turned and forgot how to breathe.
Golden eyes stared down at me from behind a plain black mask. Tall (God, so tall), broad shoulders, black suit that fit him like it was sewn on. Dark hair a little messy, like he didn't care what anyone thought. Dangerous. Beautiful.
I tried to sound brave. "I'm not little."
He smiled, slow and wicked. "We'll see about that."
He ordered me a drink without asking. I should've said no. Instead I took it, swallowed the burn, and let the room spin.
We didn't talk much.
He asked my name. I lied and said "Red."
He told me to call him "Sir."
I laughed (tipsy, stupid, happy), and he leaned close, lips brushing my ear.
"Keep laughing like that, Red, and I won't let you leave this club walking straight."
My whole body lit up.
I don't remember the walk to the elevator. I remember mirrors everywhere, his hands sliding under the slit of my dress, my back against cool glass while he kissed me like he was starving. My mask came off. His stayed on.
I reached for it once. He grabbed my wrist, pinned it above my head.
"No," he growled. "Tonight you don't see me. You just feel."
And I felt everything.
The suite was huge, windows from floor to ceiling, city lights sparkling below us like fallen stars. He didn't turn on the lights. Moonlight was enough.
He kissed me hard, teeth scraping my lip, hands in my hair, pulling just enough to make me gasp. My dress ripped (actually ripped) down the side. I didn't care. I wanted it gone.
He lifted me onto the grand piano by the window. My thighs hit cold wood, keys clanged under me. His mouth was on my neck, my chest, everywhere. I wrapped my legs around him and felt how much he wanted me. A desperate sound slipped out of my throat.
"Please," I heard myself beg.
He gave me what I wanted. More than I knew how to ask for.
Clothes disappeared. His shirt landed on the floor and I saw wolves tattooed across his chest, running over muscle and scars. I touched them with shaky fingers. He shivered, like no one ever touched him softly before.
When he finally pushed inside me, it hurt for a second (then it didn't). I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, moving with him because nothing had ever felt this good, this right.
We didn't stop. Not on the piano, not against the window, not when he carried me to the bed and started all over again, slower this time, watching my face like he wanted to remember every second.
The last time, he held my gaze the whole time. Gold eyes burning into mine. I came apart whispering nonsense, tears on my cheeks for reasons I couldn't name.
After, I fell asleep against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down.
When I woke up, the sky was turning pink. The bed beside me was cold.
He was gone.
The only thing left was a black card on the pillow. Thick, heavy, with a silver wolf printed on it and four words carved underneath:
Until the next moon.
I held it tight and told myself it was just one night.
Three weeks later, two pink lines on a cheap plastic stick laughed at that lie.