Eighteen-year-old Nina is just being a supportive friend when she follows Myra into a club meant for werewolf Doms to find mates. She's neither a werewolf nor a trained submissive, so it's likely that her presence won't be noticed at all.

It is just her luck that she captures the attention of not one, but two of the most powerful werewolves in the club. She is completely out of her league with the experienced older men, especially when they get ropes, clamps, and other steamy toys involved.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“I'm afraid the only thing they have other than champagne is water,” Peter says suddenly, appearing out of nowhere to stand beside her. He hands her a glass and smiles at her, apparently delighted by interrupting the moment between Peter and her. He winks at her when she takes a sip of the drink and tastes burning alcohol down her throat.

“She's just a child, Adam,” Peter says suddenly, looking ready to take her drink.

“I'm eighteen,” she says. “Not a child,” she mutters. “Some eighteen-year-olds already have mates.”

“And yet she's here,” Adam tells him, deliberately ignoring her response.

“She's here for a friend,” Peter answers.

She glares at both of them. “I'm right here,” she says petulantly.

All of a sudden, Adam is looking at her with an expression that is wholly sinful. “I know you are, darling girl,” he says, stepping up to her to whisper in her ear. “Be patient and finish your drink,” he says, breath warm against her skin.

She quiets and brings the glass up to her lips, downing the rest of it without thought.

Adam switches it out with a full cup and a wink.

“Are you trying to get the girl drunk, Adam?” Peter asks, sounding exasperated, but resigned.

The relationship between the two men is peculiar. At times, it seems almost as if they couldn't stand to be close to each other, but the way they talk reminds her of old couples.

“That's water,” Adam reassures him.

She takes a careful sip to be sure and is almost disappointed when she finds that he's telling the truth.

“Don't look like that, darling,” Adam laughs. “You're designated driver, are you not?” he reminds her gently.

She nods. “You're right,” she says. She feels a little lightheaded from downing the alcoholic drink so quickly and finds herself blinking blearily up at Peter when he places a knuckle on her chin to tip her head up.

“You're a lightweight, aren't you?” he says fondly.

“I'm not,” she says, and then frowns mightily. “Maybe I am,” she pouts.

“Why don't you sit down,” Adam offers, taking her glass less she drop it and guiding her by her elbow to the nearest seat.

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