Not only was the club dark, it was cold, but that didn't stop her from sweating hot nervous shivers. Everywhere she looked, everything seemed sickeningly expensive, from the way everything looked to the smell. Every time the blue lights flicked over her she felt colder. The lust that filled the place was almost sickening, like serpents writhing and twisting into the others silk and diamonds.
He looked down with a smile she couldn't read, which didn't help her feel any less furious. He trotted the last steps up the steps into the VIP's corner and settled her on his lap as he settled into his exuberantly red fauteuil confortable club chair.
She shifted irritably but didn't dare press too much of her luck, especially now security enclosed around them. She glared at him as he received a tall glass of Prosecco from a skimpy waitress who promised his meal would be ready soon, before inclining towards her. He leaned back, squeezing her body to his chest, his cold drink resting on her bare inner thigh. Normally she would've hated this, but she utilized the feel of it, absorbing it, absorbing the dark and the music. She didn't think of clubs having food, but then again she'd never really been to many clubs, or clubs VIP.
"Relax my cucciola, there is no need to be anxious with me." She felt knots uncoil, her body easied onto his hot skin. "See bella?"
'I can't let myself be angry,' she thought bitterly. 'I have to stay calm.'
She released her attention back to the clubbing around her. The beat of the music was like a virus, pulsing through the floor and off the walls, through the crowd. The dark throng throbbed in the neon spinning lights, contorted limbs rippled to the music's primal heartbeat. Sequins and diamonds spiralled, laughter and shrieks splicing through the brouha. The dance floor was like an abused chessboard, dirty glass and heel beaten squares and covered with spilt drinks glistening in the rainbow lights.
"What do you think of my club, little one?" He had been watching her closely, waiting.
"Your club?" He smiled and took a sip of his drink. He couldn't have gotten this rich off the club alone, she frowned.
"What's the matter, anima mia?" He rubbed her cold prickled skin, sending warm conflicting waves through her.
"I've known wolves before, but none were ever this. . . . rich." She looked up at him, his eyes were glowing pure gold. "But something else tells me you don't often show that part of you."
"And what is it you want to know?" He had put his drink down, his arms fully enfolded around her. She felt warm now, and though she hated herself for it, she felt safe. She shifted herself slightly, centring herself on his chest. "Let's play a game."
"What game?"
"Truth."
"Truth?"
"We take turns asking questions." She felt his hand slide back under her dress. "You go first."
"Who are you?" He laughed at this question, weaving his fingers into her hair.
"Alessandro De Luca," he whispered. That's right, De Luca. . . .
"I think I've read that name somewhere recently," she muttered, trying not to think about his roaming hands.
"My uncle died recently, that would have been in the newspaper. In fact, we will be going to his funeral tomorrow." She sat up straight and looked at him, feeling her heart sinking deeper into her gut.
"The Mafia Boss?" she asked.
"That's two questions."
"The one who was shot?" she wheezed. She sank down, thinking this over carefully. No wonder he was so rich. "So who's the Boss now?" She had a feeling she knew but decided to ask anyway.
"Me." She shivered slightly, making him hold her tighter. "My turn." She looked up at him. "Where did you get that scar?" He wet his finger, swiping off the makeup covering. From just over her eyelid, the scar took most of her eyebrow, stretching thinly towards her temple.
"My first moon song, I was so distracted I didn't notice the hook." He fingers it lightly.
"It took the entire patch of skin." She bit her lip. "Don't ever cover it again," he carefully wiped the remainder of the smear. "I like it." He smiled, and it made her body burn hot. "Why do you cover it?"
She shrugged, "I got sick of everyone asking about it." He nodded.
"Your turn."
"Are you all wolves, the Mafia, I mean?" she asked.
"Not all of them, but the pack is closely entwined." He grinned broadly, his canines gleaming white.
"Oh," she gasped.
"After my Uncle died, I established myself as the new Alpha." She felt him pull her panties to her ankles, knotting them tight.
"I knew a Siren once, a close friend of my fathers', her eyes glowed as well."
"All the Supernaturals do," she laughed.
"Her eyes glowed with lust and rage, but they never changed colour as yours do."
'He doesn't know. . . .'
"Tell me, why is that?" She frowned. "Oh? What is this?" He stroked her hair. "Keeping secrets from me?" He sighed, "I suppose I can let you keep this one. For now. Your turn again."
"Why is it all the dresses you've given me have zippers down the front?"
"Easy access."