Run Run rabbit

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None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

Contents

1. Chapter 1

2. Chapter 2

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

7. Chapter 7

8. Chapter 8

9. Chapter 9

10. Chapter 10

11. Chapter 11

About Author

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The Party

H igh above the valley, the moon hung like a beacon, brightly lit and luminous.

Despite the unseasonably warm weather, there wasn’t a single cloud to hide its brilliance. As Vanessa sped along the rural highway, it seemed the moon was shining a spotlight down the road, lighting the way to the celebration like a bright, white runway.

She was already ru

He would understand. Perhaps more than anyone else she knew, he would understand her tardiness and wouldn’t care. If he even notices. After all, hadn’t he been late just the previous month, the first time they’d spoken in several?

“You don’t need to apologize,” she’d smiled up once he’d finally appeared before the table that night in the over-priced restaurant he’d suggested, the waist-coated server ducking his head, pulling out the chair across from her for her tardy companion. The linen-covered table was already littered with the half-empty water and wineglass, the latter having already been refilled twice by the time he’d arrived, but it hadn’t mattered.

“That’s a relief,” he’d gri

Vanessa reminded herself that he’d not apologized then, and she didn’t need to apologize now. All she had to do was get there. The moving dot representing her car on the GPS’s digital display showed how close she was to the hidden cul-de-sac where she needed to turn, following the circular road until she reached a private drive leading into the woods. Greenbridge Glen was the perfect backdrop for the nearly full moon — a tiny, sparsely populated hamlet, comprising a small resort and a smattering of private homes and not much else — nestled in the rolling hills of agriculture that

stretched between the two towns. It was lush and green, the hills providing a perfect sea of shadows for the moon to cast her white light upon, guiding the way.

The house was a country estate, built at the turn of the previous century, replete with hundreds of winking leaded windows and deco archways, high on a hillside, surrounded by forested peaks and valleys. The Greenbridge Glen address was a tax shelter owned by several members of the Cambric Creek elite — a shifter who lived halfway around the world and the troll couple who had started the Food Gryphon chain; the heiress to the Deliquesce fortune, a ubiquitous home plumbing product marketed to minotaurs and centaurs; and several others, including the evening’s host.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me . . .”

The vast estate was on a private drive, a perfect setting for that night’s celebration . . . or at least it would be if the line at the valet wasn’t ten cars deep. Vanessa sighed, tapping her lacquered nails against the edge of the steering wheel as she idled at the curb, watching as another sleek luxury sedan slid into the queue. Eleven cars. Fuck it. She didn’t want to waste any more of the evening than she already had, taking her foot off the brake as a twelfth car took its place in the valet line. She would park down the road and hoof it up the hill, and she wouldn’t be forced to waste any more of the party.

It had become one of her favorite celebrations of the year; ironic, as she’d only started celebrating it since she’d met him. Lupercalia. There was something primal about this night, a tumidness that would weight the air even before the smells of sweat and sex permeated the ceremony; a heavy sense of expectation that seemed to curl around her, lifting her hair and licking down her bare legs. That’s what happens when you get this many hard cocks in a room at once.

The throng of merrymakers had spilled out onto the lawn, she saw as soon as she crested the steep incline, only needing to step through a bit of landscaping, her spiked heels sinking into the black mulch at the base of the manicured shrubbery. A scowling security guard appeared before her, the furrow between his eyebrows deepening as she produced her gilt-edged invitation with a flourish and a beatific smile. It could have been worse, she reminded herself, kicking away the remnants of the mulch that clung to the toe of her black patent leather shoe. You could have wound up crawling through the bushes. You didn’t need to climb a tree or hop a fence, so we’ll call this a win.

As usual, no expense had been spared. The champagne was already flowing liberally, waistcoated servers gliding through the crowd, crystal flutes, hot hors d’oeuvres, and identical black masks on hand for those who had not brought their own. Vanessa wondered, as she looked around at the sea of staid cocktail attire, snagging a champagne flute from a passing tray, how many of these gossiping guests would stay as perfectly coiffed as they were now; how many of them would fall prey to the

hysteria of the festivities, loosening their hair and clothing alike when the wolves began to run. She paused, wrinkling her nose at the unexpected taste of the champagne, before straightening her black lace mask and entering the fray.

“Have you heard the news?”

Vanessa melted into one of the clusters of partygoers, sipping her champagne as if she had been there the whole time, raising an eyebrow at the woman on her left’s excited utterance.