Beneath a Blood Moon by R. J. Blain Page A

profitable shit shift,” Danny pointed out, slapping my ass before grabbing a handful of feathers. “Now stand still and let me work.”
    I obeyed, bracing my palms against the vanity while wiggling my feet into my stilettos. “I really will die if I don’t get out of the vinyl between acts,” I warned her.
    “You’re only scheduled in for one act an hour to make up for it. You’ll have time to air out a bit between shows. You can help the new girls get their acts together between your runs. You’ll be flying solo during your set, and I’ll be paired off with a new girl for mine. I’m in four fives each hour.” Danny grabbed a blue feather boa, snagged a pair of scissors, and cut it into several pieces. “Feather cuffs. I’ll try not to get too much glue on your suit. Keep your feet still a second.”
    “Feathers and vinyl is going to look ridiculous,” I complained. “Especially bright blue feathers.”
    “I don’t think the men will care about the feathers. They’ll be too busy drooling over your tits and ass. Seriously, girl. Shred some feathers off the boa and toss them out as souvenirs. They’ll love it.”
    Many men would; people loved freebies from Vegas, especially when they came from a stripper. “Give me some of the small ones.”
    She handed me the ravaged headdress.
    I went to work stripping off feathers, unzipped my suit enough to stuff a handful into my cleavage, and zipped back up. “There, they’ll be too wet from sweat to pop out, but close enough.”
    “Since when were you this kinky, girl? Damn, that’s going to be hot.”
    She wouldn’t believe me if I told her the truth, so I shrugged. “About the time you promised me a tip if I riled them up for you, Danny.”
    She laughed, giving me a pinch. “Point taken. You’re going to shed half these feathers working the pole, but hey, Boss said you had to have feathers, not that you had to keep them on. We’ll pillage more from the shit headdresses between your acts. It’ll serve him right.”
    I checked the time, wrinkling my nose. “He better pick good music.”
    “Any preferences? I’ll run it up before you go on stage.”
    “Slow in the start, up the tempo in the middle, and slow at the end. Just give me something with a steady beat. None of this slow to fast in mid-song crap tonight. It’s going to be bad enough working the pole for twenty.”
    “I’ll let the sound guys know. Think you’ll be okay?”
    “Don’t worry about me. If it’s too much, I’ll treat the front row to a very elegant and sexy faint.” I snorted, shaking my head. “Jab a feather in my hair, and we’ll call it good enough.”
    Once she checked me over one final time and left, I headed down the hall to the club’s runway, watching from the wings while Patricia yanked off her bra and tossed it into the crowd. Scents I hadn’t noticed before teased my nose, and my wolf’s interest piqued as she identified the rich, alluring aroma of male arousal.
    “Don’t you even dare,” I hissed under my breath. Disgruntled but obedient, my wolf settled and watched through my eyes while I scoped out the crowd. Usually, it was a mixed bag of men and women hitting the gambling tables while watching us dance.
    Tonight, we were the stars, and there were a lot of suits and sequin dresses in the crowd. The boss had brought out the extra stools from the bar, along with the tables meant for two or three. Even the waitresses and waiters wore feathers pinned to their suits.
    “You’re good to go,” Danny hissed in my ear, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “Knock ‘em dead, girl.”
    I stretched while waiting for Patricia and the new girl to finish strutting their stuff down the runway. I flashed both of them a smile before drawing a deep breath.
    I swallowed back my groan as the lights dimmed and the spotlight focused on the pole before sliding in my direction. My wolf’s excitement grew as I readied myself to work my way across the platform. Some of the