Breaking the Alpha Beast by Ana Felix

Author:Ana Felix [Felix, Ana]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Anne Hutchins
Published: 2016-10-04T18:30:00+00:00

EIGHT

Claire is watching the l’Argent concert in Mal’s office on his 60” flat screen television. The sound would be deafening if they were watching from off stage; Claire is grateful for the volume buttons.

“Fucking brilliant, isn’t he?” Mal says, grinning. It’s more a rhetorical statement than a question. He takes quick excited swigs from a small crystal sipper filled with Harvey’s Bristol Cream port. The delicate stemmed glass seems too refined for her boss, Claire decides. “The transformation halted perfectly. Just look at him. I’ve been watching a decade of performances and Ian never ceases to amaze me.”

He is amazing, Claire thinks as she watches Ian’s darkly furred chest writhe around the microphone stand. As he sings—shouts lyrics to a melody—Ian’s hair, dampened to black ringlets by his sweat, whips over his forehead and around his high cheekbones. Even through the television screen she sees how his icy stare cuts through the photons and bores into her own eyes. Ian is naked to the waist, wearing only jeans torn at the knees—no doubt sans underwear because she sees the bulge of his crotch wriggling like a heavy bag of fruit as he sways his narrow hips in time to the throbbing beat.

Claire closes her eyes and leans her head back. She feels the thrum of the underlying bass melding with Ian’s vocals as it travels through the floor and up her body. She starts to sway her own hips to the music. It’s as if she is participating in another ritual, separate from the one in the cell below, yet just as sensual and erotic. She fights the urge to strip off her clothes and dance around the room. She imagines that Ian must have the same power over his audience.

She opens her eyes and sees that the camera is panning the crowd. Indeed, everyone of both sexes appears in some sort of erotic thrall. She sees one young woman pull off her tank top and fondle her own breasts, then attempt to climb the stage. A roadie spots her in time, grabs her roughly around the waist and tosses her back into the throng. She appears to have lost her tank top and will likely have to watch the rest of the concert with her large artificially enhanced breasts exposed. Claire smiles. She’s certain the girl doesn’t care.

“You know,” Mal says with a contemptuous snort, “half of Ian’s fan base believe he’s truly a werewolf and the other half believe this is all just special effects. I mean, he is a fooking werewolf, but when you think about it, it’s still ridiculous for anyone to actually believe in what should logically be considered fantasy. I absolutely love it.”

“Kind of like people who’ve convinced themselves that they’re vampires and file their canine incisors to points and drink blood.”

Mal gives her a sidelong glance and arches his eyebrows. “Oh, good analogy. In fact, we have fans who dress as werewolves come to the concert. Don’t know if they actually think they’re werewolves, though.

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