Wolf and Hood

8-Trouble Comes in Red

There was nothing to celebrate beyond the meeting ending and yet, did he detect a shift in the air? They had a plan, it was a start. A something. The heavy chains of leadership that kept him awake wondering what 'he could have done' and ' should be doing' seemed to lighten. He rolled his shoulders as if to release the tension.

The anxious mood had lifted as the wolves nodded their respects out the door, ambling toward the fight ring to catch the tail end of the matches. He offered a polite 'no thanks' when invited, eager for a shower and sleep. Hector excused himself as well, heading home to his family.

Family. A pretty picture, but his face would never make it in the frame. No holiday cards with silly sweaters and the smiling faces of a lovely wife and children. With his position, his demanding and dangerous lifestyle, he couldn't afford it. A dream too rich for a man swimming in blood.

Once, he suspected, his parents had been happy. But the memories were vapors, diffused in time, too hard to grasp and this clan was as close to the feeling of family as he'd get and he couldn't lose another one... He couldn't fail them again.

Vincent made his way back toward the club, deciding to call Ryan in the morning to fill him in. Knowing his brother, he'd either crashed at his desk or run off to another bar, entertaining the first woman to flash him a pretty smile.

"Hey sugar." An eyeful of sparkly blue nipple tassels, attached to perky breasts, blocked his path and his way home. "Haven't seen you around here lately. Where have you been?"

"Midnight," he sidestepped the dancer, ignoring her questions and barely there blue thong, as the feline fell into step beside him. Her long black hair pulled into a high pony that brushed his arm as it swayed to the clack of her heels. Dark almond eyes sparkled predatory as she appraised him with interest.

"You stay'n for my performance?" She blew a bubble in her gum, snapping it with a wink.

"Another time maybe." He let his eyes linger on the lethe feline shifter for a moment longer before opening the door, her huff of disappointment following him out.

On another night he might have entertained the silent offer for a romp, but it had been a long day and his patience for things that separated him from his bed was thinning. He wondered if the Hooman Heiress was still upstairs. He smirked, walking into the thrum of the underground club, no doubt running up a tab with the bartender. He could still smell her odd scent, like it was-

A splash of red caught his attention seated in the booth with the gaggle of Vixens.

Vincent blinked once. Twice. Then the woman turned, wrinkling her nose with that familiar profile, a laugh slipping between her lips at something one of the Foxes said. Pretty, like the chime of bells. And then his brain caught up. How in the Hells?...