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Careless of the Night

Gina Massel-Castater

“I’m calling 911. Whoever is back there had better leave now!” Liz yelled as soon as she heard the alley door bang open and the scuffling sounds from the back of the photography studio. She picked up the wireless handset and grabbed her purse, rooting around for her pistol, but also making fast tracks for the front door. No reason to confront trouble if you can avoid it. She kicked off her sexy four-inch heeled sandals behind the curved reception desk. They would just slow her down if she had to move out in a hurry.

Stilling her panic breathing, she could hear the argument coming from the back room and tiptoed over to the curtain dividing the spaces.

“I told you all to back off.” Liz was sure it was Armando, but his voice was oddly low and gravelly. Each word was clipped and terse.

“Hey, man, we’re just the first wave. You have to get your guys in line, or there’s going to be some very big trouble on your doorstep,” he threatened.

Liz didn’t want to move the curtain, but she needed to see what was happening. She found a small hole in the drape and plastered her eye to it.

Armando stood in that alert-relaxed stance she’d seen in movies, the look of someone ready to fight. Shifting, she saw two young punks near the back door. They wore the usual Goth-looking clothes, but their heavily muscled frames belied the wan look of the costume.

“Well, just tell your leader to stay out of my business. It’s not his territory, it’s mine,” Armando said, raising his voice on the last word as he moved forward, forcing the guys to back up.

“Get out.”

“He’s not gonna like this. You know it isn’t over,” the guy on the right said.

“It’s done for now. Leave, and I won’t run you down the next time I see you,” he said as he opened the door to force them out.

Liz backed away from the curtain and ran back to the front door. She didn’t want Armando to know what she’d seen, so she repeated her warning about calling 911.

Just as she made it to the door, Armando stuck his head through the dividing curtains. Liz caught a quick glimpse of bloody scratches on his face as he yelled, “No, don’t call. It’s all right.” Liz pulled her empty hand out of her purse, but clutched the phone like a hand grenade.

She stared hard at Armando. “Are you okay?”

“Wow, you look stunning,” he replied, taking in the incredible difference in her appearance. “You don’t normally dress in low-cut blouses and short skirts and how I’ve missed it, do you?”

He was used to her slightly mousy receptionist outfits, and this was anything but. Her simple black dress embraced her curves, emphasizing a small waist, curvy hips, and normally hidden deep, full cleavage, framed by the stark plunging neckline. He had thought her hair was a mousy gray, but with it down and in full bloom, the curls glowed like a sexy silver halo around her face, tendrils framing her eyes.

“You are one of the keenest observers of people I know, so no, you haven’t had a sudden failure of vision. It’s just that we usually work the opposite shifts, so you never see me when I’m going out for the night. And thank you for the compliment, but are you okay?” Liz was startled and flattered, but more, she was really worried about the amount of blood she could see. Armando still had the curtains clutched in his hands, coyly hiding behind the drapery.

“Yes, just a few scratches. I really need to be careful back here,” he said. “Now, it’s obvious you have a date, so get out of here. I’ll be fine.” He paused, “You didn’t actually dial 911, did you?”

“No, I was about to push the last 1 when you spoke. Nice save.”

“Well, get out of here, and have fun,” he said, reminding her of a parent sending her out for the evening.

Liz’s natural mom-to-the-world instincts kicked in.

“No, I want to make sure you’re okay. Let me get the first aid kit and tend to those scratches. You won’t even know what’s bad until it’s cleaned up,” she said as she made her way back to the desk to return the phone and get the kit.

“No,” he said a bit forcefully, “don’t come back here. I can take care of myself.”

Liz stopped. She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t really have a choice. With Armando watching her every move, she slipped back into her shoes, gathered her tote bag of work clothes, flung the garnet-red Pashmina shawl over her shoulders, and walked to the front door.

Liz was surprised at how awkward she felt to have caught his attention as anything more than a fellow professional. She had that stumbling teenage moment of idiotic blathering.

“Yeah, well, I’ll be in again tomorrow at 3:00. Remember my new schedule keeps me on three to nine for the season. I think the later hour is really bringing in the business,” she replied, mentally kicking herself for the odd response.

She was conscious of his eyes on her every movement as she left. She felt that deep flutter in her center. He had noticed her; that might be enough for now.

#

Despite her worry, Liz kept to her original plan for the night and strolled into the lobby of the Bellagio, the piercing, vibrant, dancing colors of the Dale Chihuly glass ceiling somehow soothing in its wild excess of color and light. No matter how many times she walked through, she paid a silent homage to the folks willing to spend their money so that she could have this vibrant vision as part of her world.

Tonight she had a strong hunger for a well-made martini and some forks. She’d been saving up her calories all day for the indulgence. And she needed some time to think about Armando’s reaction. She turned right from the lobby and began the sometimes endless stroll towards Fix, her favorite night spot. She paused to salivate over the crystal-encrusted evening purses in the storefront, attracted and repulsed by the truly senseless beauty and expense. The low grumble of her tummy set her back on track. If she ordered carefully, she could sit for a bit and catch the swirl of the night...and almost always, someone who would follow her home. At that thought, an unconsciously evil grin flitted over her face, causing the two men who caught the look as they walked by to nearly trip over their own feet. They stared after her, momentarily besotted by the sway of her hips and the bouncy energy of her walk. Liz had only recently come to notice her effect; in this gambler’s world driven by the hunger for money and youth and style, she’d felt invisible for over a decade, since the day she turned forty.

As she walked, she glanced at the various game tables, sometimes startled by the men in such down-and-out clothes; she wondered at their willingness to hand over large amounts of cash for a few hours of entertainment. By living in Vegas for years, she had absorbed the rules of the games in all the casinos, but she had decided a long time ago that when she handed someone cash, she wanted a blouse or better, a pair of shoes, in exchange. The real entertainment value to her was in watching the people. Perhaps on the way out, she would find a table of gamblers to silently giggle over. The intensity and focus some of them brought to the table, she reserved for observing people and taking pictures. But they made a lovely study and she could count on no one noticing her in her pursuit as long as she sat very still.

#

“Jill, I’m so glad to see you,” Liz said as she approached the hostess stand at the restaurant, startling the petite redhead into dropping her pen. Although Jill tried to cover her freckles, they gave her a sweet look slightly out of place in Vegas.

“Liz, haven’t seen you in bit. What’s up?” she asked, recovering nicely.

“Oh, not much. I just had a mad craving for forks and a fine martini. Any chance I can hang out over at the bar?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure. I don’t see a problem tonight, although I expect it will get busy later.” Jill pointed Liz over to the high stool on the long side of the bar.

“Hey, Jasmine, good to see you tonight,” Liz said to the bartender as she settled on her perch and arranged the flippy black skirt to drape over her knees. She took the shawl off her shoulders, wrapped it around the front of her neck, and let the rest hang down her back.

“I know that’s a uniform, but you do look fine,” she said.

Jasmine had on a very short skirt, sheer, glittery black hose, and a complicated shirt combo that suggested either her tits would escape or her straps would slip off at any moment. Liz watched Jasmine and the other bartenders move at a fast, focused, and furious pace, amazed that the uniforms of the all-female team didn’t fall off or expose the women completely.

“What can I get you tonight? I’m guessing a vodka martini?” Jasmine asked, laying a cocktail napkin and utensils on the bar.

“Hmmm, surprise me on the martini, but I want two orders of the forks tonight. I’ve been craving them all week,” she replied.

Liz watched the dance of the bartenders as they made sweet, sour, and colorful concoctions, each tall girl with some magical radar that stopped them from tripping over each other. It reminded her of the same tango she and Sam had in their kitchen as they prepared for parties. She missed that brisk movement combined with mild panic as multiple and varied dishes flew to the table for friends and family. Liz let the pleasant memory wash over her, longing still for the sense of being truly known, truly seen.

As she watched the swirling dance, she considered the tantalizing problem of Armando. She had applied for the receptionist job at the studio for two reasons; his reputation as a world-class photographer, and her need to have access to some heavy-duty photographic processing equipment. She hadn’t counted on him being so mysteriously attractive. She couldn’t nail down his age, his accent, or even his sexual persuasion. But after tonight, it was definitely clear that he was interested in women, well, more specifically, in her.

She hadn’t counted on finding her boss to be so very hot...and assuredly too young for her. Would it cost her the job if she pursued him? She was thinking it would be worth finding a new job just to find out what he would be like as a lover.

“Okay, here’s your mystery martini,” Jasmine said. “Let me know what you think and what’s in it, and if you guess right, I’ll spot you the next one,” as she place the elegant martini glass in front of her. “Your forks should be up soon.”

Liz slyly glanced left and right to see if anyone was watching her, and dipped her tongue into the drink rather than sipping; small flavors need small tastes. She closed her eyes. Vodka, a citrus note, and something way different. She opened her eyes and caught the guy to the left of her staring at her mouth. She stopped licking her lip and boldly returned his gaze.

“So, do you like the drink?” he asked. He studied her, letting his nearly black eyes openly roam over her cleavage.

“Yes, but give me a minute. There’s a sweet, warm flavor that I just can’t figure out. Would you like a sip?” She offered him the stem, savoring his obviously sexual attention.

He surprised her by taking the glass. He appeared a bit younger than the guys she usually attracted here, about thirty five, his hair still dark with no gray, but that would suit her for tonight.

“I taste Stoli, lime, and the sweet you mention, but there’s also a wood note. How very odd,” he said as he handed back her drink. He made a point of touching her hand in the exchange. “My name’s Bobby.”

Liz swiveled on her stool to face him and arched her brow. “Nice to meet you, Bobby. I’m Liz. I really enjoy the way you’ve been studying me, but I’m wondering why?” she asked directly.

He flustered for a moment and decided to be equally direct.

“I was admiring your work,” he said. She tilted her head in puzzlement.

He grinned wickedly and said, “My interest is purely professional. I’m here for the American Academy of Cosmetic Surgery Annual Meeting. This city is a total tribute to our skills, maybe even more so than Hollywood. But your look is so very rare...and excellently done.”

“Uh, thank you...I think?” she said. “I wanted to be true to myself. There were so many possible choices. I didn’t want to conceal my years, but rather look the best for my age. Do you like a dare?”

“What do you mean?”

“Guess what I had done,” she challenged.

“No, no really, not a good idea,” he demurred.

She giggled at him and said, “Chicken.”

Surprising her, he reached out and brushed his fingers over her cleavage. “Breast implants,” he whispered and caressed her cheek, “facial filler, laser resurfacing, and a little Botox,” he said as he touched her lower lip. “And the overall effect is very nice.”

Heated by his hands, she retreated behind a brief verbal wall. “Why thank you, darlin’,” she said affecting a quick southern drawl as self-defense against his words and actions and stared off across the room. “Before my Sam died, he called me his lil’ trophy wife, even though we’d been married forever. I wanted to hold him, so I kept myself in good shape. When he died, I went into a bad spiral for a year, turned into a slug, and made friends with Ben and Jerry.”

“So obviously something changed,” he said kindly.

“My kids staged an intervention and dragged me out on one of our traditional family hiking and hunting trips. They forced me to see the error of my ways,” she said, looking back at him.

“Oh, dear, way too serious, right? Anyway, I snapped out of it, worked hard to get back into my fighting shape. Even one year meant some things were beyond self-help. My kids didn’t want me to look like an alien—forgive, please, their opinion of your craft. I did my research, found the best surgeon I could afford, and had all the procedures you mentioned. That meant I spent a long time thinking about what and who I am. I wanted to look good, but I want to respect their opinion, too.”

“Well that explains your moderation, but you have to know: Before I noticed your body, your hair was like a bright beacon. Your choice of what you had done was excellent, but I’m happy to see you left your hair alone. Although our culture doesn’t value such an obvious symbol of aging, your glowing, silver hair is sexy as hell,” he said as he reached up to twist a bright shiny curl around his finger. “It’s the perfect choice.”

Jasmine interrupted and placed in front of Liz a small forest of silver forks topped with salmon, crème fraiche, and caviar. “Did you figure out the martini yet?” she asked with a warm smile.

“No, but whatever it is, it’s my new favorite,” Liz replied.

“Wait,” Bobby interrupted. “Could the secret ingredient be sake?”

“Wow, you’re good,” replied Jasmine. She winked at him broadly, wiped the counter, and hustled on.

Liz held in her amusement as he watched Jasmine for a bit. Jasmine was a lovely piece of work, and to Liz’s thinking, much more to Bobby’s style. She lifted one of the forks out of the specially designed tray, closed her eyes, and slid the bite-sized morsel into her mouth, artlessly sighing with the pleasure.

“You had best stop that, or I might be tempted to throw you down right here on the bar,” he said, surprising her. She snapped her eyes open and had to re-focus: He was about two inches from her nose.

She leaned back, grinned, and handed him one of the forks. “They’re the second best thing to suck down your throat. You can’t judge until you’ve tried one of these,” she purred in response. She offered to feed him and watched with pleasure as he got it. Sometimes simple foods were just perfect.

Liz shared a few more with him as they ate and chatted. She’d reeled him in; what should she do with him? He’d have a room, and he’d be fun. The more she pushed her horny self in that direction, though, the more the lingering look Armando gave her kept popping up.

Sighing, she abandoned the idea of rolling around hot and sweaty with doctor-boy. She would just be thinking of Armando.

She needed to clear her head. She needed to get out into the night.

#

She‘d rediscovered her love of the night as she’d recovered from Sam’s death. Even in this crazy nightlife town, she had no fear of being in the dark. She often felt like she had a guardian angel watching over her. No one ever bothered her or harassed her. Unlike feeling invisible in any upscale department store, this was a welcome gift, letting her roam with her cameras, catching the calling power of the moon.

Liz did a quick change in the back seat of her car behind the studio, ditching the heels, dress, and shawl for her emergency night clothes: Black cargo pants, gray t-shirt, and running shoes. Reminding herself about the recent articles about strange animals in the city, she put her pistol and permit in her right thigh pocket. She slung her camera pack onto her shoulders and plopped a knit cap over her evening curls. She’d thought about going into the studio to change, but she didn’t want to run into Armando, not until she’d figured out her response to him.

She sighed and stared up at the bright Klieg lights of the new construction across the back parking lot from the studio. She’d come to accept the constant reconstruction of the Strip, thankful at least that they re-built on the same land here instead of destroying new acreage. She did love the geometry of construction, the complex angles, the smoky dust, and the contrast of soft human shapes against the rigid lines of steel and concrete. After working on a series of conventional shots, she had recently added thermal-graphic images to the collection. The camera had set her back a bit, but she relished her new tool. That’s why she needed to access to the studio for the special processing the images required.

She found the mark she’d left in the parking lot last week, set up the tripod on the same spot, and tried to keep the sequence of shots all from the same angle, hoping to capture the process of change over time. She pondered Armando as her hands automatically followed the nearly ritualistic habits of setting up her gear. She loved the hunter’s thrill of capturing the attention of a new guy, but she had limits, ones she consciously chose when she decided to be alive and have fun again. Armando looked way too young for her. She felt a certain wild power knowing she’d reeled in Bobby tonight; she didn’t usually want anyone that young. It was such a bother to explain stuff to the younger ones. But she gave herself a pat on the back: She could have had him, no doubt.

Did that apply to Armando, too? She wasn’t sure. The way he’d looked at her tonight made her juicy and jumpy, ready to run, but in which direction? If she pursued him, wouldn’t she have to leave her job? Sam’s will and investments had left her with enough money to be basically comfortable, so she didn’t need the income, but she did want access to all that photo-processing gear and large-format printers.

Her hormones gave her ever-practical mind a slap-down. Her lust for him was more powerful than her usual attractions, as if some extra sexual gear was engaged in her juicy bits. Shivers raced up and down her arms.

She sighed and swatted the idea away, bringing herself and the image back into focus.

She took long, steady breaths as she lined up her shots. Although the digital SLR meant she had to use the viewfinder, she had practiced stepping back to get the steadiest image. In a point-and shoot world, she’d had to develop the discipline of slow, steady shutter pressure to get the exposures she wanted. The thermal camera was more subject to shake than her others, so she’d learned to be still and silent. It paid off in sharply focused weird colors. She gently released the shutter and studied the image.

She turned at the voices far behind her and was startled that anyone had gotten within fifty feet of her without her noticing them sooner. Maybe she’d better pay more heed to the recent chatter about desert animals coming into town.

Two guys were squaring off in the alley near the studio. She couldn’t see their faces. By instinct, she grabbed the long zoom lens camera from her bag and quickly changed the lens on the thermal camera, swiveling it towards the two. She recognized Armando, but who was this other guy?

“I told you I would handle this,” Armando said, his voice a harsh growl. “I’m the law for this region. You will wait for me to finish.”

Liz pressed the extended trigger from the tripod.

“The new guys are literally pissing all over our turf” the other man said, “leaving their mark to shake us up. They need to go away or get with the program.” Only a bit shorter than Armando, he had a bulldog build, thick around the neck and shoulders, bringing to mind a wrestler or body builder, muscles used to weight and action. Even his hair reminded Liz of a pit-bull, trimmed almost to nothing on the sides, fading up to a slight thatch of silvery white over the top. He chested into Armando’s space.

“Back. Off. Now.” Armando said, verbally poking the man with each word. “I spoke to the council. I have a week to do it my way. If I find your spore anywhere nearby, then I’ll take out you and your punk pack.”

Armando turned his back and took a step away, making it clear he expected the guy to back down. Clearly full of fight, the guy lowered his stance and prepared to leap, muscled legs flexed to spring.

Armando was hurt already, and Liz was getting scared for him. She needed to see more, so she squatted to reach for the regular lens, grappling, head down in the bag at her feet. Even through the viewfinder at fifty feet, the long lens cut out too much light.

She heard only growls and a scrambling, then scratching on the pavement. When she brought the camera back up, she couldn’t locate the men. Where the hell did they go? She quickly pirouetted.

A wolf and a cougar rushed toward her, the wolf in the lead and running from the cougar. She crouched on the ground. They ran past her without stopping.

Liz was more grateful than ever to be invisible in the night.

#

Liz’s workout was arms and shoulders, which meant the gym instead of the hills. As she worked through each set, she enjoyed the easy banter with the guys in the weight room. They’d come to respect her dedication to form and often gave her good advice on improving her lifting. That they were all hunky guys lifted her. The eye candy was worth the sweaty price of admission.

Today though, she was off balance, waiting for perhaps the pure focus of lifting to replace the persistently strange feeling about what she had witnessed last night. What had she seen? She ended up rushing her routine to get home to work on the images she had taken. She’d used the gym to procrastinate and she needed to see what was on the camera.

She plopped down in her home studio and started the download of the thermal camera. She didn’t have a clear memory of what she shot last night, but she trusted the images would tell her what happened when things went weird. It had been a few nights since she had downloaded, and the process seemed agonizingly slow.

She opened Photoshop Elements and began to study the images. The first were too blurry and useless for her portfolio. The tenth image caught her eye. She had indeed clicked the shutter after she swung the camera to look at Armando and the mystery man. The two men faced each other, but she must have messed up the settings, because instead of being the usual red to yellow to green pattern of all her previous shots, each of these men was totally red, totally and evenly red. How could two humans have no variance in temperature from core to fingertips? She transferred the image to her flash drive so she could print a full size version on the Kromekote paper at the studio; she also printed one on a regular sheet of 8 ½ by 11 paper for reference.

She could see they needed more work, but that would take hours, and she had to get to her job.

#

Liz had debated dressing up today, but decided to keep things as normal as possible; she wore her usual loose dress and flats, afraid of being too obvious in her confusion over Armando’s response last night.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, having a conversation inside her head.

“I do want to know more,” Armando said, coming around the desk into her space.

Liz started and resisted the temptation to back away.

“How about having dinner with me tonight? We close at six, so eight?” he continued.

“Oh, damn, did I use my outside voice?” she said, appalled that he heard her. “Hey, what are you doing here so early?” ignoring his question.

“I wanted to get some stuff caught up—and you didn’t answer me,” he said.

“So is dinner out with the boss a usual perk around here?” she asked.

“No, it’s not about work. This is about, well the way you looked last night,” he said, “and the way you look now. Maybe the way you’ve always looked—and I was just too dumb or busy or something to see.”

Liz stared hard at him for a moment, unsure of what she thought was the right answer. She took in the amazing amber of his eyes, golden sparks around the slightly dilated pupils. There was something ferally hungry in his look, and it stirred a matching desire in her.

“Yes,” she said, nodding.

“How about the open terrace at the Social House? I hear they have some inventive sushi, and I’ve been wanting to try it,” he asked.

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you there at eight,” she said.

He looked down at her dowdy office attire and back up into her deep blue eyes. “Would you be offended if I asked to see the same outfit you wore last night? I know there must be some chick rule about no repeats, but, damn, you looked so very fine and so very different.”

Liz’s stomach dropped—and hot smoke filled her further south. How a few mundane words could stir her.

“Oh, I think you’ll have to trust me. I can do you better than that,” she purred in a low, breathy voice.

#

Liz dashed into her house, threw off her work clothes, and ran for her bedroom. Although she could get ready for a party in mere minutes, she wanted to prepare herself with a bit more care. She checked the temperature of the small hot tub in the atrium and eased down into the steamy water. She silently thanked Sam for planning the house around this oasis. It was always private, but open to the sky. Over the years, this had been her garden and meditation space, cool during the day in the shadow of the house, and protected at night from the chilling winds. She was far enough from the tall hotels to avoid their noise, but the glow of the eternal city lights bathed the space in soft, perpetual light.

She left the tub a practiced two minutes before her fingers pruneated. Skin flushed and rosy, she pampered herself, imagining that it was Armando smoothing scent and fine skin butters over her arms and thighs.

She applied concealer under her eyes, a light foundation, eyeliner, mascara, and blush, keeping it simple and minimal. She let the wild curls have their own way; they would eventually, no matter what. She checked the mirror, hoping Armando would drool. She reversed her colors of the evening before with a deep, garnet red dress and black wrap. She ran her finger up the plunge of the neckline, lifting and nudging, making sure her nipples, excited about the possibilities, aimed forward beneath the clinging knit. She twirled, and the knee-length skirt floated out and then settled in soft folds that gave the impression of a small breeze as she walked.

She was ready.

#

Hoping for a ride home, Liz took a cab and asked the cabbie to drop her close to the terrace area, an oddly dim space on the overly bright Strip. They’d agreed to meet at the outside entrance rather than hustle through the hotel crowd. She stood a bit in shadow, intentionally early, wanting to calm down before she saw him again. No one bothered her as she watched the comings and goings, the overly perfected women on the expensive arms of much older men. She admired the working women and ruefully wondered about role reversals; she could get the same service, but why pay? She shrugged. She didn’t like to dip as low in the age pool as men her same age routinely did.

Armando walked up, and her body took over before her mind could react. She flushed despite the cool evening air and went liquid at her core. Damn, he looked good in the night. Most men clean up pretty, but his energy was unusual, watchful and untamed, and it pulled her to him. She stood rooted to the shadow, breathing hard and waiting for him to turn and see her.

Liz was puzzled but not surprised at being able to hide in the shadow. With each day that had passed since Sam’s death, she had become less noticed, but it hadn’t been this pronounced before. She had expected Armando to be able to see her now that she had escaped her dowdy working exterior.

She stepped closer and touched his arm.

“Shall we go in?” she asked.

He jerked slightly, plainly startled at her sudden appearance and touch.

“I’m sorry; I must have been lost in thought. Did you just get here?” he asked.

“I’ve been staring at you for about two minutes,” she said. “I was enjoying the show so much that I hesitated to interrupt. It’s fun to watch men as they watch women,” she smiled at him.

“I’m not used to being surprised,” he said.

“Neither am I,” she replied honestly.

“Let’s go in,” Armando said, recovering. “I called Jake for a table, so we shouldn’t have to wait long,” he said.

“Cool. I didn’t think they took reservations on anything less than two days out,” she said.

“Jake and I run with the same pack,” he said with a grin, “so he makes allowances for me.”

Liz threaded their way to the table, giving it her best walk, hips swaying, back straight, willing ownership of the path in front of her. She enjoyed the game of pretending that the other men noticed her, however recent experience had taught her otherwise. But she was sure she could keep Armando’s eyes on her.

As if in answer to her thought, Armando placed his hand on her back; she felt claimed.

They settled in a back corner of the terrace and composed their order: ikura sashimi, toro and saba pieces, a complicated house roll, tomago, eel, and a salmon hand-roll. It was obvious they shared a rampant craving and passion for raw fish.

They discussed the indulgent excesses of the space, even to the staff uniforms matching the interior, the women in very short, but somehow formal kimonos, and the men in black satin jackets. To Liz’s way of thinking, it was unfair that the men wore long trousers; men usually have great legs.

Liz sipped her martini and ran her tongue slowly over her lips. She’d decided she wanted him—now.

“I’m not entirely sure that this is wise,” she said. He started to interrupt. “No, hear me out. I know where I want this to go but I also want to keep working at the studio. So tell me now that you can be cool with this.”

“I can’t be sure I’ll ever again be so completely indifferent to you at work,” he said. “I can tell you that I’m good at keeping my personal and work lives quite separate.”

“I hope you won’t hold our age differences against me,” she said.

He almost gagged on a sip of scotch. “You have no idea how little that matters to me,” he said heatedly.

He waved over the waiter.

“When our order is ready, would you please pack it to go?” He handed the man his credit card.

“Let’s go to my house,” Liz responded. “The hot tub is ready.” Under her breath, so quietly she doubted he could hear it, she added, “and so am I.”

#

Liz’s need for him threatened to overwhelm her. In his car, she tightly clenched the bag of food and her purse to resist distracting him as he sped through the streets, his urgency evident in his race-car-like driving. Their only words were her driving directions.

He leapt out of the car to open her door, but she was faster and pushed the bag into his hands as she dug through her purse for the house key. They made it inside the house, but just barely. Liz dropped everything and pushed him against the door. She slid her hands under his jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, savoring the width and power of him. He shrugged out of the jacket, let it fall, moved his hands down her back to her thighs, and lifted her, surprising her with his strength as he cradled her ass in his hands and spread her legs around him.

Liz took advantage of the higher position to nuzzle his neck and inhale his scent. She leaned away from him slightly and stared into his incredible eyes, bright amber with his need. She moved in to kiss him, pulled back in hesitation, and gave in, suddenly slow, softening her approach to his full lips, darting her tongue out to taste him before he took control and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

The molten fire inside her made her crazy for him, a small observing part of her bewildered by the uncontrollable lust. Time peeled back to her teens when only this, only this touch and tangle mattered.

With her thighs wrapped around him, she ground her mound into him, delighted to find he was ready, too. She was this close, this very close to coming.

She squirmed down his body and dragged him down the hall to her bedroom. He didn’t resist.

She went straight for his buckle and fly.

Before she could touch his shaft, he bent and grabbed the hem of her dress, then pulled the slinky knit over her head. Liz laughed and posed for a moment, the dim light from the table lamp in the corner casting her in black and white silhouette against the colors of the room.

Her bountiful breasts slightly overflowed her demi-bra and set off the amazing curves from her small waist to full hips, a classic Vashti temple guardian come to life.

She turned her back to him, stepped out of her thong, and undid her bra. Impatient, driven, he grabbed her hips and rocked against her, the fabric of his shirttails still in the way. Liz pushed back against him, undulating like a cat in heat, then arched up to stand, reaching over her head to catch his neck and pull him closer.

“We can do slow later,” she whispered, afraid to speak her desire.

Armando growled deep in his chest and lifted her into his arms. Liz was again startled by his strength, and felt light and girlish in his arms. He set her on the edge of the bed and stepped back to his pants to root in the pockets.

“Condoms are in the top drawer, there,” she said, pointing. To her delight, he grabbed a few, put them on the nightstand, tore open one, and started to put it on.

“Let me. I haven’t even seen you yet,” she said, and took it from him.

Liz loved this moment, when she took control, got to see a man up close and oh, so very personal. The weight and feel and velvet-rigid power of a man could drive her almost over the edge before she even had him in her. Tonight was the most powerful urge in years.

She peeled the wrapper down him, then she pulled him over her as she leaned back on the bed. She held onto him with one hand and used the other to spread herself for him, her juices evident even in the soft light.

Armando grabbed her and thrust all the way into her in a single motion. Liz wrapped her legs behind his back and pushed up even harder, begging for more.

Armando obliged, using all the power of his standing position to fill her tight, wet tunnel. He opened her wider still, digging hard into her muscles to hold her in place against him.

Liz tried to wait, she really did, but it was time, and if he came along with her, so much the sweeter. She grabbed his forearms and before he realized what was going on, she went rigid against him, screaming out her pleasure. He watched in amazement as she flushed from face to breast. He pulled back, then thrust again—and she came again, still panting hard.

He was beyond reason now and lifted her off the bed entirely, forcing all her weight down on him and came along with her third, howling with the intensity of it.

Liz held onto his neck, staring up at him, afraid he might drop her as he relaxed after coming. He returned to this world and opened his eyes. He grinned like a fool.

They both started to giggle. The giggle turned to a belly laugh, and they collapsed onto the bed.

#

“Damn,” Liz said. “Why did I wait so long to ask you out?” She sighed happily as they lay back under the covers, resting up for round two, she hoped.

“Hey, I asked you out,” he protested. “Why did it take you so long to reveal your true colors? You’ve worked for us for six months, and last week was the first time I could even tell you had a female shape.”

“Yeah, I tend to wear stuff leftover from my chubbier time during the day. I just didn’t see a need to invest in a new wardrobe for this part-time job,” she replied, “and I didn’t want to distract from the business focus on the clients, not me.”

“Well, now that I know what’s really under all that wrapping, I would like it if you’d keep yourself under cover to keep the hoi-polloi away,” he said. “Hmm, or maybe we should dress you up to attract more clients.”

“Not in this town, where youth and beauty are part of the holy trinity with money. When I walk around during the day, I swear I could shoplift for all that anyone sees me. And at night, it’s even worse,” she complained.

“What do mean?” he asked.

“I noticed it when I came out of my mourning for Sam. Other things had happened to me during that period, too, like the big down-shift in hormones and the changes that accompany that. Still, the last time I remember being this, well, invisible, was in my early teens,” she said, lost in the emotional memory. “I could go for a walk at night and never fear anyone bothering me. I didn’t question it then. I just assumed it meant I wasn’t worth noticing. And now I feel that way again. But only outside, in the night.”

She paused. “Put me in a casino in a fancy dress though, and I’ll get a few looks. So I work with the light spectrum given to me; visible indoors and not outside.”

“I can’t imagine not seeing you,” he said. “And your scent and fragrance are quite potent.”

She punched him lightly in the arm. “Hey, are you saying I need a bath?” She giggled.

“No, not at all. When I was waiting for you to arrive at the restaurant, I kept remembering your scent,” he said, nuzzling her neck to emphasize his point.

“See! Even you didn’t see me standing there, did you?” she said.

“What? I was there ahead of you, right?”

“No. I wasn’t kidding when I said I beat you there. I watched you for at least two minutes before I stepped out of the shadow and touched your arm. I was about six feet from you the whole time.” She smiled sadly. “See what I mean? In the night I’m invisible even when you’re looking for me.”

“Hey, wait a minute here,” she said and flipped back the covers. There were no scratches on his chest.

She froze as two images merged in her mind.

She propped herself up and leaned over him. “You’ve healed completely. How is that possible?”

He shrugged. “I’ve always healed quickly.”

She didn’t buy it. “Wait here.” She dashed out of the room and returned less than a minute later with a plain paper print of a photo.

“How do you explain this?” she asked, handing him the thermo-graphic shot she had taken some nights ago. Careless of her nakedness, she sat next to him on the bed as he studied the paper.

“I was out working on my study of the new construction behind the studio when I saw two guys face off. When I realized it was you, I snapped some pictures, but only this one from the thermal-graphic camera came out.”

Liz watched his reaction and knew he was searching for a palatable lie. She reached to touch him, and his hand was cold, a sure reaction of fear. But why would he fear her?

“Armando, I can see you’re formulating a story to throw me off. Please don’t do that,” she said, stroking his cool fingertips.

“How much do you know about thermal-graphic images?”

“Just tell me what this means,” she said. “I’ve never seen a person so totally saturated with heat.”

“And from that your conclusion is...?”

“My first reaction was that you two were so angry at one another that you raised your total body temperature, but that can’t be the whole answer. Just tell me,” she said, her irritation growing.

Armando stared at the photo to avoid her eyes.

“What did you hear of our conversation?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m horrible at remembering words,” she said. “But I’m sure he was threatening you, and you said,” she paused, “you said something about being the law. Hey, are you an undercover cop?”

He sighed. “I’m a probation officer for some special cases and, uh, gangs,” he said.

Liz narrowed her eyes and stared at him, trying to figure the magnitude of the lie.

“No, that’s not right,” she said sarcastically, “not right at all.” She jerked back from him and stormed across the room. She planted her feet and stared him down. “The truth, please. Now.”

She watched him and saw him decide.

“Well, you’re invisible at night and I’m a shape shifter,” he said, studying her face.

“So you’re a werewolf? Damn, I knew all my late-night reading would come in handy one day.” She laughed loudly as she bounced back onto the bed. It hurt that he wasn’t going to answer her truthfully.

“No, no, I’m not a werewolf. I’m the Portal Guardian for the various packs because I’m not in their packs. I’m too different,” he replied with some formality. “But if you weren’t prepared to believe me, then why did you ask the question?” Some anger showed in his tone.

Liz realized her inane reaction wasn’t helping. She took a deep breath and regained control. She took a few more deep breaths, letting the new information circulate in her imagination. Armando was studying her, and though she liked it when his eyes drifted to her breasts, something else held his gaze.

The animals. She suddenly remembered the animals that had raced past her.

“So that’s why a cougar and a wolf ran right in front of me in the parking lot?” she said. “At least I can lay to rest my worries of hallucinations.” She collapsed on the bed, her head next to his, and stared at the ceiling.

“If you were there, that close, how come I didn’t see you?” He leaned up on his elbow to examine her reaction.

“I think you were too preoccupied with that thug.”

“Liz, aren’t you afraid to be out taking pictures at night? Las Vegas, especially back from the Strip, is not the safest place to wander after dark.”

Liz did the long-distance stare before she turned to meet his eyes.

“It’s like I told you,” she said. “I’m always comfortable in the dark. Just the other day, I was thinking about how I used to sneak out of my house late at night when I was a teenager. I could walk anywhere, and as long as I stayed quiet, no one bothered me...ever. For safety I carry my pistol, the one Sam trained me to shoot, but I’ve never needed it.”

Armando kept staring at her.

It made her edgy.

She deflected his next question with one of her own. “How are you different from the packs? You’ve come this far; tell me the whole story.” She softened the request by rolling to him and stroking his back. She was equal parts curious and, despite everything he’d said, ready to fuck again.

He paused, enjoying her caresses, then sighed. “You won’t believe me, but here goes,” he said finally.

“A Sioux shaman turned me about a hundred years ago as part of my initiation ceremony. My dream self was a cougar, and in my soul journey, I was a cougar. What I didn’t know was what my father kept hidden from me: He was a werewolf. He came to America to escape a death sentence from one of the Austrian packs for turning someone without permission. Away from the influence of the others, he was able to pass as human. He married a human and had children. Something in the shaman’s magic screwed up all that. Now I change to cougar each month. I can also change to my father’s form, but it takes planning and meditation, or extreme provocation.”

Liz watched him in slack-jawed amazement. Her eyes darted over his features, looking for all the usual tells of the lie, the story made up to entertain or confuse.

But the truth was in his voice. She could hear the frustration, bitterness, and sadness in his confession. He must always feel alone, a fate all the more so damning for being at least in part a pack animal. Not sure whether she should offer comfort or distraction, or if she should run away, she lay still. How much strange could she accept in one night?

“I promised you a hot tub,” she finally said, “and I could use it now myself. Let’s go.” She paused and arched a wiseass smile at him. “Do cougars like to get wet?”

He didn’t answer her, but after a moment he followed her, naked, into the night.

#

Liz stepped back into the house to grab robes and towels, while Armando opened the hot tub and moved aside its lid. As she approached the open door of the patio off her bedroom, she stopped cold. A rather large wolf, cast in silhouette, crouched on the low roof of the shed.

Armando was setting the lid on the grass and seemed unaware of the intruder, but he spun suddenly when the wolf jumped into the courtyard. It changed to human form in mid-flight, and landed, naked, on two feet.

“Damn it to hell, Armando, why are you with a human like this?” the intruder said. “How can you expect respect from any pack anywhere if you can’t keep away from the humans? Every time you veer away from our rules, you know you get further from being allowed to join a pack.”

“Your pack doesn’t belong here, Georg, so you matter not to me,” he replied, stepping closer to the man-form.

Distracted by his body, it took Liz a moment to recognize the powerful threat rolling off this guy. She dropped the towels quietly and padded over to her dresser. She slowly pulled the pistol from its holster in the bottom drawer.

She stood in the doorway, quiet and ready to move. For no good reason, she believed Armando could handle himself, but a little backup couldn’t hurt.

“I told your punks to tell you to leave town. Didn’t they give you the message?” Armando said.

Liz appreciated that he was steering the conversation away from her.

“Yeah, they told me, and I took them down for failing to deliver my message,” Georg snarled. “I’m taking over this region, and your lame coalition of packs needs to just get over it.”

“Look, if we changed pack structure every time some lame-ass traveling troupe from Europe came through this town, we’d have moon-rage every month,” Armando explained, clearly exasperated. “Just pack up and move on.” With apparent distain, he turned his back on the man.

Liz was surprised at his move and clutched the pistol. She released the safety.

Georg turned at the metallic snap and stared into the house.

“You think your human play-pet will keep you safe?” Georg said, keeping an eye on the doorway. “You keep polluting the pack with them, and they let you get away with it for reasons beyond my comprehension. That’s why this region needs me. You forget the old ways, the important lessons we all must heed.”

Liz kept to the shadow but did not drop her aim.

“Georg, just leave it,” Armando sighed, clearly trying to sound placating and lower the tension. “I’ve already spoken to the council, but I couldn’t endorse you. Your old-world style won’t play here in Vegas. I mean really, letting your pups run through the city at night? What kind of leadership is that in a town flush with security cameras every hundred yards or so. You haven’t adapted, have you?”

Stiff with pride, Georg said, “We have survived, have we not? What better proof of our ways than that?”

“Then why do they keep sending you out of Europe? Could it be that your lack of adjusting isn’t safe in a crowded continent,” Armando countered. “But enough. Pack up your troupe, and leave us alone. When your show closes, I want you all gone.”

“This isn’t over, not at all. But I leave you to your human,” Georg said. And in a blink, he was wolf again. In one bound, he was back on the roof and gone.

Liz shook herself: She was sure the immediate danger had passed, and now she needed to stop ogling the lovely, naked man in her garden.

Liz stepped out into the atrium, her pistol down, safety back on.

“I watched the whole thing, from a wolf jumping off my shed to two very naked men talking. Do you have any idea how weird that is in our culture, two straight guys who can hold a comfortable conversation in the buff?” she babbled.

“You are one unusual woman, Ms. Liz,” he laughed with relief. “You see a transformation and focus on the nudity. Wow!” He paused to stroke her shoulder and calm her shivers. “Why couldn’t either of us see you?”

She shrugged. “I told you; it’s the night.”

She glanced out into the garden. “The big, bad wolf is gone. I really need to soak—with you—in the hot tub. Will you join me?”

Armando picked up the forgotten towels and took her hand.

With the warm, bubbling water relaxing her, Armando pulled her into the cradle of his lap, his arms holding her, offering comfort.

“So here we sit, a shape shifter and the invisible woman,” he said. She turned her head to look him in the face and laughed out loud.

“Yes, I guess that sums up the discovery,” she said with a shiver. “But you left out the really worrying part: There’s some kind of trouble brewing.” She paused and stared at him. “I’m clearly part of it now, so I want to help.”

She kissed him before he could respond.

#

Her plan was simple. Armando hated it.

“Look,” she said as they headed to the studio. “We already discussed it. If Georg knows where my house is, how long before he comes back? I’m involved now, and I can help, so get over yourself and your overbearing loner-guy pose.”

Armando shook his head but finally gave up arguing with her. He dropped her at the front of the studio.

She let herself in, disarmed the alarm, and headed to the rear. She quietly went to the door and checked the peephole. She jumped back at the sight of an amber eyeball completely filling the view. She stood back.

“Liz, open the door,” Armando said.

“Don’t play games,” she scolded in a low whisper.

“Sorry,” he said.

Before he could continue, his ears pulled back, and he shoved her into the dark doorway. He turned to face the silhouetted figure coming down the alleyway.

“Working late tonight?” the man sneered. He kept coming. “I’m done talking to you. It’s time your packs accepted our leadership.”

“Georg, you can’t really expect seven fully autonomous packs to suddenly accept your rule.” Armando stood his ground, planted like a tree.

Georg shook his head. “I can’t believe the continued insolence of you curs.” He sighed loudly, as if in mourning for a time gone by. “Do those weak pups appreciate that you will die for them tonight? Would they even care?” He dropped his overcoat casually over a garbage barrel. He motioned to someone down the alley.

Liz wondered how bad the trash talk would hit Armando, but she remained still. As they glared at each other, she slowly pulled her pistol from her pocket. In their planning argument, Armando warned her off bringing the weapon, but lacking wolf claws and jaws, she was determined to protect him as best she could.

Raging howls stopped her cold. Tricked by the shadows, she took a moment to focus on the sudden swirl of dust and fog that resolved into two huge wolves staring each other down. Matched in size, they differed only in color, one solid gray in the dim light, and the other darker with an odd white tip on his ears.

Liz’s heart raced. Armando had not transformed into the cougar. How the hell was she supposed to know which wolf was him?

The animals circled one another, snarling, teeth bared, each looking for the other to back down.

Her heart pounded and she struggled to stay still as their circling stopped. White-tip leapt at the throat of the gray. It faked high, then dove low and grabbed the exposed flesh below the jaw. It lost its grip as Gray shook his head and rolled at the same time, forcing white-tip onto his back. Before white-tip could get up, Gray clamped its jaws on the exposed throat of white-tip, growled, and increased the pressure.

Liz was nearly paralyzed in confusion. She had to break up the fight enough to figure out which wolf was Armando. She dropped her gun back into her pocket and grabbed the broom from inside the doorway. As Gray shook his head, she planted her feet behind him and swung for all she was worth with her improvised bat. She bounced from the impact and fell back into the shadow.

The gray wolf released his opponent and fell back, more shocked than hurt by her blow. It spun, looking for its attacker. Liz froze and held her breath, wishing frantically that it would move before she passed out.

White-tip stood and faced her. She saw the glowing amber eyes. She clung to the wall, hoping the harsh breathing of the two wolves covered her sudden gasp.

Gray backed to the opposite wall and swiveled between Armando and her location. The broom lay on the pavement. Gray clearly couldn’t see her.

White-tip faced her direction still, sniffing deeply.

Without warning, Gray leapt over Armando and grabbed his neck from behind. It buried his teeth in the flesh behind Armando’s head and shook its whole body, ripping into Armando. Armando struggled to roll or swing his head to throw off Gray, whimpering in rage and pain. Gray forced Armando down, stood on him, and raised its head in a triumphant howl. It bent and opened its jaws wide to bite Armando another time—maybe, Liz realized, for the last time.

With more calm than she thought she possessed, Liz pulled the pistol from her pocket. She aimed for the biggest target, its chest, and calmly squeezed the trigger. She prayed the gray did not have amber eyes, too.

The impact of the close-range shot blew the gray wolf off Armando and tossed him on the pavement in a tangled heap. Armando jumped up and over him, nuzzling into the wound, assessing the damage.

As if the pain forced a change, the gray returned to his human shape. Its body slowly extended, stretched, and changed color. Jaw dropping, Liz watched as fur slowly became flesh. The gaping hole in the shoulder of the wolf now was a wound in a man’s right shoulder trickling blood. The man panted, but his eyes were alert.

Liz ran into to the studio and grabbed a wad of towels. She ran into Armando, naked and himself, as she charged back out.

“What are you doing,” he growled, his voice raspy and deep.

“Oh, get the hell out of the way,” she yelled back. “I hurt him, and he’s bleeding. I just want to staunch the blood.” She shouldered past him and stopped when she realized the other man was gone.

“Where is he?” she said.

“Why would he stay?” Armando said. “Georg doesn’t know exactly how, but he lost. And he won’t be back.” His words carried a tone of finality. “His pups saw him lose to me.”

Liz looked around as Armando picked up his clothes and realized Georg’s clothes were also gone.

“We get a boost in recovery from the transition,” he explained as he dressed. “He’ll be fine in a few hours, but his pack will know I beat him.” He paused. “It’ll be interesting to see how the situation plays out. Maybe we should go see their show tomorrow night.”

“More importantly, I won!” he grinned down at her, “because I had you, my secret weapon.”

Liz backed away from his intense gaze and disappeared into the dark, then reappeared to grab his hand.

“No,” she said. “We won, and I have you.” She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. “Before we go to any show, though, you still owe me a slow, slow time in the tub.”