ROCCO
There’s nothing like the chase…why not? It’s a casino after all. That quick look away, followed by another hopeful glance, that’s the shit I live for. That hope, the wanting to make something happen with another person, even if just for a night.
So I do. I go over and introduce myself in a deep quiet voice as the owner. That’s when they really notice my eyes and face. I buy them a drink and the dance begins.
Not as often these days, I’m twenty-eight now and the tottery, tipsy bachelorette with a fifty-fifty shout of throwing up on my suit has lost its appeal. Same with the angry cougar, the flirty psychotic, and the fake ice queens. Last week though a beautiful divorcee with a penchant for biting came into my world. Different but I was glad for the shifter healing after the mauling she gave me. All good fun though.
There is nothing you cannot do if you set your mind to it. Unfortunately, my mind is as jumpy and impulsive as a jack-in-a-box. All my best ideas get caught up in the mediocre ones, so I find myself leaping from plan to plan.
I promise I’ll try to keep to the point. Don’t make me turn the charm on you too. I've got sex appeal and I'm not afraid to use it. As long as you’re not a shifter too?
Anyway, the casino, now that was one of my very best ideas. The Gilded Falcon. My pride and joy. Rich red carpets, a dozen red felt topped playing tables with rich mahogany everywhere else. I went against gold. Too much gold always looks tacky, too little looks like you can’t afford it, so none.
The same could apply to me. I know the rich women who ply me with compliments and tips see me as a potential bit of rough for the night. I try to show some restraint, I don’t want any angry husbands smashing up the place after all. But as I say, the good ideas and bad ideas flow together sometimes.
Most women quickly get bored, losing their money quickly they flutter their way over to the bar, where either I, Jacob or Callum, my co-owners are all too happy to entertain them. The longer we harmlessly flirt, the longer their good men get to gamble, win-win.
The long bar is a work of art, a swirling mix of clear glass and mahogany. Ripples of colour merge with the glass in waves, flowing from one material to the next. “It’s a mystery,” they coo, their manicured fingernails always seeming to roam until they land on my hand, our eyes meeting once more across the bar.
Sparks and a smile and the chase is almost complete.
I know I sound overconfident. Blame my olive skin, dark eyes, black hair, strong jaw, and so I’ve been told, a deliciously winning smile. It’s rare for the odds to go against me once they are sat at the bar.
In my defence it is rare to find an ugly shifter, our genes are solidly epic. For the women who didn’t like the look of me, they had two huge slices of Scandinavian trees to admire in Callum and Jacob. Sporting blond hair, blue eyes and bigger physiques than me, they always got second, third and fourth glances.
They never took up their offers though, seeing mixing with humans as a waste of time. Jacob wore his yellow, blonde hair long and tousled over his forehead whereas Callum kept his head of ice blonde hair clipped short, military-style, emphasising the brightness of his icy eyes.
We always wear dark suits, immaculate white shirts but no tie. I keep the top button loosened just enough to encourage you to peek. You will discover that yes, my body is as sculpted as you dared to hope.
By the way, I’m Rocco. Rocco Valence, and feel free to say “oh like Valencia,” or “you do look like you’re from Europe,” and I’ll happily act like I’ve never heard such an idea before and give you a winning smile.
I’m not a bastard I promise. Nobody gets hurt because nobody gets promised anything.
Not that you would care either way. Not if you were hanging around until closing, stirring your drink aimlessly. Watching me like a panther as I manoeuvre around the room. I'll be making sure to flick my eyes back to yours just enough. Would you want to be planning a future with me, or just how quickly you can drag me to a hotel room?The only woman in my life right now is some Miss Wilding who relentlessly emails me checklists for one party that they are holding tomorrow. I imagine her in various guises as I answer all her demands. A sexy military style blonde with a cane, perhaps a dark, vampish brunette with a whip? Maybe I’ve got it totally wrong and she’s a waspish old woman in a cardigan? All her communication suggests I’m in for punishment regardless. I cannot wait to meet her, I will bet you now that she is the only one in workwear. I know the type.
Like I say it’s all a game, gambling, and women. One strict rule though. Humans only. In both aspects of my life.
Absolutely no shifters are allowed in the Gilded Falcon.
One of the main reasons I moved to the city was to get out of pack life. There is such an alpha-male ego-busting neediness to highly ranked shifters. If every guy at the table looks like he’s been sprinkling steroids on his cereal the tension soon rackets when cards don’t land how they want. Not the atmosphere we’re seeking.
Plus I don’t want a reputation for violence. Finally, don’t forget, there are still the old arts in the shifter community. I don’t want anyone with a handle on Fate playing cards in my house if you catch my drift. It’s a tricky enough game to make a good profit in any way.
I still get mocked mercilessly by Jacob and Callum for stopping the big fishes from losing too much. I remind them it’s a high-wire act. Take too much, openly celebrate the customer's failings and they won’t come back.“You’re in the wrong game,” Jacob had said to me one night after calling a taxi for one roulette addicted banker. It was just us three closing up, another epic Friday night completed with happy winners, including us.
“What game should I be in then?” I replied as I cashed up and locked the huge green safely. It was wider and taller than all three of us together, the huge contraption immovable, even against explosives. I’d had it tested.
“Gigolo,” he had laughed back, continuing to put glasses away in the glossy racking. I laughed as I helped them line up the bottles for the next evening. Private party tomorrow, a potential big payday ahead. Did I mention I'm six foot two? The most desirable height I've heard.Go on, you know you like the sound of me.ROCCO It’s me again, perhaps I should have made it clear before that Callum and Jacob were of course werewolves too. Between us, we could always spot other shifters. Everyone else we met within this part of the city was human, exactly how I like it. We all met as teens at college, the three of us eager to escape our shitty packs where overbearing Alpha’s still expected dog-like obedience. I think it irritates mine that I don’t cower before him. I know my father used to. And he forced my mother to. Annoyingly, to buy this place, I had to find a guarantor. Callum and Jacob had rich families back home to support them whereas I had nobody, so I had to ask my Alpha. Not quite the full escape I had intended. It's also not fun having to ask the person who left you without a family for help. But that whole tragic, despicable tale is for another conversation. Happy Rocco is chatting right now. Alpha Brandon Wicknace. Or Alpha Dic
SELENE A gaggle of colleagues all followed my lead as we walked the few blocks to the casino. We had eaten at the Palace Palm Hotel, a decadent feast where Greg had been toasted and lauded by his employees like a Roman emperor. Ever the stickler I had monitored and marshalled the group into motion, arriving at the Gilded Falcon precisely on time. There was little evidence that it was a casino, no brash flashing adverts, which was cool. The signage and lighting were low key but once you looked closely the doorway and it’s branding were all high-end. A huge, castle-like dark mahogany door with brushed silver handles was covered by two cheerful, welcoming men. Not the hulking, threatening bouncers you usually expect. I held my breath as Jax tottered ahead of me, curves jiggling in her red dress giddily as she exclaimed, "here we are!" The group whooped with excitement as we descended a small flight of steps
ROCCO When I went up to the beautiful Miss Wilding I tried to gauge if the electricity was one-sided. She appeared cold but when I saw her eyes widen in fear at the idea of being escorted off, I felt bad. That wasn’t my intention, the first step of my dance had landed right on her toes and caused an error. I would never have thrown her out by the way, it wasn’t serious. What was serious though was the way the birthday man, Greg, was staring at me the whole time. when I told you about enjoying, the back and forth with pretty women I forgot to mention the other half of the game. Not pissing off the guys who have similar ideas He might have been a human but there was possessive machismo radiating in waves. Clearly, I was encroaching on someone he viewed as his, so I quickly made my excuses. Seeing as Miss Prickly wouldn’t even give me her first name it would appear the feeling is mutual. Not a problem. I like the chase, not a grind.&n
SELENE I had to hand it to Rocco and his sweet Scandinavian counterpart, they knew how to run an event. Very professional, who knew a pair of burly, muscular sex gods could do good business too? I keep drinking my vodka cocktails despite knowing they won’t get me drunk. It takes an extraordinary amount of alcohol to get a shifter inebriated but it was better to play along. I watched Jax gamble away her thousand immediately, the utter randomness of the roulette wheel her swift undoing. I managed to persuade her not to withdraw her life savings at least. It took everything I had not to let me eyes rest on Rocco. That dark hair and olive skin looked too good to be true. Tall, dark, handsome and a voice so sensually rich it made my hair stand on end. "You're no fun sometimes Selene," she grumbled, folding her arms in protest."I know," I sighed, switching my mind back to the party and not my panties, "but I can't be bothered to pic
ROCCO Not my smoothest move I'll admit. There was something happening at the bar between us, even though she would probably deny it. There was a tango of back and forth, trading tiny nuggets of information, little steps back and forth to the flow of the music. I could see her eyes following me up and down the bar, sizing up my shoulders wondering what my build was like under my suit jacket. When we leaned closer together over the bar, eyes meeting, her hazel irises dancing with curiosity, there was a possibility of something. I know I know I have made my rules clear, I don’t mix with shifters. She said she didn't either, let's don’t forget yet the ruby shards in her brown eyes said otherwise. You can call me foolish, but I know for certain, somewhere in a different reality it went differently than tonight. In a world where drunken friends and bosses didn't interrupt crucial moments, I would have been popping open those jac
ROCCO I think you've only seen the light, frothy version of me so far during these little interludes. Not today sorry, not in the mood. It had been a shit night, tossing and turning in frustration. Now I’m not saying I never strike out when I approach a potential conquest, date, romantic interest...whatever you want to call it. Not every woman I talk to is meant to be and that's just fine. My annoyance with last night came from a place I didn’t even understand. My wolf, who normally occupies a smaller chunk of my awareness was super fidgety as well which doesn’t help matters. Not like I can just head to the woods and sprint it off in the middle of the city either. We open in a few hours’ time, being a Sunday I’m not expecting big things so it’s just me running the show. Probably just a few regulars, some of the bigger fish. Often, it’s recently separated men, out to resolve some issues by splurging. I’ve never done that. I’m more likely to have a one-
SELENE Dragging my bag down the street I raged at myself, so many stupid decisions in succession. Leaving my bag at the club was the big one, so distracted by Jax and Rocco that I had to wake Troy up to let me in and pay the cab fare like a sneaking teenager. Error number two, massively offending Rocco by suggesting he had rifled through my things.Error three, looking into those dark eyes of his again. Dressed in just a white shirt and pants, sleeves rolled up and suit jacket flung over a chair he looked damn good. The whiteness of his shirt made that olive skin of his pop, his defined muscles easier to see with the jacket removed. That's two days in a row I've left that casino with soaking wet panties and zero satisfaction.It was too delicious a sight to take in and my attempt to be cold and business like fell away like ashes in the breeze. I do not know why but pissing him off and hearing the harsher edge of his ri
TWO WEEKS LATER ROCCO I consider myself fully dusted down and bounced back. Yes, it took me a couple of days but the familiar jolly, roguish Rocco is back in the building. It came to a bit of a head, both Jacob and Callum said they were worried about me. I couldn’t say why, because the reason was so flimsy. I've overcome a hell of a lot worse in my time, not that I dwell. My jack-in-a-box mind normally takes care of that Miserable and quick tempered because an arrogant female shifter thought I’d hit on her friend and gone through her bag? Pathetic. They told me to take some time off, go and get myself a date and let off some steam. I can’t lie, I wanted nothing more than to get down and dirty, rough, and hard with a woman who knew what she wanted. I know I’d have felt a hundred times better, for a couple of hours anyway. You know exactly what I mean, when you’re dazed, sweating and panting, ever