‘Shit ... all that work, and now I don’t have a date!”

Paige didn’t ordinarily use rough language, even to herself. This was, however, a rather special occasion. The petite redhead had been looking forward to showing off her costume at the Halloween party her group was throwing at Bradley’s Saloon, but going without a date just wasn’t done in the lofty heights of her social class.

Paige was not herself much of a snob, and often found the airs of her circle to be a bit much. However, the idea of having no date for the hottest party of the year ... well, it was downright embarrassing. That was especially true when she considered the several hundred dollars that she had spent on her costume.

The seventeen year old had been planning to go as a werewolf ... but not just any old Halloween store werewolf. Her costume was so realistic that her cat Ralph had hissed at it for nearly an hour when she first took it out of its box. The full-head mask was accompanied by a lightweight ... well, she supposed it was a wolfsuit, although “catsuit” was how she thought of it ... complete with clawed paws. She had spent several hours combing out the fur and making sure the zippers in the crotch and beneath her small breasts were free to reveal her charms to her date when appropriate. The outfit had been made to order, and fit Paige like a glove. It was perfect, and all she needed was her boyfriend Marty to appreciate it and satisfy her after an evening of partying down.

Marty, however, had come down with the nasty strain of flu that had been going around. Too stubborn to get a flu shot, he was paying the price of his stupidity, but so was Paige. She was just happy that he had come down with it while on a trip to visit his brother’s family. At least he hadn’t given it to her, since he was sick when he got home and she had stayed away from him and his virus.

Paige considered calling one of the several guys who would be more than happy to step in for Marty, but she decided that doing so only two days from the party would, she thought, make her seem desperate. There was no logic involved. The teen was so annoyed that she failed to consider the likelihood that no one would fault her for a last minute change of escorts under the circumstances.

No, the redhead decided, she would go to the party alone and play the field. If a hot, curvy werewolf bitch couldn’t make it on her own on Halloween, no one could.

So it came to pass that Paige stepped out of the hired town car and walked into Bradley’s with her head held high, fully concealed by the “lifelike” mask. It was a little bit hard to swing her ass the way she wanted to since she wasn’t in her accustomed 5-inch heels, but she made a good effort. Apparently she was successful in her endeavor, since every male she checked out was following her progress toward the bar. The mask was so cleverly designed, with a viewing screen just below the snout, that she could see well enough to navigate, albeit not as clearly as she might have liked.

“Ah well,” she thought. “Anything for my art.”

Paige, however, had not considered that the mask kept any of her friends from identifying her, since she had kept the nature of her costume a secret. Marty had planned to attend as a Roman gladiator, and she would have been recognizable by her escort. Alone, however, she would need to approach those of her group whom she could recognize and identify herself. The teen found that idea rather distasteful. After all, she shouldn’t need to pursue people at a party; they were supposed to approach her.

Paige was nursing a chocolate martini and thinking about just bowing to circumstance, rather than spending the party alone. She had just about decided to walk over and speak to one of her retinue, when a gruff voice behind her said, “Well, who’s afraid of this little wolf? Tell me, little wolf, are you as bad as you’re trying to look?”

The teen looked back and was amazed to see, behind her right shoulder, a costume essentially identical to her own. She swung around on her stool and found that she was looking at the chest of another werewolf, obviously a male since “he” was easily two meters tall. If anything, the costume was even better than hers.

Paige said the first thing that popped into her head, as she often did.

“Where did you get that costume?”

“The same place you apparently got yours,” he replied.

“Mine came from the most exclusive costumers in Hollywood. It was made especially for me,” she replied coldly.

“That would be the House of Vlcíprokletí, no doubt.”

“Yes, it was.”

Paige was surprised that he would know, but after all, it was Palm Beach, she supposed.

“Where did you get yours,” she inquired.

“May I introduce myself? I am Viktor Vlcíprokletí. My family has been in the costume business for many years, as you are no doubt aware, and this, like yours, is a product of our family.”