Page 5 of Howl for the Gargoyle

"Isn't that kind of for, like…if you have a species specific interest?" I asked.

Natalie shook her head. "I may or may not have run this scenario by a former employee, and he said it's totally normal for werewolves to book with them for exactly this purpose."

It was a little odd to hear the phrase 'totally normal' applied to the idea of booking a 'monster' sex worker to help me get through my werewolf libido issues around the full moon, but maybe it made a kind of sense.

Natalie clapped her hands together and threw her feet down to the floor. "There, I made my pitch. Theo's definitely going to pretend he didn't hear a word of this. Now you just get to think it over, and if you wanna ask questions or pretend this never happened, that's fine."

"I'll think it over," I said, rising with her. "And maybe also pretend this never happened."

"Someone come and taste test this risotto," Theo said.

"You go. I'll go get Emmy," I offered. I could use a moment before facing Theo after that conversation. I didn't have a frame of reference—somehow, for all his indiscretions, I'd managed to be the only kid Virgil ended up with—but I was pretty sure Theo was like a brother to me, and we were both going to be embarrassed.

Hire a sex worker. Hire a sex worker who was…durable. My nose wrinkled as I considered the idea, taking the stairs up and following the notes of some kind of musical toy running low on its batteries.

I didn't mind Natalie overstepping to suggest the idea, but I wasn't convinced it was for me. Still, I needed a solution. Maybe it was time to really consider my options.

CHAPTER 2

Hannah

The city glimmered outside of the tall glass windows of my new gym. I'd joined a couple months after being bitten, when I'd finally accepted that I was too paranoid to go running outside again. The scents were too strong inside, and the sounds buzzing out of headphones and television screens mounted in every corner were too busy in my head, but at least I could get back to running—although running on a treadmill made me feel like a hamster on a wheel.

Behind me, reflected on the windows, I watched a young man lifting weights, our eyes occasionally meeting in the glass. He looked like he might be in college, or a little older. His body was big, with thick muscles clearly built by the many hours I'd seen him here. He was not my type at all—too young, too physical, too smug as he stared at my ass while I ran.

But today, he smelled fucking fantastic.

The full moon was tomorrow.

He grunted as he hefted the weights from the floor, and my feet stumbled as the sound seemed to stir through me. The sound he’d make thrusting into me. The sound he'd make as his back hit the ground. The sound he'd make as my nails raked down his chest and my sharp canines nipped at his throat.

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the heat in my core, the ache in my breasts, the slow pound of my blood in my ears.

Being an animal was humiliating. The fact that a grunt or a whiff of good sweat would turn me into a panting, dripping mess of need was galling. He was just some guy, cocky and unfamiliar. I used to grow aroused over coffee conversations, over slow kisses and whispered words, and, at my basest, over really high-quality porn. Now one ungh and a little pheromone magic, and I was going to—

I hit the stop button on the treadmill, bracing my feet on the edges, catching my breath as the room seemed to keep running past me, my brain tricked by the hour of stationary momentum. I was growing slick and ready, blood rushing to my sex, and my hands tightened painfully on the bars on either side as I watched the young man's reflection in the mirror, flexing and posing, his gaze holding mine.

Animals. Understanding what came next on an unspoken level.

I turned slowly, searching the gym. I was the only woman here at the moment. Women traveled in packs for their own safety, usually. But I was the predator. I'd learned how to sniff out other werewolves, and there were only humans here. Humans and me.

The younger man set his weights down, combed his fingers through bright gold strands of hair, tensed his arm for show. He thought he was catching me, snaring me, and maybe he was. Maybe it was mutual.

I walked toward him, my chin high as his eyes narrowed and his thin lips curved up. He opened his mouth for small talk.

"Come on," I murmured, grabbing his wrist, tugging gently.

It was his turn to stumble, to gasp, to follow. He let out a brief laugh.

"Yes, ma'am. Where are we—"

I walked faster, and he fell silent. Good boy. Just shut up and get fucked. Don't ask questions.

The women's locker room was just there in the hall. A few of the other men shot my victim a wink, a grin, but no one said anything. There was some kind of universal boys’ club for gym bros getting laid.

"What if someone comes in?" he whispered as I threw the door open.

"They won't," I answered. They hadn't two months ago, the last time I'd pulled this stunt.

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