Vixen is cool, interesting, in control. Too bad that Vixen is really Esther, a werewolf with aspirations to better things. In an attempt to spice up her life, she decides to visit The Fold, a nightclub with a dubious reputation. The place is notorious, as well as being the monthly starting point for The Hunt. When The Hunt goes wrong, Esther's rescuer is someone much closer to her heart than she ever suspected. What she's actually hunting for isn't Vixen, but Gregor, the wolf, and man, of her dreams.
Gregor has loved Esther ever since he can remember. He doesn't even hold the fact she changed him into a werewolf against her. In fact, he perceives it as an advantage—nobody understands Esther the way he does. When Esther gets tired of playing it safe, and disappears to join in The Hunt, Gregor goes after her to stop her before she does something she will forever regret.
The moon sat heavy in the sky, an ugly yellow, pale mustard like the matted coat of an old dog. Esther bared her teeth at it, snarling, pleased that her canines were at least a better shade of ivory than their progenitor. Damn moon! It made no sense to her, no sense at all, that a planetary body should have such a wretched effect on a woman's existence.
She was still a day away from The Burning Itch. Worse than the curse, and far more painful. Women complained about cramps and mood swings. Try combating the gum-shattering extrusion of pointy canines, and the ripping itch of extruded hair, to say nothing of the pulses in her muscles as they tightened, lengthened, shortened.
She blinked her eyes, but her lashes were already getting longer. It always happened this time of the month, and it was irritating as hell. It made her feel as though she had something in her eye, or someone standing in her periphery, which was worse. She could be a little short-tempered on days like this, snapping…literally…at anyone who intruded on her personal space. Esther had made it a point, ever since that first time when she'd bitten Gregor's chest, to stay clear of people during these times of lunar madness, at least until she could cope. That usually didn't happen till two days after the full moon, at which point her temper and her inclinations began to settle down.
"It wouldn't do to kill anyone," a voice growled close to her ear.
Esther lunged so swiftly she was barely a blur. She landed atop him, kneeling pointedly near his groin. "There are exceptions to every rule," she assured him, through narrowed eyes. Gregor was taking advantage. He knew her lunar cycle as well as he knew his own.
He wanted her. Esther knew it. Some would have claimed it was a match made in heaven—or hell as the case may have it—but she refused to allow her disability to form alliances where her human body would not. Gregor was a scoundrel, had always been a scoundrel, and if the consequences hadn't been so dire, Esther would have felt justified in biting him that day. If anyone had deserved it, it would have been him. He'd been coming on to her once again, the fool. She'd simply reacted…and had been regretting it ever since.
"C'mon, Egg," he coaxed, peering up at her with those beautiful glistening eyes. They were the one thing about Gregor that she always found attractive, and at moon-times they took on the added adorable attribute of being almost doggy-like. As to his wolfness, well, Gregor was a wolf, of the male kind, at any time of the month. Esther didn't see that moonrise made any difference.
"You're disgusting," she said, and stood up, turning away so he wouldn't see her remorse. No good telling him she regretted the words, but then, she was ultra sensitive. If anyone had told her she was disgusting during moon-time, she would have been mortified with shame, thinking that all they were noticing was the protruding hair, weird muscles, and buck canines. It's not like a werewolf could put on braces, for God's sake. For some reason with her, none of the lycan stuff ever went right when it came to the orthodonture. Lord help her if she wasn't a werewolf with an overbite.