Music pulsed through the condo, and Aaliyah maneuvered through the crowd. It had been a while since she’d been to a party like this; medical school was not known for bountiful free time, after all. But Courtney had insisted that she needed to get out to stay sane, and what better excuse than Halloween to dress up in a cool costume and unwind?

But Courtney had flaked out relatively early on into the evening and so Aaliyah was left alone, trying to navigate a party she was increasingly unsure she wanted to be here for. She passed other students in their costumes; they ranged from shitty to spectacular, one dude—a toilet paper mummy—looking even more humiliating next to an 18th-century count who looked like he stepped right out of a swashbuckling flick. While there were a couple of decent outfits for the ladies, Aaliyah increasingly rolled her eyes at how many of her fellow girls clearly had one thing on their minds. In the past minute alone she’d run into slutty nurse, slutty teacher, slutty Darth Vader… talk about uninspired.

Aaliyah didn’t begrudge her fellow ladies attempts to charm men to bed; it had been a while since she’d had a good lay herself. But for God’s sake, at least have some class about it.

When a group of drunken fratbros started up beer pong, she decided she was done with this scene, and maneuvered her way into the kitchen for something that was hopefully a touch more sedate. Stepping onto the tiled floor, she stopped dead at the greatest costume she’d ever seen.

The guy looked like he had just stepped off the set of a high-budget horror flick. He had to be standing a good six-and-a-half feet, and he had the confidence to go shirtless with a pair of loose-fitting cargo shorts underneath. But there wasn’t any bare skin on display. He was dressed as the Wolfman—or some sort of werewolf—with slatey charcoal fur covering every available inch of his body. Aaliyah recalled that the actresses in Wicked actually dyed their skin green for the role; she’d thought that an insane level of dedication, one which this guy had clearly applied to his outfit.

Wolfy’s chest was appreciably muscled underneath his fur; not to the extremes of a bodybuilder, but the more realistic, appealing sculpt of a believable athlete. His arms were folded and Aaliyah noted with approval that he’d even taken the effort to coat his fingers in fur, his nails trimmed into long claws. What had to be Hollywood-level makeup gave him the appearance of a wolf’s snout and peaked ears with a predator’s hungry eyes underneath. A long tail that reminded her of her uncle’s husky swished lazily behind him. Incredibly, even his feet appeared canine, resting digitigrade on the floor (these she assumed were special boots or shoes.)

He caught her staring and the muzzle twisted in a smirk that made her want to faint. Unfolding his arms, Wolfy strode across the kitchen in confident strides, the few others melting out of his way. Up close, Aaliyah could see that even his nose appeared black and wet and shiny up close. How had he done it?

“Little red, little red,” he murmured, and oh fuck, his voice sounded like red velvet cake given form: low, luscious, smooth, addicting. Already Aaliyah found herself idly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, a classic tic of hers for nervous excitement. “What big eyes you have indeed.”

She blushed. She’d almost forgotten her own costume… Little Red Riding Hood, a crimson mantle done up over an old-fashioned dress and shoes she’d found when thrift store hunting. A wicker basket in the crook of her arm (empty; she wasn’t an idiot) completed the look.

Well, it looked like little red had found the Big Bad Wolf.

“Hey,” she replied stupidly, immediately chastising herself for not saying something smarter, sexier, more appealing, but that god damn impeccable voice rumbled a laugh out of his rich chest.

“Hey,” replied Wolfy playfully, his eyes gleaming, and Aaliyah felt her breath catch.

“That’s… one hell of a costume,” she said. “You a makeup artist or something? Hollywood’s gonna love you.”

He rolled his shoulders lazily, his tail ‘wagging’ once (and she had to admire his dedication to the role), but he looked pleased. “Nope, not a makeup artist. Not theater either.”

“Then… who? How?”

Wolfy turned his head out the window and Aaliyah followed his gaze. Outside, just visible over the treetops, the bright orb of the full moon was coming into view as the cold autumn wind chased the clouds away.

Ah, so he was that committed to his bit. Normally, that would be a bit nerdy… but something about his sheer passion for it—plus his stature and physique—made it exotic rather than lame.

God damn, she wanted him.