Den of Predators

Amy looked through her viewfinder, snapping a few candid shots as Rouge accepted the wireless microphone from the MC, trying to ignore the slight coating of sweat that had gathered under her amaranth fur. A menagerie of well-dressed guests had enjoyed a frankly staggeringly delicious looking plated meal under a high ceiling. She didn’t know what this room was normally used for, but it comfortably fitted nearly one hundred guests around large tables, being served by a small army of black and white clad staff. Maybe an actual, literal ballroom?

The evening had been going smoothly, more or less. The air was thick with scents and Amy had to take frequent breaks, diving out of the dinner area to shove her face into the scent mask she had brought (on a whim, thank god!). She had, foolishly it seemed, assumed that the event would be outside like all the others she’d been to while working for Rouge’s campaign. Amy should have known better. As they drew closer to election day, the colder weather and earlier sunsets would send most campaign events indoors.

“Thank you! Thank you!” Rouge bathed the room with a brilliant smile, her sharply tailored suit matching the color of her eyes and hugging her slight form provocatively. She dominated the room effortlessly. There wasn’t a stage, so Rouge walked back and forth, commanding attention against a backdrop of large floor to ceiling windows. A gorgeous garden and pristine lawn lay beyond the windows, but the veil of night had obscured them from view.

“Who had the chicken? Wasn’t it great, folks?” A few hands waved and voices called out. Rouge’s large ears twitched, one of her few tells, that of satisfaction. “The lamb?” Another smattering of noise. Rouge pointed towards a wolf seated at the nearest table, “You had the lamb, didn’t you, Larry? Don’t lie, now. I know you!” The wolf whistled and his table cracked up in laughter.

Amy had heard Rouge’s routine so many times now she knew when to swing around to capture donors laughing or of Rouge gesticulating. Any one of her photos could end up on a door hanger or in a television commercial. Amy saw one of her shots on a bus once. Conflicting feelings had swelled in her. Her most widely seen work didn’t have her name attached.

Rouge grinned. “Well, I had the salad.” She twists to the side, crouching slightly, her hand blocking her face from the crowd as if divulging a secret. “I had the steak. Don’t tell my manager!” She whispered directly into the microphone. Uproarious laughter filled the space.

A bear at the table nearest sniffed suddenly and his face wrinkled in confusion. Amy quickly moved away, feigning interest in a couple of Rouge’s staffers helping clean up after an old ram lost hold of his glass of wine while laughing.

“But seriously, ladies and gentlemen, let’s give a hand to the wonderful people who have been taking care you tonight.” Applause ricocheted off the high ceiling. “Louder folks, so the chefs buried three stories down can hear you.” Laughter joined the applause.

As Amy circled the outside of the room, she found herself by the table she had been avoiding. Set towards the back, near a pair of propped open French doors through which a nice breeze blew in from the garden, was the Omega table. Meal completed, most were masked. With Rouge’s pro-Omega platform, they were allowed to attend a function that would normally prohibit them, but their Alphas were elsewhere, scattered about the room with their peers.

A small doe locked gaze with Amy and, though her mouth and nose were covered by a designer-branded reusable scent mask, the smile she gave Amy reached her eyes. Amy tried to smile back, but her stomach churned, and it was all she could do to keep a grasp on her camera. Her eyes fell to the doe’s bare neck and the large discoloration that denoted the Claim Mark. Amy shuddered and moved away from the table of silent trophies just happy to be there. She did not take pictures of them.

“Which reminds me. A special thanks to our gracious host!” Rouge placed a hand to shade her eyes and peered around in a pantomiming manner. “I don’t quiet see him, but I’m sure he’s lurking around somewhere.” She waved her hand dismissively, her painted nails flashing. “What a lovely house, though, isn’t it folks?” The gathered guests clapped. Rouge jabbed a finger towards the back of the room. “Put your check book away, Herald, it’s not for sale!” More laughter. “Not my cup of tea, I’m afraid. I got lost looking for the bathroom and wound up in the next county!” The room erupted into laughter.

“But in all seriousness, my friends.” Rouge’s pacing stilled. “Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You are the ones who have stepped up to rescue our amazing city from those who would undermine the values and virtues upon it was built.” Rouge’s continence grew serious. “By placing your trust in me, you are shoring up those foundations of freedom and equality.”

She brought a clenched fist against her chest. “Together we are ripping a bright future for our children from the jaws of corruption and immorality. In the district attorney’s office, I fought for justice and peace and as mayor I will continue to do the same for all our citizens. I will not betray your conviction that I am the best choice to replace Mayor Jewel.” A smattering of applause materialized, but most knew to keep silent for the next part.

Both her hands covered her heart and Rouge extended her wings fully. Amy zoomed in. Some of the guests were already whooping in anticipation. “Together we will rise!” A powerful down beat lifted Rouge into the air and she spread her arms. A stunning white and turquoise angel looked down on them, her beloved flock. The room ate it up with a spoon. Hooting, hollering, a cacophony of approval. A mandate.

Amy took shot after shot, her camera eating the moment. Rouge loved doing this little stunt. It’s important to make them feel small but hopeful, she’d told Amy with a wink once. They’ve got to want you to save them. That’s when the checkbooks come out. Modern winged mobians were flightless, but Rouge spent an enormous amount of time and effort to be able to produce this display. And damn if it wasn’t impressive. Thank god for high ceilings.

Despite her best efforts, Amy was suffocating, the sounds and smells bombarding her. Her heart frantically worked to give her body the blood it needed to react to her panicking systems, but Amy shoved them all down and away. She stubbornly refused to be a slave to the whims of her body. Not then, not now, not ever. Till her last breath, be it tonight or in a hundred years, she’d own herself.

Rouge lowered lightly to the ground, her fanged smile beaming, “And remember, my friends, any donated dollar above the limit stipulated by campaign finance law will fully benefit the Maria Kintobor Memorial Foundation.” She placed her hand on her heart. “And you know what that means, my friends.” A cheeky smirk accompanied a jutting of her hips to the side. “Tax deductions!” Rouge pumped a fist into the air.

The room erupted in laughter and applause. “Now, who is ready for some desert?” Servers appeared with trays laden with slices of decadent chocolate cake and mini cheesecakes piled high with whipped cream and sliced strawberries. The gaps between the tables became clogged as servers mingled with guests standing to try to interact with Rouge or others.

Rouge passed off the microphone and entered the warren of tables, quickly getting pulled into a conversation. Amy fled back before she got hemmed in and was forced to touch someone to escape.

Amy moved around the edge of the room towards an area set up to be a photogenic backdrop for posed photos. Soon Rouge would stand, glittering smile plastered on her face, as donors lined up to have their picture taken with her. It was the last activity of the night that Amy needed to be present for and she was eager to get it over with.

Unfortunately, Amy just had awhile to wait as Rouge worked her way through the crowd, all of whom were hungry not for desert, but for Rouge’s attention.

Off to the side, watching the proceedings with calculated intensity, was the lynx who had approached Amy she took pictures of guests arriving in expensive luxury cars, sparkling individuals disgorged, and the vehicles raced away by valet staff.

“Sign this.” The lynx had thrust a tablet with a stylus at her. Amy flinched back, putting her camera defensibly between her and the woman that had suddenly appeared. “This is a non-disclosure agreement and a hold harmless agreement. I need you to sign it, Miss Rose.”

Amy took another step back, her flats starting to press an immaculately groomed flowerbed. “How do you know my name?” Sweat dampened her brow.

The woman stared at her blankly, a mild emotion ghosting over her face like a leitmotif. Indifference? Annoyance? Impatience? “It is my job to know the names of everyone on this property.” The lynx’s purple dress was dangerously sharp, cut in the way that sniffed derisively at Amy’s off-the-rack frock.

Amy looked at the tablet, still being extended to her, warily. “I’m working with Ms. Batton. I am her photographer for her campaign.”

“I am aware.” The lynx’s tone remained steady. “However, this is private property. If you do not sign these agreements, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Amy bit her lip. She was missing more and more shots the longer this woman stood in her way. Slowly, she lowered her camera letting it hang heavy against the strap around her neck. Her ears laid back as she sighed her name in the places the lynx told her to. “Thank you, Miss Rose. Now, please keep to the areas assigned for staff use. Also, under no circumstance are you to enter the second floor. This is a private residence, and you will respect the owner.”

Amy returned her attention to the bustling ballroom. She hated the way that woman had looked at her. Those piercing green eyes made Amy feel naked. Worse than naked. Known. Her pulse picked up. Amy swallowed. She felt hot. Too hot.

Where was Rouge? Amy’s eyes darted through the throng of Alphas and Betas. There she was. Still locked in conversation with several people standing in the wings ready to snap her up once she finished. Amy had some time before Rouge was ready for the posing session.

She rushed through the doorway the wait staff had been using. In her haste, she brushed shoulders with a lemur and Amy squeaked as she shrank away. Don’t touch me! The lemur startled and stared at her with big yellow eyes. “S-Sorry!” Amy slipped around them, pressing herself against the door frame.

This stupid house was too big. It took her a few moments to find the nook near the kitchen where she’d stashed her camera bag. Plucking out the scent mask, she pressed it tightly against her face and breathed deeply. The strong, artificially blank scent inside rushed into her. Relief was instant. Cooling clarity returned and the heady clouds dispersed.

Just a little longer. The evening was almost over. Guests would start leaving now and the air would start clearing of torrid Alpha musk. She’d almost made it through. Today had been a nightmare but she’ll have won. Her body had tried to pull her down in a pit of hormones and lust and she, with Sonic’s help, had defied it and recovered quickly to (mostly) full function.

“Are you alright?” Amy jumped, hastily shoving the mask back into her bag. She twirled. A concerned badger carrying a tray of coffee service looked at her, brow knitted.

“Y-yeah!” Amy stammered, adopting a strained smile. Totally fine, she didn’t want to slither out of her dress and mount the first Alpha she saw at all. “Musk allergies, am I right?” She attempted to joke. “You’d think these stuffy rich folk would shower more.”

The badger didn’t look convinced, but she offered a noncommittal, “Ah, sure. Sorry. That sucks.” And returned to her task.

Amy grabbed her bag and tried to move it to a darker corner. She was huffing the mask again when she felt it. Shivers ran through her, reverberating and amplifying. A sob clung to the back of her throat. A trickle of dampness stained her underwear. Her slick sponge was saturated.

No no no no! Why was this happening to her?

This wasn’t happening. She would not let this happen!

The posed photos with Rouge were the most important part of the whole evening. Some of the guests attended just for that. Once (If) Rouge became Mayor, photos Amy had taken would be signifiers of adjacency to power. They’d be framed and hung all up in important corner offices all over the City.

And now she had slick threatening to drip down her legs and let every Alpha in the building know she was ready to be slammed against a table and fucked silly. Amy furiously dug through her bag. There had to be something in there she could use. Come on, come on!

There! At the bottom, pressed flat by untold months buried under heavy camera equipment, was a slick pad. Amy stowed her camera and dashed away.

Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom. Where the hell is a bathroom? She opened door after door. This stupid house was too large! Who needs all this space?

Getting desperate, Amy found a closet and slipped in, shutting the door behind her. Shelves of old junk witnessed her hitching up her dress, pulling her underwear down, bending over, taking the pull string, and yanking the sopping wet sponge free of herself. Now where was she going to hide it?

Amy flushed, the horror of her stupidity striking her full in the face. Good going, Amy. She rapidly scanned her surroundings, the sponge dripping slick into the tile floors. Old board games, an assortment of throw pillows, plastic tubs full of rolls of fairy lights, seasonal knickknacks. No good options made themselves known.

Silently apologizing to whoever would have the misfortune of finding it, Amy lifted the cardboard lid for an old chess set and slip the offending object inside. She ripped the plastic packaging off the slick pad and pressed it into her underwear, securing the wings to the underside. It was an ‘ultra thin’ one, meant to be invisible (ha!), so she did not have much time. But it would hold because it had to hold.

Amy raced back to her camera, trying to flatted her dress and comb her quills with her fingers as she went. This shouldn’t be happening. Sonic broke her heat already! She should be dry as a desert down there. Was it all the Alpha scent in the air? The fire that had been growing under her skin all evening was reaching inferno levels.

But she had a job to do. She needed to prove to Rouge that it hadn’t been a mistake to hire her, that she would not be held back by her second sex. Every employer that had found out she was an Omega had fired her on the spot. But Rouge hadn’t. Rouge let her stay, let her work, let her be something other than a moist hole that produced babies.

The line had formed by the backdrop and Rouge was already waiting. Spotting Amy’s approach, Rouge smiled and clapped her hands loudly. “We’re ready to go! Thank you all so much for your patience.” Her smile never faltered, but Amy could see the irritated accusation when they locked eyes. Where the fuck were you?

Silently, Amy took her position and began to snap shot after shot. All of her will was bent on focusing on her art, her photography. The air in the room was suffocating her. Toxic aromas chewed at the edges of her sanity, compelling her to bend over, submit, flop onto the floor and present to any of them, all of them!

Her stomach clenched, her womb throbbed. Blood rushed everywhere except her brain. Her hands were shaking, probably ruining half her shots. Keep it together. You’re not a person. You’re a camera, your purpose is to trap a moment in time. In bits and bytes, you smuggle the past into the future.

Cameras don’t sweat or yearn for a hard dick to pound them into a pleasurable nothingness. The government doesn’t encourage cameras to join state-funding matching services, or extract ‘public burden’ premiums from their tax refunds, or exclude them from the protection of anti-discrimination laws.

The line seemed to go on forever. Amy was panting now. She fumbled as she tried to change the memory card on her camera. Her joints were getting inflamed, crippling her against flight. She noticed many of the people waiting in line were sniffing the air and starting to shuffle animatedly.

Oh god! Her scent was breeching the coverage of the suppression spray.

And then it hits her.

A shearing shiver ran up her spine, rattling her brain to bits. Amy’s vision blurred. The camera lowered from her face, quickly losing its relevance to her as an object. She was vaguely aware of Rouge squinting at her with growing concern.

“I am so sorry, ladies and gentlemen!” Rouge is talking? “All this glad-handing is making me thirsty. How about we take a quick break? Arty knows what I’m talking about.” Grumbles turn to chuckles. “Don’t worry shareholders, his driver is sober!” Amy can’t hear the response over the ringing in her ears.

Amy bolted. Or tried to. However fast she’s going, however downright strange it looks, her few remaining same brain cells are concerned with one thing: getting as far away as fast as she can.

Where is her bag? Doesn’t matter! Need to get away!

Where is she going? Doesn’t matter! Need to get away!

Why was she running? Amy shook her heat-addled head. She should stay put. No. There are so many strong Alphas here. No! Surely one of them can help her. One of them can keep her safe. One of them can finally fill her up for good. Scratch that infernal itch she’s had for over ten years. NO! It would be so easy. Not only that, it was also the right thing to do. All this running and hiding and fearing discovery. There wasn’t any point to it.

Her suffering had no point.

Her jellied legs get her to the grand foyer. She was almost out of the massive house. The open air would help clear her head. Surely then she’d think of something.

“Are you alright, miss?” A deep voice sounded too close to her and Amy stumbled.

A firm hand grasped her upper arm, steadying her and holding her upright. The contact burned (Don’t touch me!) but she leaned into it anyway, her legs continuing to buckle, her body craving more!

Amy turned and looked up into brilliant eyes the color of burning rubies. Dark brows crinkled with concern. Her breath hitched. A jet-black hedgehog with red colorations at the edges of his eyes, a full head taller than her, held her. The smell of him locked her body down. She had been caught by an Alpha.

Then the stranger’s nose twitched, and the concern evaporated first into surprise as his pupils blew wide before descending into disgust. He whipped his face away, covering his nose and mouth with his other hand. “Fucking hell!” He snarled, his eyes shot through with a battle between anger and arousal. His quills flared and she beheld crimson streaks to match the eye markings.

“Are you out of your mind?” He growled at her, his deep voice cutting her sense of self-preservation to ribbons. Her sweetness released a turret of syrupy slick, overflowing the thin pad and racing down her legs.

“I-“ Amy squeaked, all she can manage. Words were useless now. Why speak when she could just go limp and allow nature to take its course?

Footsteps approached from the way Amy had come. “Shit!” The dark man hissed as he glanced away. As his eyes arced back to her, something caught his eye, and he looked down. Noticing the fluid dripping from Amy onto the hardwood floors, his grip eased a bit. “This way. Quickly.” The rough whisper, softer in tone, danced around the shell of her ear, sounding like the sweetest (poisonous) music. He half-led, half-drug her locked up form from the foyer and down a short hallway to a stairway.

No no no no please NO!

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t protest, couldn’t offer any resistance at all as she was brought up the stairs to the forbidden second floor.