Her.
“I’m supposed to be hibernating,” he said to himself, his ears sharp and fully aware that his voice was morphing into something not human. “Not shifting.”
The gravelly rumbles of vocal cords not designed for language made him begin to breathe hard, his muscles going rigid, his joints beginning to loosen as tendons slid and stretched. The pain was a sort of pressure that came with satisfaction, his metamorphosis a kind of destiny as he became more ursus than humana, more primal than prim.
Ding!
An empty elevator greeted him, and he thrust himself into it, pressing his palm against the secret steel panel for the Novo Club. A jumble of half-formed words assembled themselves into a primitive prayer in gratitude for his forefathers who built what he needed most right now.
Second to Jess, that is.
Eight floors below ground, he would find sanctuary from a world that could not know the truth about him. The flooding relief of pores that opened, the spiral, wiry release of fur from his skin as it thickened, the sharpening of his sight, and the scent of his own need made him fling his growing body against the wood-paneled wall over and over, the cables holding the elevator in its channel whipping around above like the crack of a coachman at the helm of a nineteenth-century carriage.
“Jess,” he whispered, except the word came out without consonants, a vowel-filled call that meant his shift was nearing completion. The pain of torn muscle fiber muted itself under the emotional torture of losing control. He hadn’t shifted involuntarily since that humiliating coming-of-age moment while in boarding school in England.
The last coherent thought McDermott Stanton had as the elevator doors opened to reveal Morgan, the secret club steward, standing before him with a welcome, somber expression, was the understanding that he no longer controlled any part of his world.
Not his body.
Not his mind.
And most certainly not his heart.
Chapter 5
An hour later, he stood before the elevator, pushing the Up button so hard, over and over, that he was like a woodpecker. Morgan had, as always, taken care of him through and after the shift, providing a safe place for nature to take its course. The need to mate, oddly enough, had led him back to human form.
He was confused. Nothing his body did made sense. Shifting in October was rare. Losing his ability to control his change from human to animal was unheard of.
And living with the humiliation of being kissed, then turned into an object of ridicule by her—Her!—was an issue that needed to be fixed.
Now.
Blinking hard, he stopped, the dull roar of the blood in his ears subsiding just enough for him to realize he’d run away.
McDermott Stanton did not run away with his tail between his legs from anyone. Rather, he ran away to chase a piece of tail and find his way between her legs.
Fury pounded through him, but it brought a sense of clarity.
If his kiss had been so unsatisfying for Jess, he should find another whom he could satisfy. Or two.
Or three.
And do it right here, right now, under Miss Jessica Murphy’s mocking eye. She thought he wasn’t worth a kiss?
Oh, he’d show her.
He’d show her exactly who was in control.
With determination, he marched back into the lounge just as the public elevator dinged.
“Derry!” called a melodic voice. “How perfect!” The gentle tickle of a Spanish accent was music to his ears as he forced himself to stop and turn on his heel, his smile more and more real as he caught the full image of Isla Monroe. The actress was far better known in her native country of Chile, but her breakout role in the US had come this year. Her face was plastered everywhere.
And soon it would be atop his cock.
“Isla! So good to see you,” he said, his voice booming loud as he swept her off her feet with a grin and a kiss on each cheek. She was hard and tight against his body, her face beautiful from about twenty paces, but up close, she was nothing but surgeon’s putty, Botox, and cosmetics. As a companion, Isla was good for a few hours of diverting fun.
Like eating junk food: you crave it, you eat it, and then you regret it quickly.
But it tastes so sweet when it’s in your mouth.
“Derry!” squealed another female voice. Oh, the luck. Fortune was smiling upon him this evening, as Frederica von Eisenthorpe launched herself at him, wrapping those never-ending legs around his waist and embracing him the way a small child greets a parent after a long absence.
Freddi was never one for decorum. When you’re the sole heiress of a family that had owned land in the time of the Vikings and managed to hang on to it through feudalism to social democracy and beyond, you don’t have to follow the rules.
He loved her for that.
“Ah, Freddi, you look absolutely divine,” he said into her shoulder, his words muffled by a mouthful of hair extensions the perfect shade of auburn that can only come from a chemical factory in New Jersey. “I must have done something wonderful in a past life to get both of you to myself tonight.”
Isla quirked one eyebrow. At least Derry thought she did. It was hard to tell. Her lip went up a few millimeters, and she looked like she was having a stroke.
“Both of us tonight, Derry?” Freddi said as he pulled her off him. She reminded him of an octopus strangling its dinner. “Only two?”
He gave her a lascivious smile. “Do you have another friend?”
“We have a playroom back at our suite.”
Derry smiled until his teeth felt like white, polished rocks in his mouth. “You say the most delightful things, Freddi.” He looped their arms in his and sauntered back to the bar, barely nudging his head to catch Carl’s attention. The second the threesome was seated, Gillian appeared, wearing a tight smile.
Hmmm. Speaking of a possible third…
Jess appeared right behind her, all polished professionalism with a neutral, blank face.
“Mr. Stanton,” Gillian said smoothly. “Ms. Monroe. And Lady von Eisenthorpe. Let me introduce you to our newest host, Jessica.”
Isla and Freddi acted as if Gillian and Jess weren’t there, whispering to each other and scanning the room.
“The usual?” Gillian asked. Jess looked anywhere but at him.
“Yes, the usual. And, Gillian… are you free after your shift?” he murmured, making certain Jess could hear him. He looked right at her rather than the woman he was propositioning. “Freddi and Isla and I would love to get acquainted.”
Gillian’s nose twitched with a pleased look as she seemed to struggle not to giggle. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, trying to keep Jess from hearing.
Derry waggled his eyebrows and said, “Bacchus always was my favorite god.”
“Not Loki, Mr. Stanton? I would think he would be more your speed,” Jess said in a clear voice, her face breaking into a cold, professional grin that said, Could you be any more shallow?
“More like Thor,” Freddi said, paying attention to the conversation quite suddenly. “Derry is very good at hammering important things.”
The three women cut Jess looks that made her swallow, hard. He knew she was struggling to maintain that neutral look.
Good. This bothered her.
He was doing something right.
After an hour of serving drinks to Derry and his female companions, Jess was more than ready for one of them to lose consciousness. They’d been continuously pouring cocktails down their lovely gullets, draining each one, yet still they sat upright, sometimes on Derry’s knee, asking for more.