CHAPTER 1

Sunny

This wasn't how I wanted to do this, I thought, staring down into the upturned face of my boyfriend of three years. He knelt on the pretty tile of the upscale restaurant he'd chosen for our date night, the busy room's attention slowly drifting in our direction. I'd been surprised by Harry's suggestion for dinner out. In the three years of our relationship, Harry was rarely the one who wanted to try a new restaurant or activity in our casually arranged routine.

Now, it made sense.

Harry's breaths came quick and nervous, eyes filling up.Sonya, I know you said we should wait, but we're ready. You make me feel like the man I want to become. 

That doesn't make any sense, a snarky little voice chimed in my head as my gaze flicked over Harry's head, skirting away from the stares of the diners on us. 

Why did people always want to be loved for who they could be? Didn't it make more sense to be loved for who you already were? Was that just a juvenile fantasy I'd been clinging to? Harry loved me for who he thought I was, and while that woman wasn't a lie—productive, cheerful, mild, and agreeable—she wasn't the complete picture, either.

Shit. A bright and glittering tear rolled down from Harry's eye, and a young harpy one table over cooed in response, her feathers rustling.

Marry me, Harry said, and I tried not to flinch. It sounded more like an order than a request, but maybe that was because it was the third time he'd repeated the phrase.

All around us, the restaurant held its breath, the moment seemingly suspended as Harry and the rest of the room waited for my answer. Except time hadn't stopped.

I had to speak. 

It was on the tip of my tongue to just say yes. Everyone was staring. Harry was crying. Yes would be easier. Yes would be nice, cheerful, agreeable.

But yes would be months, years, a lifetime of routine, of continuing to hide the parts of myself that made Harry's eyebrows raise, of coasting on the little concessions he made. In Harry's book, adventures included driving somewhere without the GPS, trying a new spice profile on the chicken breast, and watching a television series without him reading comprehensive reviews aloud to me beforehand. Those were the things Harry found daring. Those would be the boundaries I would push gently against for the rest of my life if I said yes.

I wondered what Harry would think of the ideas, the fantasies, that kept me awake at his side while he snored softly next to me—those secrets that helped me finish the job he rarely completed during sex.

I should've told him. Then maybe it wouldn't have come to this.

I opened my lips, not sure what answer would fall out, when I realized that my silence—far too long in the face of his eager proposal—had already answered for me. The hope that had glowed in Harry's pretty blue eyes had vanished, and now he was wearing that soft bruised expression I met sometimes when my mood wore thin and I snapped at him.

I'm sorry, I whispered as Harry's bottom lip began to tremble. 

The words were barely audible, but the restaurant had grown silent. All at once, with my not-quite answer, the restaurant sprang back into life. A slender, scaled waitress gave up her disguise as a statue and rushed back into action, delivering plates of food to a table of human diners. The accidental audience around us now displayed a new and polite determination to ignore the rest of our scene.

But...it's been three years, Harry said, still kneeling, now frowning. 

Please, please sit, I answered, reaching down to tug at his elbows, careful to avoid his outstretched hands still holding the ring box.

Do you...not believe in marriage?

It's not that, it's—

Me? It's me, Harry said, voice growing a little too loud. 

He deserves to be angry, I reminded myself. I should've done this earlier. I should've broken up with my comfortable but not satisfying boyfriend of three years... I wasn't sure when. 

No, I was. It was as soon as he'd started talking about marriage a few months ago and it had filled me with a clammy, nervous dread. I'd known I was bored for too long, yes, but I hadn't realized I was actually afraid of a future with Harry until that first coy mention. 

It's me too, Harry, I said softly, eyes blinking away the sting that rose. I was the one doing the damage, which meant I was not the one who deserved to cry. It's us. I'm sorry.

Harry finally rose from the floor, but he didn't take his seat at the table. Gazes were flicking back and forth between us more rapidly again, a new curiosity heightening the tension in the room. Would Harry explode? Would we fight?

Sadly, I already knew the answer to that question. Was it perverse of me to wish my unfailingly sweet boyfriend had more of a temper?

Do you… Is that going to change? Harry asked, his brow tangling and an elegant hand going up to push his golden and carefully coiffed hair back from his face. He didn't wait for my answer. Do you even want to be with me?

Sometimes, yes. What kind of person would I be if I'd dated someone for three years and had been waiting to leave the whole time? No, Harry was sweet. He was considerate. He was a good—if not varied—cook, and he'd always treated me as his equal. He gave me back rubs when I had cramps, without being prompted, and took time to get to know my tastes in music and books. I did love Harry.

I just didn't want to spend the rest of my life loving Harry.

It's not a yes or no, I said.

Harry's eyes widened, and I took in a deep breath.

Not always. Not forever, I admitted softly.

It was almost true. A part of me hadn't been ready to give up the ease of my life with Harry. It wasn't fair to him, especially not now. No matter what discomfort came next for me, I knew I was the villain of the story in this moment. 

Harry's golden skin turned pale and ashy, and his eyes lifted to the full room around us for the first time since he'd taken that horrifying bend to his knee minutes ago. Suddenly aware of our audience, Harry sank into his seat.

No, Harry wouldn't make a scene. His temper wouldn't flare. 

You said... Harry blinked at me.

I'd said we weren't ready. I should've said more. Sooner. I just… I didn't know if I was sure. I bit my lip immediately. No excuses. 

Sonya, you're never sure! Harry spat in a whisper. 

I flinched back, gaping at him. What?

You hate making decisions, you always leave things up to me! I thought… I assumed— Harry paled again after the outburst and shook his head.

Was that true? No, I made decisions all the time! I ran my own social media brand and independent business, offered advice to others, directed my own career. It was only that with Harry, the options offered were never very interesting.

Harry's eyes narrowed on me. He knew me well enough, even with all I'd kept from him, to read my expression.

Well? What do you want to do now? he asked.

And there it was, on the tip of my tongue. I don't know. What do you want to do?

Huh. Was he right? Did I shy away from big decisions? A year into dating, he'd asked if I wanted him to move in and I'd…left the decision up to him.

I'm going home and I'm packing a bag, Harry snapped.

My shoulders sagged with relief. Okay, so maybe Harry was right.

You're paying for dinner. And calling a ride. Give me… Just give me an hour to get my things without you there. Enough for a few days. I'll move out as soon as I'm able, Harry said.

I shrank slightly in my seat, aware I deserved this anger and just slightly disappointed I'd never seen this authority in Harry before now. Still, I wasn't completely fickle, and his rightful command over the events of our unraveling breakup wasn't enough to change my mind. 

We were over.

You're free, a little whisper in my head hinted shyly. 

Harry rose from his seat, staring down at me a moment longer, a brief flicker of sorrowful hope on his face. I ducked my chin, heard the huff of his breath, and watched his feet march away from the table. 

Free to do what?

Across from me, Harry's plate was half-eaten, and I noticed a shaggy yeti eyeing the steak with faint interest. A smile quirked my lips, and then a tear coursed down the side of my cheek, curling into that smile and bringing the taste of salt to my tongue. 

There was a meal in front of me too, a duck confit Harry had remarked on with surprise, but I'd entirely lost my appetite. I didn't want to eat, didn't want to remain here staring at Harry's empty seat like nothing had happened. 

A shadow appeared at my side. Oh, an actual shadow. I blinked up at the murky face of the wraith waiter and wondered if I imagined a twist of sympathy in their smoky expression. 

Would you…like boxes?

Boxes of the last meal, moldering in my fridge, reminding me of this mess I'd gotten myself into every time I opened the door?

No, thank you, I said, my voice sounding somewhat shredded, thin and tight. Just the check.

The wraith floated away, and I sighed. Maybe I would walk home. It was a long walk, through at least four Chicago neighborhoods, and I was wearing an unfortunately high pair of heels, but it would give Harry time to grab whatever he needed.

You're not even going to fight to keep him?

No. I wasn't.

I'd spent almost three years trimming little pieces of myself away to fit into a life with Harry. Not because he'd asked me to, but because I was scared of what I secretly wanted. Because what Harry offered was safer, simpler. I told myself that I was cultivating a life that made sense for me.

Without Harry, I would have no excuse not to let those dangerous parts of me grow. Already, my skin tingled, as if new sprouts would suddenly burst forth right here in the trendy restaurant, thorny vines newly vengeful for their years of being stifled. I wanted them to cut through the shell of me, yet I was terrified at the idea of discovering what really grew beneath.

I would learn soon enough.

"Do you think your subscribers will even notice he's gone?" Natalie asked, watching me hold up a piece of art to the wall in front of me, examining it against the rest of my collection. She had her son, Emmett, on her hip as she bobbed in place, rocking back and forth in the steady movement of motherhood while Emmett cooed and yanked on a stray braid of black hair.

Umm… It was true, I hadn't made much use of Harry in my social media. Harry hadn't seemed interested in being a part of my brand. In fact, he'd been more confused about my work than anything. 

Why an illustrator and an interior decorator influencer? he'd asked. 

I don't think I'm going to make a thing out of it, I admitted with a shrug, pulling down the art I'd been considering and staring at the new blank space on the wall—the spot where a portrait I'd drawn of Harry reading had been placed. There were little pockmarks all over my small carriage house now. The places I'd made room for Harry's interests, now subtracted. He'd been texting me instructions of what to pack up for him for almost two weeks since our disastrous dinner.

Is he taking the portrait? Natalie asked.

I sighed and turned to face her and the table where a few unhung prints of mine were resting. I have no idea. He's… He went to stay with Jimmy and Kenley. He texted to tell me he found a place. He wants a week to be able to move out.

What do you mean? Natalie asked, frowning, her warm brown eyes zeroing in on me.

I flicked my gaze up and darted it away just as quickly. A week without me here. 

Technically, Harry had asked for at least three days, no more than a week. Considering the situation, I thought being generous and offering as much time as he wanted was only fair. 

No way, Natalie scoffed, pulling her hair free from Emmett's grip with a wince. What if he trashes this place? Or takes stuff that doesn't really belong to him?

It's Harry, I reasoned with a shrug. 

Natalie snorted. True.

Harry was mild. Responsible. Fair. 

"You don't deserve to have your place trashed just because you broke up with a nice guy," Natalie said, voice lowering.

What? I gasped, staring at her.

Her lips quirked. Emmett was falling asleep in her arms now, her steady, repetitive motion slowing down. 

I know you, Sunny. I know why you stayed with Harry for so long. Maybe I don't know why you felt like it wasn't the right relationship for you, she said, one eyebrow raising, an invitation for me to fess up. I pressed my lips firmly together, and she continued. "And I know you feel guilty for finally being put in a position where you had to be the one who broke things off. But just because you hurt Harry, doesn't make you a bad person," Natalie whispered. 

Natalie did know me. We'd been friends growing up in the suburbs together, friends through college, friends here in the city, constantly marveling that we were now adults living somewhat adjusted versions of our childhood dreams. I'd only really been able to make a living through my art after my PicsApp account grew popular with my daily decoration and documentation of this carriage house. Natalie wasn't the famous fashion designer she'd predicted, but she was a stylist for the young wives of the financial district. We'd grown into our new dreams together.

And maybe a little part of me had found Harry comfortable because Natalie had just married her husband Theo—a friendly werewolf who burnt off his pre-full moon energy at the same gym as Natalie. Natalie had taken the next adult step, and I hadn't wanted to be left behind. 

I just felt like…I wasn't totally myself with Harry, I admitted.

Harry was boring, Natalie reasoned without batting an eyelash. Nice-boring. Like what other people think normal is.

I'm not normal? I asked, voice squeaking slightly.

Natalie huffed a soft laugh. You're lots of things. You're the girl who screamed at those gargoyles for me when we were ten. You're a twee and charming social media influencer. And you're the woman whose imagination sometimes produces images that I can't even begin to understand where they came from.

She nodded her head over at one of the frames on the wall, an illustration of a strange tangle of figures and weeds and teeth and chains. It was one of my favorite things I'd ever drawn. Harry had 'genuinely disliked' it, as strong a term for hate as he would use. He'd found it disturbing and confusing, and I’d caught him studying it occasionally with a twist of disgust on his usually placid features.

I'm… My cheeks were hot. Harry wasn't the only one I hid things from. "I'm not even sure I really want the things I think of, or if I just…like thinking about them."

Natalie stared blankly back at me for a moment and then blinked. She glanced down at Emmett in her arms before turning to tuck him gently sleeping into his carrier before facing me again.

Are we talking sex stuff?

I made a soft, strangled sound at the back of my throat, and Natalie answered with a stifled squeal. 

We are! she gasped, obviously delighted. Sit, sit, sit.

I pulled out a chair from the dining room table and realized this was one of Harry's pieces of furniture, and in a couple weeks it might not even be here. Strangely, or cruelly maybe, the realization thrilled me. I would find new furniture and get great material for my work—mercenary, but a refreshing change. 

"It's not just that. Harry never wanted to try anything new, but that was food and going to new places as much as it was…"

Positions, Natalie finished for me, elbow propped on the table and her chin in her hand. 

Positions were barely the tip of the iceberg, but I shrugged and nodded. 

I wasn't sneaky enough, and Natalie knew me too well. Her eyes narrowed and her grin grew sly. "Scenarios," she purred, eyebrows waggling.

My flaming face and throat was answer enough.

Natalie laughed and relaxed in her seat. Sunny, it's me. Don't be embarrassed. I've told you all about Theo's full moon appetite. If you think we aren't up to some kinky shit while my mom takes Emmie, you are underestimating me.

I knew Theo had Natalie chain him up in their reinforced basement, sometimes a generous amount of time before he shifted. 

Did you know before you met Theo that you would…enjoy that kind of thing? I asked.

Natalie frowned in thought. I mean…I guess not. I definitely hadn't considered the idea of chaining and collaring any previous boyfriends. I don't know that Theo really had with any of his partners, either, to be honest.

"I'm worried it's just…in my head. And that what I had with Harry really was enough."

Natalie shook her head and smiled softly at me, reaching across the table. "Sunny, babe, if it was enough, it would've felt like enough. Maybe not every day. There are moments where I think about what my life would be like if I'd run a little harder for being a designer. But a good chunk of the time I'm really happy, and I don't want things any other way but the way I have them."

I nodded and fiddled with a framed print. That sense of satisfaction had been rare and fleeting with Harry.

Maybe…maybe you should just figure it out, Natalie said, her tone rarely delicate.

I stared at her and she stared back, her brown cheeks darkening just a touch.

Figure it out?

Try, she said. "Try some of your fantasies. You have a week to spend away from here, right? I mean, you could come stay with us, if you wanted. Or your parents. Or take a cute trip for work. Or…you could see if this part of yourself you've been avoiding facing is a daydream or something you really want."

I…I mean, I…

That doesn't sound safe, I thought. But I hadn't told Natalie what I wanted.

To be claimed, chased, hunted. So many ideas, a little voice whispered.

But I couldn't just go on DateGrab and ask some stranger to lock me up and fuck me three ways from Sunday without potentially risking my safety. I'd given this enough thought to know that what I wanted was a delicious illusion. One I could walk out of if I wasn't enjoying myself.

It just sounds dangerous, I admitted.

Natalie's gaze flared with curiosity, but I was surprised to see her take a deep breath and brace herself, thinking for a moment. She nodded slowly. I see your point. But you're thinking about the general populace, right?

I wrinkled my nose at the phrasing and laughed a little. Uh, sure. Like…I'm not unwilling to have a one-night stand, but there's fucking and then there's—

Hire a professional, Natalie said, sitting up straight. 

A…a what?

She snorted. "Hire a professional."

My jaw hung open. A professional. Hire a sex worker.

In spite of my blushing and my nerves, I was not ignorant. There were absolutely all kinds of services in the city for this sort of thing. Clubs. Agencies. The work had been legalized decades ago as more and more species had integrated into human society and brought with them their liberal views on sex, shifting the traditional human perspective with them. 

A werewolf would be great, actually, Natalie mused. Not volunteering mine, but Theo said he used to be a member of this one…

Natalie continued, but my ears were buzzing, my thoughts flying in a new direction. This isn't even the first time you've really thought about this, I admitted to myself, imagining a broad and massive figure over me, dark eyes glinting down, tusks gleaming. 

Ohhh, look at you.

I shook myself, and Natalie giggled. Sorry, I was just—

Just imagining being caught by a big, brutal, monster of an orc. I'd seen a few orcs and half-orcs in the city, doing mundane grocery shopping or meditating under massive trees in Lincoln Park. I didn't really have species-specific interests like some folks. A handsome vampire was as appealing to me as an attractive gargoyle. It was just that orcs tended to run…big. They featured in a lot of erotic content—naturally libidinous and impressively equipped. I'd only watched one, and it'd been tame, practically domestic, but the growls the orc had made and the way his huge hands spanned the woman's waist had taken up permanent residence in my imagination ever since, although I'd rarely indulged in the fantasy. 

You know what you want, Sunny, Natalie said, smiling. Give yourself permission to try it.

CHAPTER 2

Sunny

The Monster Smash Agency was located in the southern suburbs of Chicago—a bit surprising, considering the popularity of such places in the city. It had a near perfect five-star rating online and an overwhelming online catalog of workers.

It was one of only three places that offered an immersive, curated experience. I'd stammered out my request over the phone, nervously outlining my desires to an absolute stranger, wanting to hang up at every second.

We are perfectly prepared to provide everything you've mentioned, the young woman on the phone had soothed. Your experience will be entirely at your discretion.

Now, sitting in the pretty office of the agency, with sun streaming