Page 9 of Dance of Madness

3

THE WOLF

My fucking balls ache.

For two distinct reasons: one, getting kneed and then high-kicked in the fucking family jewels. And two?

They’ve been blue asfucksince that blood-boiling chase last night.

And I don’t mean because of the aforementioned kneeing and kicking.

I shift in the velvet chair, stretching my legs out in front of me. The wolf mask presses against my skin, making me feel uncharacteristically hot and claustrophobic, but I don’t take it off. Not in here.

Not in Court.

Smoke coils up from a nearby candle. Somewhere across the vast cathedral space, a woman moans in pleasure, followed by the groan of a man as he joins her in ecstasy. If I gave enough of a shit to focus right now, I’d probably hear a lot more moaning and groaning and cries of pleasure.

I mean, I don’t want to call it anorgy, but the parties we throw before the Black Court is in session can really only be described as…okay, yeah, an orgy.

Couples, threesomes and moresomes, plus plenty of solo voyeurs, are sitting or otherwise draped over the numerous chaises, couches, beds, and chairs on one side of the underground cathedral space where we hold Court.

It’s always nice to have somefunbefore the judgment begins.

But tonight, I’m not in the mood. Well, I’mneverquite in the “mood” for what’s going on around me right now, even here. And that’s one of the reasons I’m…conflictedabout last night’s chase.

A chase is a chase. A hunt is a hunt, and it’s the thrill of that hunt that drives me to seek it out. I don’t know, I could get obnoxiously introspective and say it’s my “darkness” or my “brokenness” or blah-blah-blah-just-fucking-no.

I suppose Idohave a way of looking at the world in a more, shall we say, savage light. Maybe even what some would politely call anunhingedlight. But hey—it’s not like I’m Carmine or anything.

As if on cue, my eye catches sight of my Hound-masked friend across the room. Obviously, he’s not indulging in the moaning and groaning and cries of pleasure. That never really was his thing anyway, but the odds of him indulging in any of that went catapulting into the stratosphere when he became a married man.

Case in point: he’s barely looking at the bodies writhing on the beds and couches. Instead, he’s sitting to one side, talking with The Raven and The Bull.

Nico glances over at me as if sensing my presence, nodding his winged mask before returning his attention to whatever he and his brother are talking about with The Bull.

Nico thinks I’m like his brother. Or, as he puts it, “Carmine-adjacent”.

I don’t know… Maybe I am. But I’mnota fucking psycho, and as much as I love the guy, Carmine is fuckingcertifiablein that regard.

But as for me?No estoy loco.

I’m not crazy, or a psychopath. Unhinged, hiding a darkness or…whatever.

I’m justme.

But…as I was saying… A hunt is a hunt. And it’s thehuntthat drives me. The catching part is…well,part of it. But it’s not what you’d think, as an onlooker.

Last night was different, though.

I waited. I chased. I caught. And then, I wanted fuckingmore.

ThenI got kicked in the fucking nuts, and by the time I’d shoved down the urge to puke or whimper like a little bitch on the floor, the reason that I “wanted more” was gone.

A very specific reason, with long legs.

Blonde hair.

Big, innocent and yet fiery blue eyes.

---