Their heartbeat was the music thumping from the overhead speakers, its blood was the sweat of the men and women grinding against each other, and its soul the passion and desire in the air. Harlan Flynn stood off to the side, just out of the ring of dancing flesh, taking it all in with a smile and looking for the one he’d seen before. The scent of their passion in the air, exuded from their bodies in the form of pheromones, was invigorating and captivating. If only the humans could smell it the way he could, he thought with a wry grin. It was nights like these that he missed his pack the most. His brothers and sisters would have reveled at this display of human debauchery. The wolves would have been, for that one night anyway, one with the crowd. There was no more pack, though. He was all that was left. It was time to either move on or die and Harlan was not ready to face the long sleep yet. He stepped into the throng of dancers, grinding in rhythm with them, moving from man to woman, back to man, back to woman, dancing for a few moments, tasting the occasional sweat from a neck and feeling the firmness of flesh.
