Chapter 1: Dance Floor Dominance
The bass hit Grey’s ribs like a second heartbeat. ‘The Den’ was a roiling ocean of fur and sweat tonight, every inch packed. Strobe lights sliced through the haze, catching silver tips on a wolf’s ruff, the iridescent scales of a lizard, the nervous flick of Grey’s own ashen tail. The air hung thick with the cloying sweetness of cheap cologne layered over the primal musk of heated bodies. He felt adrift, a small, potbellied cougar caught in a current too strong for him. His gentle hazel eyes scanned the chaos, yearning for a quiet corner that didn’t exist.
Just one drink, he told himself, squeezing his bulk politely between a pair of loudly arguing raccoons and a swaying stag. Then you can go.