Asher Nightshade never did anything halfway. The moment Violet stepped through the doors of the club, she was swallowed whole by heat, pounding bass, and raw, unapologetic decadence that clung to the air like perfume.
District One had a reputation for places like this. Still, even in a city like Aster, where humans and werewolves coexisted in tense harmony, it stunned her. Then again, desire didn't discriminate, and judging by what she was seeing, neither did indulgence.
Asher tightened his grip on her as women in lacy underthings sauntered past them with trays of champagne, their stilettos clacking against polished marble floors.
Violet looked around, a pair of twin brunettes spinning seductively around a chrome pole, their hair fanning like silk in the spotlight. Nearby, a man sat lazily in a velvet chair, raining bills over a curvy redhead who laughed as she bent forward, tongue dragging over her lip as she rubbed him through his pants.
