An hour later, the guys were out on the streets in fresh clothes: torn-up jeans, nicer T-shirts than what they’d worn during the concert, and leather jackets, of course. It was warm for late March, but even so, there was a slight chill in the air.

Killian’s ears pricked up as he heard a thumping bass beat coming from a nearby building. He asked, “You guys hear that?”

“Yeah,” Zayden replied, exchanging an excited look with Ryan. Neil and Shane just gave each other mischievous winks. It was so obviously an inside gesture that Killian instantly found himself dreading what those two might end up getting into. Their infamous nickname of “Team Rocket” sure suited them whether they were onstage or not. As they approached the club, Killian warned, “Be careful, you two. If I hear anything about you being arrested—”

“Relax, Killian,” Neil assured him. “We’re not going to do anything too crazy. Right, Shane?”

“Right,” Shane affirmed, dipping his head toward the singer. His fingers, Killian noticed absently, were tapping out a rhythm on his jean-clad thigh, maybe the intro to “Women” or “Armageddon It.” No, definitely “Women.” The werewolf rolled his eyes and joined the crowd of teenagers and young adults waiting to enter the club. His mates followed, and of course, several of the girls were staring and whispering to their companions. With his heightened hearing, it was easy to hear what they were saying—some of it definitely X-rated. Killian sneaked a quick glance at his watch and saw it was eleven o’clock. Just one more hour and . . . His stomach clenched painfully at the thought.

Then he realized the bouncer was looking at him expectantly. Killian forced a smile and said, “I don’t suppose you’d let us in, would you?”

The well-muscled, black-clad man rolled his eyes and waved them on in. Quite a few teenage girls tried to follow but the bouncer moved in front of the door, cutting them off from the band. Killian heard several voices raised in complaining tones, and he smiled a little. The smile quickly turned into a scowl when he realized the DJ was playing their cover of “Pour Some Sugar on Me” over the speakers at an ear-shattering volume. Well, maybe not to the humans, but what with the full moon’s influence . . . He shook off the thought and muttered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Huh?” Neil asked.

“They’re playing ‘Sugar’,” Killian informed him.

“Oh.” Neil shrugged and tugged at Shane’s jacket. “C’mon, Shane, let’s go!”

Killian was pretty sure he caught sight of a grin on Shane’s face before Team Rocket were lost in the crowd. Ryan ambled off as well; then it was just Killian and Zayden—again.

Zayden looked over at Killian, a smile dancing on his lips. He said, “Well, what did you expect when we recorded this song?”

Killian just shrugged. He didn’t have an answer, and he suspected Zayden wasn’t looking for one. Hoping to distract himself from the rising fever, the singer said, “I hope Shane and Neil aren’t in too much trouble.”

“Relax, would you? They’ll be fine,” Zayden assured him. “Now, come on. We look miserable just standing here.” The bassist began to make his way through the sea of dancing bodies, and Killian, not wanting Zayden to leave his sight, followed. He needed the calming effect of the anchor. As much as he hated to admit it, the bass player was his anchor . . . and maybe something more than a friend. Besides, the area on his side where he’d been bitten long ago, even though it had healed, itched like someone had sewn a live moth underneath his skin. His whole body felt like that, actually.

Zayden tensed as he felt Killian’s presence behind him: the singer was way closer than he should be. Then he relaxed when the 'wolf dropped his hand from his shoulder. “Sorry,” Killian said, leaning in close, his warm breath caressing the skin on Zayden’s neck. “The moon, my wolf . . .”

“Just try to relax and loosen up a bit,” Zayden suggested, turning around so he was facing Killian. “We’re at a club, after all.”

Killian’s voice dropped to a low, edgy growl, and Zayden saw budding canines. “I can’t.”

“Relax or have fun?”

“Both.”

“Neil and Shane don’t have any problems.”

“They’re Neil and Shane. What do you expect? Besides, they’re not werewolves.”

“True. Y’know, I think those girls over there are eyeing you.”

Killian followed Zayden’s index finger with his eyes. His gaze landed on two pretty brunettes wearing clothes that exposed their midriffs and maybe a little too much thigh—leaving something to the imagination, he supposed. The werewolf said in Zayden’s ear: “I hope they don’t recognize us.”

Zayden just rolled his eyes and headed over, dragging Killian behind him. (The singer was too taken by surprise to protest.) Rogue’s bass player said smoothly, “Mind if we dance?”

“Pour Some Sugar on Me” changed to Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded” as one of the brunettes flashed a flirtatious smile at Zayden and took the extended hand. The two were soon in what looked to Killian like a dance-off a few feet away from him and the other girl.

After a few songs had gone by, Killian’s dancing partner asked, “Do I know you? You and your friend look familiar.”

“We’re in a band; just finished a gig.” Killian tried to sound nonchalant, but the itch under his skin was intensifying and he was growing restless. His wolf’s predator instincts were emerging as well.

Where’s Zayden? The werewolf cast his eyes around him, searching for the bass player. He also breathed in discreetly, tasting the air for Zayden’s scent. Once he located his bandmate, he moved away from the girl—who didn’t seem to notice that he was on the move—and headed toward Zayden. When he was right behind his friend, he tapped the bassist on the shoulder with a fingernail that was already longer than normal. Zayden glanced over his shoulder, saw it was just Killian, and excused himself. The brunette looked disappointed, but her expression soon faded as another good-looking guy came up from behind, his hands already exploring. Both Zayden and Killian curled their upper lip in disgust before turning away.

They managed to make it into a dark corner, one of Zayden’s hands resting on Killian’s back between his shoulder blades. Fingers calloused from years of guitar playing were surprisingly gentle as they grazed the back of Killian’s neck underneath his long, thick blonde hair. The singer’s head was bent forward, mouth open, breathing labored, and Zayden could see the glint of dagger-sharp fangs when Killian looked at him over his shoulder. Zayden hissed, “Hold it together until we’re outside, Killian. If you shift in here . . .”

“I know.” Killian’s voice was little more than a feral growl ripping from deep in his throat. He started making his way to the back doors of the club, Zayden right beside him. As they hurried along, Killian felt as if his bones were filled with lava instead of marrow. His green eyes had turned a searing yellow, glowing like beacons in the darkness. Claws were already spouting from his fingertips; his ears reshaped, growing pointed, slowly traveling up the sides of his head.

“Killian, no!” he heard Zayden hiss. The bassist’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “We’re almost there. Just a few more feet, mate. Oh, where are the others?”

“Does it matter? Besides, I think they’re scared of me.”

By now, they had made it through the back door and were standing in an alley—one that was bathed in moonlight. The full moon was directly overhead, and with a quick glance at his wristwatch, Killian saw it was almost midnight. Had they been inside for an hour already? It sure didn’t feel like it.

He doubled over, groaning, as molten fire poured through his whole body. Zayden crouched beside him, his hands uncertain as they moved over Killian’s back, as if he wasn’t sure where to rest them. He asked, “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing,” Killian rasped. “Zayden, if I bite you when I’m a wolf . . .”

“I don’t want it.” Did all werewolves think they were hot stuff?

“If the bite doesn’t turn you, it’ll kill you,” Killian warned, wincing as the transformation slowly progressed. “Zayden, clothes. Off. Now.” Killian was already shucking off his jacket, but his misshapen hands fumbled with his shirt. His hands and feet were morphing into paws, making it impossible to remove any other layers of clothing. And there was no way he could stop the transformation even if he wanted to do so. The moon called all the shots this time.

He could sense Zayden’s hesitation; then cool hands were pulling his shirt up over his head. The cool touch was a welcome relief for his burning body.

“Blimey, Killian,” Zayden muttered. “Are you always this hot?”

For some reason the question made Killian want to laugh; however, he was now incapable of making any human sounds, as his mouth and nose began to push out into a muzzle. Coarse fur wormed its way out of the pores in his skin, covering his body; his jeans ripped as his muscles acquired lupine strength; bones cracked as they reshaped to form the skeleton of a wolf. All that was left was the tail, which soon made its appearance.

Metamorphosis complete, Killian twisted around and snapped at the tattered remains of his jeans. They fell away like his human form had, and his gaze landed on Zayden. Before he could stop himself, his tongue swept across his muzzle and, crouching low, he stalked toward his friend. A nervous, almost frightened look flitted over Zayden’s face and he backed up until he hit the brick wall of the club.

“Killian, please.” Zayden’s voice was little more than a whisper. “Don’t.” He drew in a shaky breath as the werewolf eyed him coolly, hunger—and something else—in those glowing not-quite-human yellow-green eyes.