Page 71 of The Wolf Professor

Charlie felt suddenly very tame. Here she was, in the retro style party dress she’d made herself, no extras, no sex toys. All on her own, like a tragic wallflower.

A rut wallflower.

She couldn’t help smiling at that.

“Okay, so here’s your wristband. True mate chase is blue, that tells others you’re not available to chase. Here’s another for your partner, are they here?

“Not yet, he’s been held up at work,” she explained. Okay, so it was a small white lie.

“I’ll keep a colored band for them under your booking,” Taryn said. “What’s your partner’s name?”

“Um, Max.”

The girl’s eyes widened for a moment. “Max who?”

“Just Max.”

Oh gods, had she dropped Max in it?

He still hadn’t replied to her text.

Maybe he hadn’t gotten her message.

Maybe he had, and he’d chosen to ignore it.

As Charlie made her way into the venue, her thoughts were tumbling over themselves, and she was almost tempted to walkright back out that gate. But when she looked back at the long queue of ears and whiskers and horns and tails—she couldn’t tell if half of them were real or fake—she knew this was not the time to get cold feet, though her feet, to be honest, were freezing in her high-heeled shoes. Would she even be able to run, she wondered?

She had a little map. She knew where her log cabin was, kind of. She might as well start making her way toward it.

Soon she heard the grunts and giggles of coitus and saw the flash of butt cheeks in the bushes, paws and hands kneading breasts and mouths on body parts.

At one stage a minotaur zoomed out of a clump of bushes, clasped her round the waist and started to pull her into his hot furry body. “Ah, taken, taken,” she gasped, flashing her wristband at him. He let her go with a good-natured laugh. “Pity,” he said.

The next moment a will’o’the wisp sped past and the minotaur shouted, “Yellow band… size difference?” When the tiny creature yelled, “Sure, catch me if you can,” he clomped off on huge hooves, bellowing with delight.

Charlie headed deeper into the park. The venue was a large area of greenery between Old Motham and the Purple Lantern District. It had been designated as parkland many years ago, and with help from monster donations, the woods had been cultivated. The area had hosted a number of concerts and the like, but it was best known for hosting the ruts. She’d never realized it was so extensive. Rumor had it that it expanded at the time of the ruts with the use of magic. That would make sense, she guessed—it never looked this big normally.

It was beautiful nevertheless, with the brightly colored Christmas lights and glass baubles hanging from the trees, the lit-up pathways and backlit bushes.

She passed a dryad being pounded into vigorously against a tree by a satyr. By their howls of delight, they were clearly loving every second of it. Nearby, she spotted a threesome, a writhing mass of horns, hooves, and tails. She didn’t like to stare.

In truth, she was beginning to lose her nerve. She’d been here for a while, wandering the paths, and the pulsing music and the frenzy of rutting creatures was giving her a slight headache.

And then she stilled. Cocked her head, listening. She thought she detected panting in the shrubs to her right. The heavy breath of a large wild animal.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

“Max,” she whispered. “Max…”

No answer. But she sensed she was being watched. Like prey.

Fear, primal and intoxicating, shot through her.

With a little squeal, Charlie darted off through the trees.

He’d been out in the wilds for five whole nights and days, and now the moon rising above the pine trees was a full golden orb in the night sky.

Max’s nostrils flared, his snout twitched, scenting the cold night air.

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