The Dancer (Dark Side of the Moon #1)

Chapter Two

Elias

“It’s his bachelor party. You have to come!” my brother, Madden, says for the tenth time since he walked into my office.

My shoulders are tense from holding back my frustration at him and my other pack members for ambushing me with this bullshit. Why the fuck does my beta, Waylon, need a bachelor party? He is having a mating ceremony, not a human wedding. This entire situation is ridiculous.

“Do you see the amount of work I have to do?” I ask my idiot little brother, gesturing at the piles of papers strewn across my desk. “Whychwood Industries isn’t going to run itself, Madden.”

“You do realize that there is a world outside your business and the damn pack?”

“Yes.” I stand and place my palms on my desk, leaning forward. “I also know you enjoy reaping the benefits of all the work I put into both ventures, so stop trying to push my buttons.”

“That’s not what I am trying to do,” he says with a sigh. “I am trying to get you out of this office. You spend too much time here, alone. You need to get a life. A woman.”

I snort at his words.

“I’m almost thirty, Madden. If I was supposed to find my mate, don’t you think it would have happened already?”

“Who said anything about a mate?” His smile is mischievous, and I instantly know I am going to regret this night.

“What are you going on about?”

“There’s a burlesque club three towns over.”

“I don’t pay for sex, and neither should you.”

“Why do you always assume the worst when it comes to me?” A flash of sadness crosses his features before he replaces it with a smile, and I feel a twinge of guilt in my chest. “No one said anything about paying for sex. But maybe you could meet a woman you don’t hate if you went out. Go on a date. You know, normal stuff.”

“You want me to date a stripper?” My eyebrow arched in question.

“No one said anything about dating. And they prefer to be called burlesque dancers.”

Like there is an actual difference: both professions get paid to take off their clothes. I take a deep breath and know I will give in to Madden. Again. I always do. He is the only family I have left, and although my business and pack will always come first, I need to make sure he knows I will always be there for him as well, even when it’s shit like this.

“Fine. When do you want to leave?” I ask, disdain dripping from every word.

“Now,” Madden replies with a shrug. “The guys are waiting downstairs.”

“Fuck my life,” I mumble, running my hands through my hair for what feels like the hundredth time today.

Pushing my brown leather chair away from my desk, I grab my jacket and head out of my office to the elevators.

****

The club is decent enough when we enter. Lush black leather seating and sturdy, dark oak tables surround the raised platform stage where I assume the dancers will perform. There is a tinge of smoke and alcohol hanging in the air, but nowhere near as bad as I expected.

The house lights dim just as we are served our drinks by a waitress with dark hair and neon pink tips, dressed in what seems to be a cheerleading unifor m— one that’s about ten sizes too small for her.

The crowd around us quiets in anticipation right before a man announces the dancer.

“For your pleasure, here is The Dancer.”

A spotlight follows a blonde-haired woman as she strolls out on stage, and I am instantly transfixed. I can’t pull my gaze away from her abundance of curves as she fills the stage with her presence. She is dressed in a sparkly blue dress that is so short it skims the curve of her ass.

Sitting forward, I can’t help but track her every move like the predator I am. I don’t know what it is about this woman, but it’s a battle to stay seated instead of jumping on stage and carrying her off to where no one else can see her.

The crowd around us whistles and calls lewd remarks as she dances to the sultry, bass-heavy song in the background. I want to grab each one of them and wring their necks for the words they are using. Their only saving grace is that I am completely transfixed by the beauty on stage.

My wolf prowls the corners of my mind, growling in the darkness. His agitation amps me up, and I consider allowing him out for a split-second. But I don’t, and I won’t. It’s frowned upon to shift in public, even in a shifter-only establishment. No one in the shifter community wants humans to find out about the supernatural beings living side by side with them. It would cause a panic.

My heart beats harshly against my ribs, my hands gripped firmly on the table edge. My breathing is shallow as I watch her slowly peel off her clothes. With each layer my blood pressure climbs as I war with myself between wanting to see more of her flawless skin and wanting her to stop showing all the men in attendance.

My cock is a lead pipe in my charcoal suit pants, and I want nothing more than to steal her away and rutt her into next week.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

This isn’t normal for me. Fuck knows I can’t even remember the last time I had sex, and now it is the only thing I can think about. I don’t know anything of this woman, but already she is working her way under my skin, crawling into my mind, and making a home for herself.

Her show comes to a close, and she is seated directly in front of our table, straddling a chair, wearing nothing but a powder blue thong and two large deep blue feathers covering her breasts. It is the sexiest fucking thing I have seen in my life, and I have yet to see her naked.

The lights go down, and I can hear her leaving the stage. Even with my heightened eyesight, I can’t glimpse her. Only a few moments pass before the lights return, and the stage is empty.

“Alpha Anderson,” I hear a man beside me. “My name is Abel Johnson, and I’m honored to welcome you to my establishment. Please let me know if you need anything while you are here.”

I don’t even hesitate before the words slip from my lips.

“Her.” I nod my head in the direction of the stage. “I want a private dance.”

The man named Abel pales at my words but doesn’t object. Instead, he nods before heading off to fulfill my wishes.