“Not a bad deal.” Randy looked up from the papers, breaking his silence. “So, Alexx, you want to be a reporter, do you? Write stories for the Chronicle?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Alexx tightened his grip on the armrests, keeping his voice as steady as possible. He was on solid ground here—his love of journalism, and his desire to succeed. He hoped his talent would open the door, despite his lack of formal training in the field.
Randy glanced at Glenn, then back to Alexx. “These stories show promise,” he said. Glenn nodded his agreement. “You have a natural talent for journalism, Alexx.”
Alexx warmed at his words, suddenly remembering how to breathe.
“How’d you like a real chance to show what you can do?”
“I’d love that,” Alexx said eagerly.
“Then I’ll tell you what I have in mind.”
Alexx leaned forward, expectantly.
“As you know, the big Lupercalia festival is coming up.”
Alexx nodded. Even in the short time he’d lived there, he realized that Lupercalia was a major holiday to the residents of Crescent Bay, much more so than Valentine’s Day. They played up the three days of the holiday in a big way, especially for the benefit of the tourists. It was no secret that supernaturals came from all over the country, some from around the world, to participate in and witness the festivities. The same strides in modern medicine that allowed the supernaturals to keep their behavior under control also allowed them the chance to become a growing force in society, one that no longer needed to hide itself, shrouded in erroneous myths and legends.
“I’d like you to do a couple of pieces on the local supernaturals, and how they’ve helped to shape the economy of Crescent Bay,” Randy continued. “The first one is to run on February 6, as a lead-in to the whole festival. Then the second will start when the festival does, on the thirteenth, and run all the way to the climax of everything—the Lupercalia Ball.”
Alexx dropped his eyes to the floor, fighting the wave that hit him at the editor’s words. This sounded more like an assignment for the society editor. Not for the crime reporter he wanted to be.
He swallowed his disappointment. It tasted bitter. He forced himself to take a deep breath.
On the other hand, his more logical mind reasoned, it was something, a step in the right direction, and he should be grateful for even this opportunity to show his boss what he could do.
He had to start somewhere, right?
He glanced up. Both men were looking at him. Alexx realized he’d not said anything yet to Mr. Randolph’s proposal. “I’d like to do that,” he said at last.
“This is on your own time, of course,” Randy added. “It’s a test run, to see both how well you can write, and how resourceful you can be, on your own.”
“I understand, Mr. Randolph,” Alexx said carefully. “I won’t let it interfere with my job, I promise.”
“I know you won’t, I trust you. That being said, I don’t see any reason why you can’t avail yourself of the resources of the Chronicle. I think you’ll find that most of the issues are accessible online, at our website. Those that aren’t, are on microfilm. Just ask.
I’m sure anyone will be happy to help you.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll certainly take advantage of that generous offer.”
“Of course, there are other resources. You have the whole town to look to for information. If you have any questions, or need any help, Glenn will be happy to assist, won’t you, Glenn?”
“You know it.” The big man beamed broadly. “My office is open, any time.”
Alexx realized that this was undoubtedly his cue to get back to work. He rose hastily. “Thank you for this opportunity, Mr.
Randolph. You won’t regret it.” With growing enthusiasm, he held out his hand. The editor took it firmly. Alexx repeated the gesture with Glenn, and left the office.
Stopping in the men’s room before he headed back to work, he took a good hard look at himself in the mirror, to see if somehow he’d changed. Nope, same old Alexx looking back at him. Thick wavy red hair that refused to be tamed. It tended not to grow long,
rather it just got thicker. Same blue eyes, same laugh lines that crinkled when he smiled. Same appallingly pale complexion that no amount of sunlight ever changed. All he’d gotten from increased exposure to the Crescent Bay sun was a greater smattering of freckles across his nose.
Was this what a reporter looked like?
Alexx smiled. Yep, this is just what a reporter looked like. This reporter, anyway. Future reporter, that was.
The elevator felt lighter on the trip down than it had going up.
Alexx almost skipped for joy when he reached the first floor, managing to keep himself in check. He was starting to see things in a different light, his earlier disappointment dissipating with the excitement of this opportunity. It was all in how you looked at it.
No, this wasn’t what he wanted to do forever, but this was him putting his foot in the door and getting noticed, and that was worth a great deal.
He noticed Miller beckon to him, no doubt wanting the scoop on what had happened. Well, no one said it was a secret, did they?
Alexx had to go under the assumption that it wasn’t. Although he didn’t exactly plan to make it common knowledge either. More of a need to know basis.
“So, spill the beans, what’s going on?” Miller began to grill him as soon as Alexx approached the reception desk. Briefly he explained his assignment, and what he was supposed to do. Miller whistled appreciatively.
“This could be your big break, kid.”
“I know.” Alexx chuckled.
“So, where are you going to start? There’s only one logical place, you know.”
“There is?” Alexx wrinkled his nose in thought. “Where?”
“Charisma, of course. It’s
the
place to be in Crescent Bay if you’re a supe. Not that you have to be one to get in, or anything.
They don’t card you for that. Tell you what, why don’t you and I go there tonight? It’ll serve double duty—a way for you to begin your investigation, and a celebration of your becoming a reporter.
What do you say?”
Alexx blushed. “I’m not one yet. That’s a little premature, don’t you think?”
“Nope, I don’t think,” the receptionist retorted. “I have faith in you. Try to have some in yourself.”
“Well, I’ve never been there, but I’ve always been curious.
Okay, I guess we could—” He stopped speaking suddenly. His jaw dropped, an expression of dismay crossing his face.
“What’s wrong?” Miller asked, then held up one finger, as the switchboard lit up. He answered the call and directed it to the appropriate department, before turning back to Alexx. “What’s the matter?”
“Um, Miller, I can’t even get
in
to Charisma, remember? I’m only twenty. That puts me on the no-no list.”
Miller snorted, rather inelegantly, tossing one hand in the air as if making light of Alexx’s dilemma.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That means, darling Alexx, that is what fake IDs are for, my dear innocent. I’ll pick you up at your place at eight.” He ran a critical eye over Alexx, producing another blush. “Tell you what.
I’ll bring you over something to wear, too. I think my brother’s about your size. And he has great taste in clothes. That’ll help you look older.”
“I don’t know.” Alexx’s voice was uncertain. There were legal ramifications to consider in using phony identification.
“I do. You want this, don’t you?”
“You know I do. I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a kid.”
“Well then, be prepared to break a few eggs if you want to make that omelet. Besides, I hate to tell you but I’m pretty sure you won’t be noticed in that crowd. Be sure to bring a notebook and a pen. That’s your best place to start if you want to know about the supes. Anybody who’s anybody goes there.”
“All right, I’ll do it.” Alexx suddenly decided.
“I’ll be there about quarter to eight, so you can dress.”
A rumble of nervous excitement filled Alexx as he realized what he was about to get into. “Okay, later,” he said, turning away.
Miller’s next words arrested him.
“Tonight’s the perfect night, anyway.”
“Why?” He looked at the other man apprehensively. What did he know that Alexx didn’t?
“Tonight’s the full moon.” The phone buzzed again, and Miller turned his complete attention back to the switchboard.
Oh great. Full moon and he was walking into the middle of a den of werewolves? What was wrong with him? Shivering with sudden apprehension, Alexx went back to work, wondering what the night might bring.
Raoul’s blood surged hotly through his veins, pulsing in sync with the pounding rhythms of the nightclub around him. Writhing bodies and frenetic energy expended beneath brilliant strobing lights. Charisma always drew a crowd, but even more so on the night of the full moon. Primitive passions were put on display, alive with a feral ferocity that brought tourists in droves to witness the spectacle. Many not only came to watch, they came to participate. Lycanthropes hip to hip with humans, with now and then the occasional vampire. Supernaturals on parade.
His cock throbbing needily, Raoul licked the salty rim of his margarita, his attention focused on a slender dark-haired young man who stood a few feet away. The stranger tapped his foot to the beat of the music, his eyes locked on Raoul’s.
Raoul decided that he would take him.
He handed his glass to the bartender, never looking in his direction. “I’ll be back,” he said abruptly. He expected no response and got none. Rising from the chrome and leather bar stool, he zeroed in on his prey, striding toward him with an elegant grace.
His sensual lips parted in an inviting smile. Once Raoul made his selection, it was only a question of when. What he wanted he got, for none wished to refuse him—he was the prince of Charisma, and one of its biggest draws. The proximity of the full moon only served to enhance those personal traits, making him irresistible, and he knew how to work them well.
He felt it getting closer, the perigee that would trigger the change. It was inevitable and predictable—his heritage and his destiny. The moon pulled at him and he obeyed its siren call.
Raoul stopped just short of his chosen partner, pausing at the edge of the dance floor. The music was speaking to him, and he had to respond. He began to undulate to the strident bass line that reverberated with every beat of his heart. He raised his arms above his head, palms together, and began to turn on an unseen axis, rotating as he gave himself to the music, hips swaying, becoming a part of the cadence. It filled him to the point where thinking became no longer optional, where instinct overrode intellect. The need to fuck so strong he could taste it.
Suddenly his eyes snapped open. Normally , on the night of the full moon they took on a topaz hue the closer the change came. He knew they were almost gold now. He looked into the man’s soul and Raoul knew he was very ready and willing.
Raoul grabbed his hand and pushed a path through the dancing throng. A few foolhardy souls recognized him and attempted to follow, but they were quickly discouraged by two burly bouncers
with zero tolerance for stupidity.
Once inside the sanctity of his private elevator, they began the process of undressing, even as tongues snaked into open mouths and hands groped and explored. Shoes were kicked off and discarded, buttons popped, and cloth ripped.
By the time they reached Raoul’s office, they’d gotten past the preliminaries. “Call me Louis,” the man said, but Raoul knew he never would. One time was always enough with him. Louis was only a means to an end, an itch he had to scratch. He didn’t have to give his own name—Raoul was too well known at Charisma to expect any sort of anonymity.
They stripped off their trousers and dropped them onto the white shag carpet. Raoul ached, his body taut with a palpable need.
“C’mere you,” he beckoned in a rough voice, drawing the other into his arms.
“Louis,” the man repeated automatically.
Raoul made no reply. He crushed their mouths together, his hands pressing into Louis’s inviting ass.
They fell together onto the elegant white sofa, lips fiercely pressed together, bodies grinding desperately. The gilt-edged mirrored walls reflected their passions, repeating the images multiple times across the ceiling. Raoul reached for a control that sat on the back of the couch. He pressed a button and the music from the club filled the room, in pulse-pounding waves.
“Fuck me,” Louis begged. “Please.”
“I intend to,” Raoul replied. “Roll over.” He drew back, catching his breath.
The young man hesitated. “Can I…? I’d like to look at you while we fuck.” His voice was heavy with desire as he begged for the privilege of looking into Raoul’s face.
“No.” Raoul was adamant. “Roll over.”
The man hesitated for a fraction of a second, but he obeyed, scrambling onto his hands and knees. He bowed his head against the fabric, his pale mounds rising from his new, submissive position. Raoul raised his hand and slapped one bare cheek, watched the flesh quiver. The man moaned, his fingers finding purchase in the brocade sofa.
Raoul reached beneath the cushion, feeling about. His fingers latched onto a small square package and he pulled it out. He ripped it open with his teeth, while his free hand fisted his own weeping cock. He rolled the contents of the package over his already straining erection and positioned himself between the man’s legs.