Page 5 of Primal

Nose and several ear piercings, black hair with a bleached white stripe, and wearing all black, she moves with a feline grace across the dimly lit club, her every step radiating an aura of confidence and allure. The shimmering dark fabric of her dress clings to her curves, accentuating the sway of her hips as she approaches the bar. Her striking features, framed by thick, raven locks, draws the gaze of every soul in the room.

I watch, transfixed, as she leans against the polished counter, ordering a drink with a coy smile that could disarm even the most hardened of men. The bartender, clearly smitten, fumbles with the bottles, his cheeks flushed with desire.

Why the fuck is she here alone?

She shouldn’t be alone!

Fiora moves her head side to side, scanning the crowd, eventually locking onto someone I can’t quite make out. She waves the person over, and I eventually see that it’s her friend, Storee—my best friend’s girlfriend.

Okay… so at least she isn’t alone. Thank fucking god. The Vault is no place for a woman like her to attend by herself.

Fiora’s lips curl into a devilish grin as Storee approaches, her movements exuding an air of mischief. The two women embrace, their laughter mingling with the music’s pulsating rhythm. Storee leans in, whispering in Fiora’s ear and eliciting a playful smirk from her friend.

The women truly have a friendship which is a shame… considering what I now know about who Fiora truly is.

Drinks in hand, they make their way through the throng of bodies on the dance floor, hips swaying in sync with the beat. The crowd parts before them, as if the clubbers know the importance of these women and how they are connected to the owners of The Vault.

Fiora and Storee move toward the heart of the dance floor, their bodies swaying sensuously to the hypnotic rhythm. The pulsating lights cast flickering shadows across their faces, accentuating the alluring curves of their figures. As they dance, their movements become more fluid, more intimate, a tantalizing display of feminine power and grace.

Locke approaches our usual owners’ booth we always sit at, whiskey in hand. I was the first to arrive, Merrick and Soren not at the club yet.

Locke sidles up beside me, his gaze fixed on the two women. “I swear, Storee’s going to be the death of me,” he murmurs, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I questioned letting her come tonight.”

Locke’s gaze is transfixed on the two women, his knuckles white from gripping his glass. Tension radiates from him, aprimal hunger simmering beneath the surface. It’s no secret that he harbors a fierce desire for Storee, one that borders on obsession.

The air is thick, a heady brew of lust, possessiveness, and the ever-present undercurrent of danger that permeates our lives. Fiora and Storee are oblivious to the storm growing around them, lost in their own intoxicating world of forbidden desires.

“I want to wait until Merrick and Soren get here,” I start, “but we have a problem on our hands.”

Locke doesn’t take his gaze off his girlfriend, but he’s paying attention to my words at least. “Problem? With what? The Vault?”

“No. I have information.”

Across the room, Merrick and Soren slip through the array of revelers, their eyes instantly drawn to the display of people either fucking or coming damn close to fucking all around them. The night is getting off to an early, lust-filled start, and it will end with another hunt.

“Looks like the night’s already off to an interesting start,” Soren murmurs as he slides into the booth next to me, his voice a low rumble that barely carries over the pounding bass.

Merrick offers a wolfish grin in response, his eyes never leaving Fiora and Storee’s undulating forms. “You let your woman come out and play?” he asks Locke, who doesn’t seem the least bit amused.

I lean back, taking a sip of my drink as Merrick and Soren settle in and order their drinks.

“Gentlemen, we have a situation,” I begin, my voice low and measured. “Storee’s friend Fiora. She shouldn’t be here, not with the information I know about her.”

Soren’s brow furrows, his gaze shifting from the dance floor to me. “What information?”

The music seems to swell, the bass vibrating through our bodies as I lean forward, my expression grave. “She’s a Godwin.”

Locke’s stare shifts from Storee to me. “Explain. What do you mean she’s a Godwin. Her name is Fiora Delaney?”

“Fake name. And why she is hiding the fact that she is Hector Godwin’s daughter, I’m not sure.” I continue to watch her dance like she doesn’t have a care in the world. “But the Godwins are looking for her. She disappeared one night, and though the Godwins are keeping it on the down low, Hector currently has a missing daughter.”

Beneath the surface of her captivating dance, a dark undercurrent lurks, a truth that threatens to shatter the illusion of carefree abandon she radiates.

Heathens Hollow is a place where secrets run deep, and the line between reality and nightmare is often blurred beyond recognition. Fiora wouldn’t be the first person to hide away on this island, running from her demons. She most certainly isn’t the first ghost to walk our shores, a person determined to simply disappear in the fog of our banks.

“She’s a goth girl with a septum piercing,” Soren says. “No way is that a Godwin. They are all snooty rich fucks.”

“I agree. No way is she a Godwin. The Godwins know everything, and they most certainly would know if one of their own was living in some crappy cottage. Why would she choose Heathens Hollow to hide? The island is owned by the Godwins. Why?” Locke returns his gaze to the dance floor.

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