Werewolf Ladies’ Night
The club was loud. Mind-numbingly, ear-shatteringly, brain-liquefyingly loud. The music was
an eclectic mix of techno dance, world house, and a whole bunch of other words that seemed to be
mashed together in Galina’s mind in a string of jumbled bass-heavy nonsense. A DJ spun from a
series of high risers overlooking the press of bodies below them like a king overseeing his demesne.
People milled around the edges of the packed dance floor, the colored lights flashing over gyrating
bodies clad in the latest designer fashions.
Galina Sudenko turned from her perch overlooking the frivolity and yawned. She leaned her
elbows on the top rail, back resting against the metal, a half-empty champagne glass held lazily in
one elegantly manicured hand. She and her party were the only ones lounging in the VIP section.
Svetlana Gordeyva, Galina’s best friend and organizer of this night out, slammed into the rail
beside her. Sveta’s face was flushed pink from dancing, and she draped a sweaty arm over Galina’s
shoulders. “Come dance, Galya! It’s your ‘welcome home’ party. You can’t just sit up here all night
and not have any fun!”
“In a minute,” she told Sveta. Galina raised her half-filled glass of champagne to indicate
that she hadn’t yet finished her drink.
She appreciated the welcome back party, she truly did. Sveta had gathered up all of their old
high school friends, the girls they had grown up with in the Volk Organization, all the daughters of
the most prominent families. Sveta had rallied the well-shod troops to celebrate Galina’s move back
to Seattle after being away at graduate school in California for the past four years.
Galina’s sharp predator’s eyes scanned the VIP section. Elizaveta sat next to Nastasia who
was laughing at something Liliya said. Anichka had gone to the ladies room a few minutes ago and
still hadn’t made her way back to their table. Galina wondered if they’d have to send a Saint Bernard
after her. They’d started the evening at a bar renowned throughout the city for its creative cocktails
for a few drinks before heading to Canlis for dinner. Sveta had secured them a small private dining
room so they could be as loud as they wanted without the fear of bothering nearby diners, which
Galina appreciated. When they all got together, they tended to be a rather raucous crew.
It would surprise all of their conservative fathers to know how blunt-speaking and
“unladylike” their precious porcelain daughters could be when they weren’t being choked by the
Organizatsiya’s leash. The women had spent most of dinner catching up on their personal lives and
comparing notes on the “promising” young men of the Volk families that their fathers had all picked
out for them. Impersonations and improvisational mocking poetry might have been involved.
“Are you having a good time?” Sveta asked her, pouring herself another glass of champagne
from the ice bucket perched on the low table in their section.
Galina nodded, lowering her head so she could yell in Svetlana’s ear over the heavy bass beat
pounding out of the speakers. “Yes. Just still tired from the move.” It was only her second day back
in town, and she’d been unpacking and hanging out with her family the day before. “And I have
little Katya’s sweet sixteen party tomorrow night. I can’t get too trashed tonight.”
“Ugh. Yeah, almost forgot you had that. Roks is taking the hit for that one with Pop.”
Svetlana made a face.
“You’ll have to tell me how you got out of it. Papa wouldn’t hear of me not attending.”
Galina was the youngest daughter of Ilya Sudenko, and the only Alpha female in their family line.
There was no way her father was going to let her wriggle out of what he considered a social
obligation where all of the major power players of the organization’s families would be gathered. It
was, she mused, prime husband-hunting ground.
“I’m supposed to be having dinner with Dimitry,” Sveta answered with a frown.
“Am I to assume that something will come up that will make that an impossibility?” Galina
arched a perfect blond eyebrow at her friend. She knew that Sveta’s father was pushing her toward a
marriage with Dimitry, a perfectly suitable Alpha with a perfectly appropriate pedigree who bored
the absolute shit out of Sveta. Perfectly.
Sveta grinned. “Maybe. I can’t keep putting it off.” She leaned in closer to Galina’s ear,
sending her chandelier amethyst earring swinging. “There’s a limit to what Pop will let me get away
with.”
“A limit which we haven’t found yet.” Galina winked at her friend. “Remember how you
sweet talked him into letting you take Systema? He thought he was agreeing to let you take some
‘little women’s self-defense class’ and look at you now. You’re Jean-Claude Van Damme… with a
nicer rack.”
Sveta let out a very unladylike chortle of laughter. “The look on Pop’s face when I pinned
my trainer was priceless.”
“You’re amazing, Sveta. I keep meaning to have you teach me some moves.”
“Like you’d ever need it! Between the bodyguards that you father has following you around
like pups and your ability to suddenly sprout claws and fangs, I’m pretty sure Systema would be what
you’d call ‘overkill.’” Galina frowned and Sveta’s expression softened. She bumped Galina with her
shoulder. “But seriously, now that you’re back, you should come by the gym where I train if you
want. Bring Irina along too. She might like it.”
Galina nodded absently, thoughts going to her adopted sister, Irina. Systema, a Russian
martial arts form focusing on strikes and pressure points, could be good for Irina. Irina was one
hundred percent sweet, harmless human. But she was married to a werewolf—an Omega, the lowest
rung of the pack dynamics ladder—who was less than gentle with her whenever the mood struck
him. And it struck him often. So he struck Irina. Not that Galina was supposed to notice or
acknowledge the fact that her brother-in-law could be an abusive shithead. It was one more
“unpleasant” thing that her family turned a blind eye to.
“Come with me,” Svetlana said, grabbing Galina’s arm and literally yanking her out of her
thoughts. “Let’s do something we haven’t done in ages!”
“What, terrorize the populace?” she asked as Sveta dragged her down the stairs to the main
room. “Get an exotic piercing? Make a priest blush and drop his Bible?”
“No, silly. Dance!” Then Sveta threw her a wild grin. “Then we’ll terrorize and pierce and
blaspheme. I promise!”
***
Four songs later, Galina was coated in a light sheen of sweat that crept up the back of her
neck, dampening her hair to a shade of dark gold. Fanning her face with her hand, Galina jerked her
head towards the bar. Sveta nodded and continued to shimmy, even as they threaded their way
through the writhing crowd. Before they’d managed to order from the lanky human bartender, he
was turning toward them, sliding two brimming shot glasses over to Galina and Svetlana.
“Compliments of the gentlemen at the end of the bar,” he yelled over the din.
Galina glanced down at the drinks, then at her friend, eyebrows raised and lips quirked into a
skeptical smirk. That was all that needed to be said.
“How much you want to bet it’s something ridiculous, like a Buttery Nipple?” Sveta asked
with a grim smile on her face, understanding the shorthand speak that were Galina’s eyebrows. She
lifted one glass to take a sniff and made a disgusted face.
“No bets there,” Galina answered, still eyeing the shots with distaste. “Why do they always
think we want these syrupy ‘insulting and obvious sexual innuendo’ drinks?”
“Because stupid men’s magazines told them they stand a better chance of getting laid
through use of subliminal suggestion?” her friend offered helpfully. She lowered her voice and
altered her accent into a thick dullard’s rumble. “’Order her a drink with the word ‘dick’ in it. And
she’ll start thinking about dicks, even if she doesn’t realize it. And she’ll start thinking about sex.
And since you’ll be right there, with the most conveniently located dick, she’ll have to have sex with
you!”
“Hmmph.” Galina eyed the two gentlemen at the other end of the bar who the bartender
had indicated thoughtfully. They were nice enough looking young men, perhaps late twenties. Both
wore polo shirts and dress pants. Very vanilla, very normal, like two suburban dads out for a night
off their leashes.
Galina and Sveta shared a look. “Let’s go thank them properly,” the petite brunette said.
“And drink them under the table,” Galina finished, already pushing away from their spot at
the rapidly filling bar.
“That goes without saying,” Sveta finished, laughing as she linked arms with Galina. “What
fake name are you using tonight?”
“Hmmmm.” Galina thought for a moment, nibbling on her bottom lip as they moved slowly
through the crush of people. “I’m feeling like a ‘Scarlet’ tonight.”
“As in woman or as in bloody?” Sveta asked, eyes dancing with wicked joy.
Galina grinned wolfishly. “Why not both? How about you?”
“I’m in a ‘Lana’ kind of mood.”
The lady werewolves approached their ‘benefactors,’ arms linked and non-ironic smiles
firmly in place.
“Thanks for the shots,” Sveta began, a coy smile on her face. Galina nearly choked on her
laughter. To see Svetlana, the girl who regularly took men twice her size apart at the knees,
practically simpering and batting her lashes, was hilarious.
A bit of mischief and dancing had been just what Galina needed to alleviate her restlessness.
She’d been afraid a night out had been a bad idea and not in the fun ‘break out the bail jar’ way. This
club was this moment’s “hottest spot” in Seattle, but Galina thought it just like every other club
she’d been to the past four years. As much as she appreciated Svetlana’s effort to welcome her
home, Galina had more important concerns weighing on her mind.
But Svetlana had been right, as usual. Galya needed the night out, to reconnect, to cut loose
a little, and to remember how much fun it could be to hang out with her dearest friends. The only
thing missing was Irina, but Galya doubted her sister would have been able to make it even if she’d
wanted to come. Her husband, Sergei, would never allow her in a club, no matter the celebration.
He barely let her out of the house.
“No problem,” said the tall blond dude-bro. He leaned closer to Svetlana, staking his claim
on her. “You girls are the best looking ladies here!”
Galina smiled widely, all lips and no teeth. She adored being called a girl by complete
strangers who hoped to get into her pants for the price of mid-shelf booze. “What are your names?”
“I’m Chip,” said the blond. Of course he was.
“Of course you are.” Sveta managed to say that without a hint of mockery coloring her tone.
“And he’s Chuck.”
Chuck at least offered his hand. He had dark hair and eyes. He wasn’t as tall as his friend,
but still tall enough that Galina in her high heels was of a height with him. “Nice to meet you,” he
said. “What’s your name?”
Galina introduced them, using their agreed upon aliases. She signaled the bartender, who
leaned over to take their order. Sveta whispered into his ear and a few moments later, four heavy
shot glasses full of vodka sat on the bar.
“What’s this?” Chip asked, picking up a glass.
“We thought we’d return the favor,” Svetlana said, glancing at Galya with an impish smile on
her face. “It’s vodka. Good vodka.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” Chuck said.
“We wanted to,” Galina assured him. “Now let’s see if you boys can keep up.” She raised
her glass, toasted the two men with it, and knocked it back as if it was water. She grinned and turned
the glass over on the bar with a double-tap.
Chuck’s eyebrows rose until they were in danger of being lost in his hairline. Chip made a
disparaging sound, leering a little at Sveta as she easily polished off the first shot and signaled for the
bartender to keep them coming.
“So what do you do?” Chuck asked her, standing closer to be heard over the din of the
thumping bass.
“I’m a telemarketer!” Galya lied brightly, her sensitive hearing picking up Svetlana’s snicker.
Werewolf ears could be a blessing sometimes. “I spend all day on the phone trying to sell people
funeral plots.”
Chuck blinked, clearly at a loss for how to respond to that. Svetlana’s chuckle turned into
full-fledged laughter now. Chip seemed to take that as a sign the shot was affecting her and put a
hand under her elbow as if she needed steadying. The brunette stepped away, keeping a bit of
distance between them.
Galina decided to continue. Might as well make this interesting. “And Lana here, she’s a
makeup artist.”
“Really?” Chip asked, trying to sound interested.
Sveta nodded. “Yeah, for dogs.”
Galina had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from cackling like a witch with mirth,
especially when Chip, brow furrowed as if thinking somehow hurt him, said, “What, you mean like
ugly girls?”
“No, like really dogs. The kind with four legs. Go ‘Arf Arf.’” Svetlana smiled up at Chip
brightly.
Grabbing a fresh shot, Galya downed it in one swallow to keep from laughing out loud.
Svetlana was a genius. She shoved one at Chuck and then at Chip. “She’s really good,” she told them
earnestly.
“I don’t get it,” Chip said, taking his shot and Svetlana’s. “Why would you put makeup on
dogs?”
Sveta waved her hand airily, “Usually it’s for people who want portraits done of their pets,
show dogs, that kind of thing. You know, Glamour Shots for pups.”
Chuck looked like he was contemplated yelling “Fire!” and making for the exit as a way to
get away from the two of them. Maybe he was sharper than he let on. “So you,” he said, pointing at
Galina, “cold call people to get them to buy funeral plots and you,” he pointed at Svetlana, “put
eyeshadow on dogs. For real?”
They both nodded, giving matching ‘scary beauty queen’ smiles. The bartender had delivered
another round. This time Sveta passed them out. Chuck didn’t drink his, but Chip took care of it for
him. Galina and Sveta polished theirs off and set the empties back down on the bar. Neither of
them felt the slightest bit intoxicated—one of the perks of werewolf metabolism.
“Honest and for true,” Sveta giggled. She actually giggled. Galina hid a snort behind her
hand.
The vodka kept flowing and the four of them kept drinking, although Chuck only drank
every other shot. He seemed to have caught on that Galina and Svetlana were not feeling the effects
of the vodka like he and Chip were, but his friend was determined not to be outdone by a girl who
carried half his body weight. Sveta kept on flirting and encouraging him as Galina made small talk
with Chuck about his job, his car, his apartment. Galina’s ennui returned full-force as Chuck used
her for conversational masturbation, and boring conversational masturbation, at that.
A change rippled through the crowd surrounding them, as suddenly people began pressing
against their little group in an effort to make room for some opposing force. Galina was taller than a
good bit of the crowd, so she could get a decent look at a small group of impeccably dressed men as
they stalked through the club, heading to the stairs that led to the VIP section.
Galina followed their progress, picking out the men she recognized from the Romani arm of
the Organizatsiya, from those she didn’t. She’d seen a few of them in past dealings with her father.
But she’d never crossed paths with the tall, dark-haired man who walked through the room like he
owned the place. She would definitely have remembered him. He might as well have sky-written
“Alpha” in giant neon letters for all the were-world to see.
Then again, it wasn’t like Galina was particularly understated herself. Her brother, Nikolai,
used to tell her she was “about as subtle as a stomach pump” when they were younger.
Sveta’s pointy elbow dug into her ribs as she glared up at Galina. “What’s going on?”
“Romani enforcers,” Galina told her, slipping effortlessly into Russian. She highly doubted
Chip-Chuck could understand the language. “Headed to VIP.”
“Huh,” Sveta said, the flightiness act dropped in favor of speculating what a cadre of
Romani gangsters might be doing at the same club their circle frequented. It might be a coincidence,
but neither woman really believed in those anymore.
Chip gaped at the sudden change in Sveta’s demeanor, a shadow of suspicion creeping over
his face before it was quickly replaced with a “I forgot what I was mad about, and also I think I’m
going to throw up in a public and humiliating manner” sort of expression.
Elizaveta, a lithe Beta with wide brown eyes and a lovely heart-shaped face, scurried over to
them. In the perfect Moscovian accent her mother had drilled into her head, she asked, “Did you
guys see who just came in?”
Galina cut her eyes at the two oblivious dude-bros standing next to them. Surely, it would
occur to Chip-Chuck that it was unusual to encounter such a high number of beautiful women
speaking fluent Russian. It was infinitely more difficult to play a brainless bimbo when you clearly
spoke several languages. But Chip was far beyond noticing. He had finally succumbed to all of the
vodka he’d imbibed, listing from one side to the other as Chuck tried to balance him on his hip like
a toddler. For his part, Chuck surveyed Galina and Svetlana with respect tinged with disbelief.
“Looks like you won, ladies.” He draped his friend’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted him
up. “I’ve got to pour this guy into a taxi. Scarlet, Lana, I hope we’ll see you here again soon.”
Elizaveta’s brow furrowed at the mention of their aliases, but Galina cut her off before she
could ask about it. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Chuck. Thanks for the drinks.”
“And I hope poor Chip isn’t too hungover tomorrow!” Sveta chirped brightly, a devilish
smile curving her lips. Chuck’s eyes narrowed slightly while Chip waved vaguely in their direction,
legs wobbling as he staggered against his friend.
As they left, Sveta snickered. “They were fun to play with.”
“Scarlet and Lana was it?” Elizaveta said, hauling the two of them up the stairs to the VIP
area. “You two are impossible. Come on, I don’t want to miss this.”
Galina and Sveta pulled free of their friend. Elizaveta was Volk, but her father was a very
minor player within the Organizatsiya. Most of their other friends were the same—daughters of
enforcers or minor families with little prestige or say in how business was run. Even Svetlana, for all
of her Alpha badass-ness, was only the daughter of the head of a mid-level family that fell under the
Sudenko branch.
But Galina was…well, she was Russian werewolf royalty. To deny it was to appear
disingenuous and Galina hated hypocrisy more than anything, more than she hated cheap chocolate
and ugly shoes. She was the youngest daughter of Ilya Sudenko, head of one of the most powerful
Russian werewolf crime families in the country. She was also an Alpha female of the purest
bloodlines, a rare and prized commodity.
“You think someone tipped them off that we were here?” Svetlana asked Galina as they
made their way up the steps to the roped off entrance to VIP.
Galya shook her head. “I don’t think so. But let’s be polite … and careful as fuck, just in
case.”
Galina highly doubted that the Romani group would try anything with this many people
around, but it paid to be careful. It was entirely possible this was just some random instance of both
parties wanting to check out the it club of the moment on the same night. She tried to look at the
situation that way and not like some “duct tape in the trunk” abduction scenario from a seedy
movie.
Elizaveta slid aside the rope of the VIP section and cried, “Look who I found!” to the rest of
their party.
Galina and Sveta shared a look, and then straightened their shoulders and cruised over to the
group of young women currently clustered around the newcomers. So much for a quiet entrance so
they could watch the room unobserved.
Galina sized up the group of young men that had caused such a stir upon their arrival at the
club. She wondered how many of the “little people” downstairs actually knew who these men were
and what they did for a living or if it was just their air of danger and power that had sent the normal,
non-Volk folk scurrying out of their way. She had a feeling it was the latter. They were smartly
dressed, most in some variation of three piece suits, although a few of them simply had on black
pants with tailored Oxfords in various dark colors. Their black shoes gleamed in the pulsing lights.
She only remembered the names of few of them, but that wasn’t surprising. The rosters of the
families had changed a great deal while she’d been gone, and the power structure had shifted. New
players had stepped up to take their turn at the game board.
Anichka offered introductions with a casual air that belied her meticulous memorization of
the group’s names, connections, pedigrees, and rap sheets. “Evgeny, Konstantin, Fedor, Grisha, and,
of course, Andreyev.” She gestured to each in turn, then turned to Galina and the others. “Liliya,
Nastasia, Elizaveta, Svetlana, and Galina.”
Galina gave the men a small smile, a lifting of lips and nothing more. Just enough to be
polite… and careful as fuck. A few of the names sounded familiar, but none of the faces she
recognized, handsome as they might be.
“I recognize the names from some of the men my Pop talks about when he thinks I’m not
listening.” Svetlana leaned in closer to her, but Galina could tell her friend’s gaze was still on the
men who were currently chatting up the others in the VIP section. “There’s a few heavy-hitters in
the mix.”
Galina felt her eyebrows rise in surprise. “That’s interesting,” she whispered.
“That would be one way of putting it,” Sveta muttered, almost inaudible over the thrumming
bass. “The Rom have become a force to be reckoned with. They run the docks now and most of the
smuggling.” Sveta’s eyes locked with hers. “A lot has changed while you were in school.”
“Clearly,” Galya answered as they joined their friends. She wished she’d gotten to talk more
with her brother, Nikolai, before he had to fly off on business. Nikolai could have updated her on
the current “seating chart” of the prominent families and kept her from running blind.
Liliya handed her a champagne flute. Galina and Sveta greeted the newcomers with smiles
and nods before moving a bit apart from the group so they could lean against the railing that
overlooked the main dance floor once again. Galya drained her champagne glass, and then
continued their conversation.
“I had no idea that the Romani families had made such inroads with the Organizatsiya.” Her
gaze fell upon the one Anichka had introduced as “Andreyev,” hanging back from the rest of the
group. At first glance, she suspected he was an enforcer He had that look about him: a kind of
leashed power that hinted at explosive violence if crossed. Galina had seen his type before in her
father’s own men, and in her brothers. Dangerous.
But she wondered if there might not be more to him, especially with the way the man called
Konstantin hovered at his right shoulder. Interesting, indeed.
He turned his head and locked eyes with her. In the dim light of the club, his eyes looked
like molten mercury. He nodded in her direction, short and perfunctory, before saying something to
the tall, dark haired man to his left. An inconvenient flash of heat flared between Galina’s thighs.
Svetlana nudged her in the ribs. “Wow. He’s quite the slab of man, isn’t he?”
“He’s not completely unfortunate looking,” Galina answered glibly. She’d be damned if
she’d admit to Svetlana—or anyone—just how his gaze had affected her.
Sveta snorted, hand over her mouth. “You are so full of shit.”
Galina grinned down at her friend. They were a study in contrasts. Svetlana was a petite,
curvy woman with a mischievous pixie face, brilliant deep blue eyes, and a fall of dark brown hair;
Galina was the towering icy blond beauty with haughty green eyes. They’d been friends since the
cradle.
“Would you ladies care for another bottle of champagne?” one of the men asked. It was the
man the one who’d locked eyes with Galina had spoken to. She wondered if Andreyev had
suggested he ask.
Elizaveta grabbed one of the men and dragged him back downstairs to the dance floor,
followed by the others, leaving Galina, Sveta, Evgeny, the dark haired man—Konstantin—and
Andreyev in the VIP box. A server arrived with more glasses and another two bottles of champagne,
along with a bottle of vodka and shot glasses.
“You don’t care for dancing?” came a deep voice from the other side of Galina. She turned
to find Andreyev standing beside her, a vodka filled shot glass in hand, gaze on the mass of dancing
bodies below.
“I’ve hit my dancing limit for the night,” she answered, following his gaze. “Been a long
day.”
“Maybe the next time we see each other, my timing will be better.” Andreyev nodded, a
comma of black hair slipping down over one steel-blue eye. Galina felt herself weighed and
measured in his intense gaze, like he was cataloguing all of her strengths and flaws for future
reference. She wondered if he liked what he saw. Because she was beginning to warm to what she
was seeing.
Galina purred, “Oh, I have a feeling that you’re full of well-timed surprises.”