She should've been afraid and wasn't. The guy who'd saved her life had turned away to open the door and Bee trailed behind him. She stifled a gasp at his back. Deep gashes cut through the tattoos of what Bee could see were the weirdest butterflies she'd ever seen. They weren't butterflies at all but bees with butterfly wings. Wings caked in dried blood.

Because he saved her life.

After he'd broken in and was potentially stalking both her and her granddad.

Zach swung the door open, free hand balled into a fist.

A weary man in a baseball cap peered at them. "Looking for Miss Sabrina?"

Bee tried to bush back Zach. He blocked her view of the man, muscles tense.

"There is no one here with this name." Zach said.

"I'm here," Bee said. "Are you Dave?"

Dave nodded and patted his name tag. "I'll just need ya to sign here."

Zach's eyes narrowed, looking between her and Dave.

"I called a tow truck," Bee grabbed the form from Dave, signing it off. "When should it..."

"We'll take it to the shop, give you an estimate."

"Great, thanks." Bee mumbled watching Dave and feeling Zach's scrutiny as the door clicked shut.

They fell silent looking at the wreck the aftermath of the attack left behind.

Zach was the one to break the stillness. "I thought your name was Brianna."

He spoke her name in a breathless whisper and Bee caught a faint blush to his cheeks.

Was there anything normal about the past few days? Why did this intrigue her too?

"It's my middle name," Bee said. "Everyone calls me Bee anyways."

A flicker of emotion crossed his face. Something almost like sorrow. "Why Bee?"

She shrugged. "I always liked them as a kid and had a bumblebee outfit that mom swears all the time...guess the name took off."

Zach nodded in understanding not quite meeting her gaze. "We should clean up. Do you have any tools?"

She blinked. "Meaning?"

He gestured to the broken furniture. "I can fix this. Perhaps not all of it—"

"Why would you?"

"Why not?"

Bee rubbed her temples. "I'm so tired and confused and..."

"Hungry?"

Bee's mouth dropped looking at his bemused expression. "Yeah. I."

"Alright," Zach smirked. "Feed us and I'll answer two of your questions."

"Why do I feel there is a catch?"

He laughed, a pure sound of joy that sent a tingling sensation straight to her heart. He winced; laughter replaced with pain. Bee almost rushed to his side and stopped herself.  

"I eat a lot and I'm broke," Zach's voice turned tight. "That's the catch."

Bee needed context as much as sustenance. "Deal."

Zach nodded again. "Permission to run a bath?"

***

The amount of food at their table was no joke.  

They'd taken the subway to the cafe and casual dining district. Zach peered at almost everything they passed, mumbling and humming to himself. Again, in her granddad's clothes, the loose linen shirt half tucked into dress pants looked quirky and cool. Men and women spared them admiring glances as they pushed through the doors of a North African resto-bar.

Zach piled his fork with a piece of seared chicken and baked rice. He closed his eyes and moaned.

Bee almost choked on her bite.

"Haven't had this in...ages," he said, eyes dancing.

"What is this thing?" Bee took a tentative bite.

"It's called Moammar rice. Cooked with clarified butter and clotted cream."

Zach had surprised her of making the order. So far everything from the stuffed vine, leaves to the chicken had been delicious.

"Are you a cook or something?"

"Do I look like a cook?" Zach asked between mouthfuls. Half his plate was gone.

"No...you look like a thug." Bee said. "Crap. Sorry, I was..."

"You're sorry I look like a thug? I'm not." He picked up the jug of mint lemonade in her cup and the rest in his.

Bee took a deep breath. Zach had promised to answer two questions of her choosing in exchange for her paying for their meal. Anything. The sky was the limit. It made choosing so much harder. How could she choose between millions? 

"Can we set ground rules?"

Zach chewed. "Do I get a say?"

Bee frowned. He seemed different during the past few hours; the sharp bite of aggression dwindled. Had he simply been hangry all this time?

"Yeah, we can talk about stuff." Bee sipped the lemonade, the flavor of the spearmint giving it a more exotic flavor. 

"Alright," Zach said. "Name your terms, Freckles."

Bee felt her cheeks flush. "You have to answer with a minimum of five sentences and they have to be real answers."

Zach's amber eyes danced with mischief. "Ah, so I can't weave tall tales?"

Bee had the odd feeling he was teasing her. "No, you can't lie. And the answers have to make sense. No mysteries."

He arched an eyebrow. "I can't promise that."

Bee stabbed the chunk of macaroni bechamel on her plate. The amount of carbs they ordered was ridiculous. "Yeah, you can."

He shook his head. "I'll try but you have a promise to make and keep."

Aha! The catch! He'd gotten what he wanted and he wasn't going to fulfil his end of the bargain. She felt stupid for falling for the flimsy deal, she always did that with Jared. Guess it wasn't Jared, it was her. She and her silly—

"Brianna?"

Bee snapped out of her spiraling thoughts. He'd said her name with unflinching tenderness.

She cleared her throat. "Yeah?"

He gazed at her for a moment then his face smoothed into an unreadable, albeit handsome, mask. "Swear to me you wouldn't judge me."

Dread coiled in the pit of her stomach, yet the busy restaurant sheltered her in a way. They were surrounded by laughter and chatter.

"Okay, I'll try."

He gave her a curt nod. "Go ahead."

Bee stated with the easy question. "How did you meet granddad?"

Zach pushed his plate away and Bee caught sight of his hands turning to fists before he'd hid them under the table.

"I lived in a home for years before a couple adopted me. People think it's the same as getting a pet. You select the cute one, go home all happy and shit."

Bee didn't know what to say. If she thought Zach wore a mask a few moments ago, now he built a wall between them.

"There is an adaptation phase," Zach continued. "It's not uncommon to for incompatibilities...social workers or state-whatever run checks."

"And things went wrong?"

Zach sneered. "Ten out of ten Sherlock."

Bee clenched her teeth. Stupid.

Zach ran a hand across his face, shoulders tense. "My apologies."

"It's cool."

"It's not. You've been kind and it's throwing me off."

Bee tried to speak, but he held up a hand, no longer looking at her.

"Michael found me on his visit. I tried to get out. I wasn't thinking straight and ended up hanging from a noose. The ceiling crashed and he had me committed in a hospital. If Michael had been a minute late...He saved my life."

Bee clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh my god. I'm s—"

"Don't." Zach warned. "You have your second question?"

Bee shook her head. The thought of the strong, sarcastic man who fought supernatural beings being in so much pain made her heart ache.

"Do you still feel like you don't want to go on?"

"Is this your second question?"

Bee bit her lip, taken aback by how calm his voice sounded. "No."

"Can I get you anything?" A waiter asked and Bee had a sense of DeJa'Vu.

"We'll have this to go, please." Zach smiled at Bob the waiter.

"Of course." Bob cleared their table while they avoided looking at each other. After the initial shock of Zach's confession, Bee's mind whirled. Her granddad had been an excellent therapist with his own successful private practice. The last time he worked as a social worker couldn't have been less than twenty years ago. So either Zach was lying or he wasn't human.

Bee braced herself. "I'm ready for the final question."

Zach crossed his arms over his chest. "Shoot."

"Do you know how to hone a witch's power?"

Zach's eyes widened, a flicker of fear passing through them. "Depends on who the witch may be."

Bee took a deep breath. "The witch would be me."