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

dancers strutted to the pole as though the speed of their arrival somehow enhanced the experience for the clients. With twenty minutes to work, I took my time.
    Before I had taken to stripping, I had enjoyed ballet. Waltzing had also been fun, but as soon as I had left home, determined to make my way without any help, I had given up both styles, choosing to learn flamenco and swing dancing to give my pole work more flare.
    For the next twenty minutes, my pole would be my partner. As I sashayed my way down the runway, I scanned the crowd for the man I’d dance for, to add that little extra edge to the sway of my hips as I focused on him and him alone.
    I found the dark-haired man with amber eyes, the one I had danced for the last time I had performed at the club. He sat straighter, his gaze fixed on me. While most of the men wore suits, he wore a charcoal button-up, the top opened to reveal a hint of his tanned chest. He had a tie, but it was lying on the table in front of him. Like before, his friend was there, the one who had asked for a photograph of the three of us together when I had been on my way to perform as a showgirl.
    This time, there was a woman seated between them, wearing a gown better suited for a party with the social elite than a strip club.
    My wolf liked his amber eyes and approved of the way his shirt hugged his chest with the promise of lean muscle beneath. Once again, she lusted for a mate, and he held her enthralled. I spun around the pole, dipping backwards to stare at him.
    His eyes widened, and because my wolf wanted him, for the first time since I had started stripping, I danced for the same man twice.

Chapter Five

    Most clients came and went in the club, but when his friends left, the dark-haired man with amber eyes remained. When I wasn’t swaying to the music, using my wolf’s lust and the desire in his gaze as a lifeline to keep on my feet, I flopped in the dressing room. I fought to catch my breath while I coached the new girls, offering them advice on how to draw the attention of men and women alike.
    By the time I finished my normal shift of five hours, I wanted nothing more than to find a hole, crawl into it, and die. Danny crouched next to me, where I was stretched out on the dressing room bench, poking my shoulder. She handed me a bottle of water. “Still alive?”
    “Barely,” I croaked, and determined not to whine too much, I clenched my teeth. Three more dances and I’d be done for the night. I drank several swallows, and fearing I’d throw the rest up, I set the bottle aside. Danny recapped it. “I’d get out of my suit, but I don’t think I have the energy to get back into it.”
    “Well, you’re smoking on the dance floor. You’re going to like the tips. The boss sent me down to find out if you’d be interested in going home with one of the VIPs. It seems a gentleman wants to take you home with his wife for some lively entertainment.”
    I sighed, slumping at the thought of whoring myself out to some man who was likely suffering from a mid-life crisis. Knowing I’d say no, the boss didn’t usually extend prostitution offers to me. Unfortunately for me, I had missed too many good work days and had a wolf to feed. If the growing discomfort in my belly was any indication, she was extremely hungry.
    “Seriously? This is the worst shift,” I wailed.
    Danny rubbed my shoulders, and I groaned as she dug in her fingers. Her breath tickled my ear. “The gentleman is paying ten thousand up front and another ten in the morning. He’s paying the boss fifty thousand if he cuts you loose now instead of after the VIP show.”
    I stiffened. “You’re fucking with me. Twenty thousand? And if I don’t, the boss loses fifty? What the hell, Danny?! Since when did he start pitching no-win offers like that? It’s fucking blackmail.”
    I didn’t need a flashing neon sign to tell me what would happen if I said no. If I lost him fifty thousand, my job was gone. Worse, by morning