Soulbound Mates

On this Saturday night, I yearn for the pulsating music, the crowd's energy, and the fiery touch of alcohol. Club Nocturn, an exclusive haunt for the paranormal, exudes an electrifying allure, much like any other night. It stands as the solitary supernatural sanctuary on this stretch of the coast. For years, it's been my refuge, where I can shed the constraints of my wolf nature and revel freely. Sure, I could venture into mixed bars, where incidents often draw unwanted attention, but here, one can embrace their true self, human laws be damned. Tonight calls for drinking, dancing, and quite possibly, getting intimate with a captivating stranger. Over three weeks have passed since my last visit, tied up in a task that extended longer than anticipated. Yet, what I gained were these fabulous shoes. All I needed was to liberate myself. I make my way to the front of the queue, greeting the bouncer with a cheeky peck as he unfastens the rope. Murmurs of discontent trail behind me. Knowing newcomers have endured a two-hour wait to step into the club, I can't help but grin. There are perks to being a regular. The moment I step through the double doors, my senses tango with the heady blend of blood and sweat. Neon lights sway to the music's rhythm in the dimly lit club. I ascend a brief flight of stairs leading to the bar area, offering a vantage point over the dance floor. The main bar is manned by at least six bartenders, spanning half the length of the room. Even with this number, the place remains perpetually packed, and it still takes a minute to place your order. On the opposite side, a handful of booths and high tables are scattered about. The second floor houses private party rooms, primarily reserved for the affluent and influential—clan leaders and fae monarchs. With floor-to-ceiling glass, the rooms provide a glimpse into a world of opulence, while simultaneously eliciting envious glances from below. It's a realm of fantasy, adorned with million-dollar decor, thousand-dollar spirit bottles, and upscale entertainers. A friend of mine once pocketed $3000 just from pouring drinks for an hour! Fortunate indeed. I scan the bar and dance floor, in search of someone to satiate my nocturnal desires. Both men and women cast their gazes my way, but nothing immediately captivates me. Towards the end of the bar, familiar faces catch my eye, tempering any disappointment. Upon spotting my companions, my face lights up. "BITCHES!" I exclaim, enveloping Ugonna and Clara in a tight embrace. Ugonna playfully swats my arm. "Hot damn, girl, you nearly scared me out of my skin." It's been less than a year since she became a vampire, and Clara, who turned her, simply chuckles, arms wrapped around Ugonna's waist. "Aww, is my baby wolf feeling a little intimidated?" Ugonna blushes, and we all share a laugh. Ugonna, originally a southern belle, was quite the challenge for Clara, with her lively golden curls and freckles. Clara stands in stark contrast; she leans towards a gothic aesthetic, boasting long, straight dark hair and dark makeup, fitting the vampire archetype perfectly. Fortunately, Ugonna didn't let societal norms deter their connection, having been together for years before Ugonna embraced Clara's gift. "Damn, Phina, you're looking damn fine tonight. What's the occasion?" I turn, offering Clara a closer look. I usually put in an effort for the club, but tonight, I've gone the extra mile for allure. My golden hair, just grazing my shoulders, carries a playful bounce from the earlier blowout. I've gone for a glamorous look, with subtle makeup—soft eyes, a delicate black winged liner, and a sheer pink lip. The neckline of my navy dress, adorned with a charming heart pattern, accentuates my C cup assets and hugs my thighs snugly. A slight lean would reveal my thong, a touch of provocation for some Phina tricks. "I treated myself to these fabulous Jimmy Choos," I declare proudly, lifting one leg to showcase my girlish infatuation. The ladies shoot me a sidelong glance. "The only way you'd be more enthralled is if they dispensed champagne with every step." "Well, obviously, I need to put in some effort. I haven't had a good lay in a while." I survey the bar, finding no immediate takers. The dance floor might yield better results. "Catch you ladies later, I'm going to dance!" They exchange knowing smirks as I saunter off. I step onto the dance floor with confidence, swaying my hips to the music's rhythm. I ignore any advances from men who don't meet my criteria. Sure, I've been called a 'b***h' more times than I can count, but I make no apologies for having standards. I continue to move to the music, sensing a gaze fixed on me. I glance around, but it seems like everyone's in their own world. I look up to find a delectable specimen watching me from a secluded alcove. He's tall and robust, though I can't quite discern if he's a wolf, vampire, or fae. He must stand at least 6'4", making it easy for my 5'8" self to leap and land on his... assets. His crossed arms accentuate his breadth, projecting an air of rugged allure. With a short beard and tousled dirty blonde hair, he exudes a captivating ruggedness. He appears to be in his early thirties, though appearances can be deceiving in our world. Just the sight of him sends a heated pulse through me, and I realize I'm breathing heavily, a blend of dance floor warmth and his unwavering attention. I begin to sensually trace my hands up and down my body, my eyes locked on his. I feel a presence press against me from behind, arms encircling me. But my focus remains fixed. I cup my breasts for added stimulation, the heat intensifying. The man behind me offers a sly grin and a raised eyebrow. Oh, that smile of his could be lethal. He presumes that my moans are all for him, blissfully unaware of the source. Suddenly, a dancer from his private chamber approaches him from behind, whispering in his ear and leading him in her direction, breaking our connection. I swear, I'm actually pouting. He doesn't glance back at the window, leaving me in sultry solitude. I turn around, encountering the man who's been eyeing me for the duration of the song. He's just an inch taller than me with my heels on, and his pointed ears mark him as fae. He's certainly attractive enough, and given my current state of unsatisfaction, he'll do. When he realizes I won't ignore him, he smirks and leans into my neck, a liberty I grant him. His kisses trail from my neck to my shoulders, and I can't help but sense his desire and hunger. MATEU I snap my head, searching for the source of the scent. For most wolves, finding a mate is typically within five years of reaching s****l maturity, usually within their own pack. My chances were further diminished, having had no such luck within that timeframe, and having lost my pack a decade ago.