CHAPTER ONE

Even at this time of night, the place was livelier than he'd anticipated. Slinking through the trees, Tobis watched a jogger run the lit path in Central Park. Oh, he'd been warned by his brother Leon, but still.

Snatches of conversations from the many humans in the park drifted to him on the breeze. He was amazed at how damn cold it was, at how many people were out in the freezing weather, but then he was used to a more humid climate.

His thick coat kept him warm as he stalked the jogger from the shadows. The human male was fit, he'd give him that. He looked like he worked hard at keeping himself in shape. Which was too bad.

This wasn't his territory to hunt, but he had permission to be here. More than that, the need to kill something, to have the gush of warm human blood down his throat, drove him.

The pull of the coming full moon rode him hard. That, and something in the air here unsettled him, made him jittery. The feeling had been with him since he'd arrived in New York to visit Leon.

At first he put it down to all the damn people. Being from the swamplands of Louisiana, he wasn't used to hustle and bustle. A low growl worked its way loose, and he shook his head in disgust. He did not jitter; not him. He had no explanation for what he was feeling, only that he knew something was about to change.

He focused back on the jogger who interested him—the male jogger. Women didn't do a thing for him, but men, that was another story. Too bad he didn't dare take the time to play with his kill, but he was pushing his luck as it was doing this here.

As he crept silently along, the one he followed moved farther into the park and away from the masses. Letting his senses expand, he decided this was as good as it was going to get.

Prowling forward, he jumped the jogger and pulled him off the main path into the wooded area. His canines lowered and he bit down, long teeth in the soft skin of the human's neck, blood filling his mouth. He held the jogger close. The man thrashed and fought as his main artery was pierced.

He gulped greedily as he killed the human. Finally it was over, and he lifted his head and stared at the moon. As good as this was, something was missing now. He didn't know what, only that something was.

With a snarl, he dragged the jogger farther back off the path and left the body. He hurried to his car, waiting nearby, and the clothes he kept in the trunk. Once changed, he drove off.

Maybe—and the thought irked him—maybe he needed to talk to his brother about this feeling he had. As awkward as it would be, maybe Leon could shed some light on what was going on with him. What fun that should be. His brother was as big an ass as he was. With that happy thought in mind, he headed toward Leon's home.

And damn it to hell and back, he needed to stop and get gas. It would probably be best to stop at the station his brother owned. At least there the scent of blood wouldn't draw notice.

* * *

Hugh walked from his New York City office building, the bitterly cold wind whipping his wool coat around his legs. The trial of the decade had wrapped up earlier and he'd returned to his office to finish some paperwork.

The defense had won, not that there had been any doubt in his mind his father's law team would prevail. Hilbert and Son were the top defense lawyers in the United States, and this wasn't the first big name client they'd gotten off a murder rap.

The Mercedes S-Class Pullman limousine waited at the curb for him, ready to take him home. Thank fuck it was Friday evening. Hugh settled on the lush white leather seats and leaned his head back as the driver pulled away, fighting traffic.

They cruised by Central Park, and a sudden chill caressed his skin, making him shiver. The feeling of trepidation coated him. More shivers racked him, and he asked the driver to turn up the heat. As swiftly as the feeling descended, it left, and he shrugged.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button. Finally. The damn shirt had been strangling him all day, and as much as he wanted, he couldn't very well undo it while in court.

His suit was custom made by one of the most famous designers in the world, and all Hugh wanted was to get it the fuck off. He hated the things. Closing his eyes, he let his mind drift to the events he was scheduled to attend next week while the motion of the car lulled him.

There was his mother's charity champagne brunch he'd promised to escort her to, the celebration gathering for the highly visible and wealthy athlete they just got off for murder, an informal dinner with several members of Congress his dad had insisted he attend on Capitol Hill. And, oh yes, the highlight of the week: a meeting with his controlling father and his lackeys…

"Fuck,"

Hugh mumbled as they drove through the night.

It never ended. His father had his off time planned for the entire next month. What he wanted didn't matter. No one stood up to old man Hilbert and came away with his balls intact. Himself included.

But tonight? Tonight he'd indulge his passions. Well, some of them. There were certain needs he could never partake in and still have any hope of retaining his position within his powerful family and among his peers.

Image was everything in their world. Hugh sighed quietly as he relaxed into the buttery soft seats, the smell of rich leather wrapping around him. That smell, oh hell, that smell, and the feel. He stifled a moan. Damn it, he could not do this here, not with the driver so close at hand.

Hugh got himself under control—after all, control was the name of the game—and turned his thoughts to other things. He'd promised to meet Kain, Jordan, and Allen at Night Moves later tonight.

He loved the place, he really did, but it didn't have what he wanted for tonight. He also knew if he skipped out on his friends, he'd have to have a damn good reason. The driver stopped in front of his luxury high-rise and he opened his eyes with a sigh.

The driver parked and opened the back door. "We're here, sir. Is that all for tonight?"

"Yes. See you Monday morning."

Hugh stood, bracing himself against the sudden blast of freezing air. He hated the cold, hated being cold all the time.

As he stepped away from the car, he stopped to look back at the driver. "You know what, that's not all. Park in the garage and come up to the penthouse."

"I— ah, I… yes, sir."

Hugh watched the driver's shoulders slump, but he didn't care. He had a fucking hard-on and a need to have it taken care of. The driver was here, so why not? It wasn't like he—oh damn, what was his name? Dan? Don?—could afford to refuse.

The man needed this job too badly. He had a seven-year-old with Down's, and Hugh's family paid him exceptionally well. Even though—Dan? Why couldn't he remember such a simple name?—was divorced, he and his ex-partner had incurred huge bills in caring for the kid.

He shuddered delicately. He wasn't fond of kids, but kids that weren't right? No thank you. Granted, medical issues had cropped up after the adoption had been finalized, but the couple still knew the kid had problems. All they had to do was look at the baby.

But it did put the man securely under his thumb. And he always made sure to tip well for services rendered, so Dan couldn't complain too much.

Hugh shrugged. He hurried into the building, nodded at the doorman, and stood in front of the elevator, tapping his expensive Italian shoes. If Dan felt that strongly about being used, he could damn well quit.

Plenty of others out there. Hugh dismissed the subject. The very first thing he was going to do when he got to his apartment was get the hell out of this suit, then have Dan suck him off.

Five minutes later he was walking through his penthouse door. Stripping off his overcoat, he strode impatiently to his bedroom. Tossing his clothes over a wooden valet, he slipped on a silk robe and wandered back to the living area just as there was a knock.

"Perfect timing."

Hugh opened the door, then turned and walked to an overstuffed leather chair. "Come in, strip, then get on your knees and crawl to me."

He really didn't need Dan to be naked, but the driver had a lovely sleeve tattoo that he liked to look at while he was serviced. Plus, it amused him. Dan wasn't a talker. Hugh was grateful for that.

He watched as the man laid his uniform over the couch and dropped to his knees. Relaxing in the chair, he admired Dan's lean body while he crawled to him. Hugh opened his robe and spread his knees.

"Make it fast. I have plans tonight. Get me off then get out."

Hugh saw the flush climb up Dan's face. He always enjoyed the rush it gave him to have someone at his mercy.

Warm lips covered his dick, and Hugh leaned his head back. Not only was Dan an excellent driver, he was a very gifted cock sucker. All the tension eased from him as Dan bobbed up and down his cock, using his tongue to increase the pleasure.

Raising his head, Hugh looked down at the man on his knees in front of him. Dan's arms were on either side of his thighs and Hugh traced the lovely tattoo on Dan's arm.

The only sound in the room was Dan's sucking and Hugh's harsh breathing. Fuck, the little nobody was good at this. When Dan rolled his balls, Hugh had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. Maybe he should reconsider and fuck Dan's ass too. He gritted his teeth against the steady rise of pleasure as Dan fondled his balls.

"Mmm, suck that cock. Fuck, you do that very well. Now deep throat me."

He knew Dan hated that, but fuck what Dan liked and didn't like. This was all about Hugh, and the gagging sounds he heard pleased him even more. Hugh ran his hands over Dan's light brown hair.

The man wasn't blond enough to really suit him, but he'd do in a pinch. Just as the pleasure swelled, he fisted his hands in Dan's hair, keeping him in position. He knew Dan didn't like to swallow either, but oh well.

"Going to come, Dan. Get ready. Fuck."

Shot after shot poured down the tight, warm throat that surrounded him. When he finally let Dan go, the driver jerked back, panting harshly, eyes downcast and face flushed.

Dan stood and hurried to dress. Poor guy wasn't even hard, while Hugh's own mind was pleasantly fuzzed. He pulled himself out of the chair and went to the bedroom.

Moments later he returned with five hundred-dollar bills. "Here. I assume you were told to pick my father up first on Monday, then me, right, Dan?"

"Yes, sir,"

Dan said as he dressed. "And my name is Denny, sir."

"Right. Denny. Got it. See you Monday."

Hugh fixed himself a glass of wine as the door shut behind Denny. He shook his head. At least he'd got the "D"

right. Ah well. Now that he was alone, the urge to do something that really excited him hit. He made his way to his walk-in closet.

Grinning slightly, he pushed clothes out of the way until he could see the entrance to a small hidden room he'd added when he'd had the place remodeled years ago. He thought of the valuables he had secured there.

He opened the hidden door and entered. The room was nothing more than another large closet, but this one was special and private. Taking a deep breath, he admired his prized possessions.

Shaking slightly, he reached out, his hands falling on… leather. Oh yes, this was one of his secret desires. He pulled the soft leather pants out of the safe. There was not only a zipper in the front, but one in the back too.

The leather was soft as sin and of high quality, as was the vest he pulled out next. Black was his favorite color, but it wasn't the only color by any means. There were many outfits in the room: leather shorts done in burgundy, a harness done in white, several pairs of underwear in different colors, black gloves, shirts in all different colors, chaps… and the list just went on.

He loved leather, but there was no way he could wear such garments in public. There was that image thing he had to worry about. The only son of a high-powered man such as his father could not dress like some freak.

At least, that's what his father called those kinds of people. The kind that had tattoos, piercings, long hair. Everything he didn't have and wanted.

Oh how he wanted. And he didn't dare. His father was fanatical when it came to image. Weirdly enough, dear old Dad was fine with him screwing men, as long as Hugh was the one doing the screwing.

To his father, it was nothing more than using sex to put lesser men in their place—which was always below the powerful Hilbert men. Sex was just another weapon in the arsenal.

"What I wouldn't give to be free like those people."

Hugh rubbed the leather against his cheek and sighed.

His fondness for leather wasn't the only need he kept a tight rein on. The need to relinquish control, to chuck the chains that bound him, was always a constant. He dreamed of cutting loose, of living life on his own terms.

And he envied the simple things that common folk took for granted. He wanted a tattoo, a body piercing, wanted to dress sinfully sexy, and to not have to make the life and death decisions that lawyers made.

"Yeah, right."

He put the leather back and locked the room. What he wouldn't give up for such freedom was his money, power, and prestige. He liked living such a privileged life, and even desires as strong as these couldn't make him give that up. He enjoyed the respect and fear money brought him.

Then, of course, there was his father, who controlled the family billions.

He checked the time. If he was going to meet his friends at Night Moves, he'd better get ready. He padded across the thick, lush carpet to the equally lush and high-end bathroom.

Switching on the light, he looked at his reflection. His naturally blond hair needed to be cut before his father started harping on it being too long. Which was just silly. The back didn't even touch his shirt collar.

He turned this way and that. He'd bet he'd look good with longer hair. Not that he'd ever know. But his best features were his big, cornflower blue eyes, even though there were shadows there from all the long nights spent working on the trial. But even the shadows couldn't hide the cute, boyish face that belied the shark within.

He was merciless when it came to cross examining a witness, and there was nothing he enjoyed more than matching wits with whoever happened to be on the stand.

He leaned closer to the mirror. "Hmm, still looking a bit tired, though. I'm almost tempted to skip tonight and stay in and relax."

Actually, the more he thought about it, the better a night at home sounded. Only problem was his friends would hound him until he showed up. With a sigh, he got in the shower. Maybe the night would revive him.

As the warm water washed away the stress of the day, he vigorously scrubbed his skin with the loofah. The suds slid down his chest, adding to his sense of relaxation. His mind wandered, hoping that tonight would bring some luck at finding blonde twinks at the club. That was what consumed him most these days.

There was nothing he enjoyed more than having a cute little guy trapped under him and begging. And if they had a few tattoos or piercings, even better. At several inches over six feet, he was taller than most of the men in his family. Which was nice; he enjoyed the fact his father had to look up to him when he spoke.

Running his hands over his washboard stomach, he followed his treasure trail down to a healthy sized dick. He didn't shave, but he kept the hair trimmed. It was so light it was hard to see anyway, as was the rest of his body hair.

He leaned back against the tile. Because of the trial, it had been a while since he'd had a warm body to curl around, and he rolled his eyes. Unfortunately, that had been the norm instead of the exception.

Lately, his orgasms were like popping the tab on a soda can—a little hiss, few bubbles, and some fizz. What had happened to the explosive pleasure that was like opening a champagne bottle? He couldn't remember the last time he saw stars while fucking someone.

"Whatever. This will pass, I'm sure. I'm just tired."

Maybe he was in a rut and needed a change of atmosphere. He considered calling his friends and suggesting they meet somewhere else, but on this short of a notice he knew they'd refuse. With another deep sigh, he finished his shower and stepped out.

"Next weekend,"

he promised himself. They'd go to a different club next time. What could one more time at their old haunt hurt?

Thirty minutes later he was standing in the parking garage, trying to figure out which vehicle he wanted to take. It had been a while since he drove the Corvette, so he grabbed the keys. It was the least expensive thing he owned, and he was in the mood to drive.

There was no way he was taking his Lamborghini to such a place as a club, even if the club was one of the best around. As he pulled out of the private parking garage, he looked up at the nighttime sky. It wasn't often he could see the stars here in the city, much less notice the moon, which was almost full.

A smile teased his lips as he drove. If there was a full moon coming, then maybe the crowd would be a little wilder than usual. He fully believed that the pull of a full moon made people do things they wouldn't normally do.

After all, he made a living from it. He had a cop or two he was friendly with. They dreaded nights when there was a full moon. The calls almost always doubled, and they were much more violent. Maybe tonight he'd find some cute little thing with a wild side. As he dreamed about the possibilities, he noticed the gas gauge.

"Lovely. I'm going to have to stop and get fuel."

The full serve place he normally used was in the other direction. He'd have to pump his own gas from the looks of it.

"Should have called the car service."

Denny was off for the evening, but someone else would be on call. With a put upon sigh, he pulled into a service station. He hated pumping his own gas, hated the fact he had to get out of his nice warm car, hated the smell of the fumes, and hated having to wait as the car filled up.

"At least there isn't a line."

He pulled up to a pump. There was one other vehicle a few lanes over—an antique black sports car—a Mustang. He had a thing for sports cars, old or new. Very nice. Looks like someone keeps her in good condition. I'd love to take her for a spin.

Hugh admired it as he went to pay at the pump.

"Sorry, sir, the system is down. You'll have to pay inside,"

a voice announced through the crackling speaker.

"Really, really wish I'd called the damn car service,"

Hugh complained as he walked across the lot.

A cold wind swept across the lot. Hugh shivered. Stupid of him not to grab his coat, but he hadn't planned on being outside long enough to need it. One of the gas station's overhead lights flickered, dimming then brightening as he drew closer. His breath caught in his chest as the inescapable feeling of being watched hit him square between the shoulders.

Outside of the one car, there was no one else there. The back of his neck itched and a cold flush spread through him, little needle pricks of warning that ached. Hugh searched the area, his gaze darting back and forth.

Someone was staring at him, he knew it. Hell, he could feel the prickling sensation and hear the blood pounding in his ears. Fear, something he hadn't felt in way too many years to count, roared to the surface…

Danger.

Hugh walked faster, the threat nipping at his heels. Just as he pushed the door to the gas station open he heard the low mournful howl of an animal cut through the night and more chill bumps exploded, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

"Shit."

The gas station clerk eyed Hugh from behind the counter. "Everything okay, buddy?"

Hugh searched the edges of the unrelieved darkness beyond the door. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching him… something? Hugh shrugged it off.

"Yes. Everything's fine. Just thought I heard something howling outside."

The clerk shrugged. "Probably a stray dog. They tend to hang around here."

"Right."

Hugh handed over his credit card, drawing his protective mantle of wealth and power around himself, even if it was a bit ragged from the scare he'd just had. "Might want to get that fixed. That's the whole point of self-service, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yes, sir."

The clerk pulled out an old-fashioned credit card imprinter and made an impression of the card. "Driver's license, address, and phone number please."

Hugh filled in the paper receipt and signed it. "Looks like that Mustang filled up okay. You sure you didn't do something wrong?"

Hugh put as much frost in his voice as he could muster as he pocketed his card. He was more than a little irritated. He damn well knew how to work those machines. He had a Harvard law degree, after all. This kid looked like he might have graduated high school. Maybe.

"Sorry, sir. The internet is down. I've called it in."

Hugh rolled his eyes. Why even bother? The gum-smacking oaf couldn't care less. This was what happened when one dealt with people outside of one's class.

"See that you do."

Hugh turned on his well-shod heel and stalked out of the rinky dink place.

Fuming, he crossed the lot, ignoring his surroundings. He grabbed his coat and was finally able to pump the stupid gas. All he wanted was to get out of here, the sooner the better.

Because the damn feeling of being watched was driving him crazy.