[ A N D R E A ]

I pant, facing Dante. Or I think I'm facing him; I can't tell. "She's—you think you could've told me this a little sooner!? I rely on my sight; I can't just flip it off without a warning! Fuck? My ears—" I cup my hands over them. An ambulance is rushing down the street, sirens screeching, and it sounds like it's rushing past me, even though it's so far away. The wind in the trees, the tunnel—my quiet space is too loud now. The city's overwhelming. My pounding heartbeat, most of all. It's rushing through me. I can feel my blood in my veins, and something else, something angry, and I try to breathe, calm down, calm down...

"I figured that you'd just turn into...a physical copy of her; not—a carbon-copy of her. You didn't even know she was blind; how—"

"I don't know. I don't. Okay?" I hiss, shielding my eyes with a hand. It's dimmer, better. "I've never done something like this. But I can turn into copies of people, animals; even get their instincts, thoughts—I didn't know it could even be disabilities too! I mean—"

I go cold, swallowing. Fuck. This man—this dangerous, well-connected man—knows this part of what I'm capable of. I take a step back, and he grabs my arm again. Electricity passes between us. "I need to go. I can't—"

"You're staying." Dante says, and I shudder, legs locking.

Dante's grip loosens. I punch him straight in the gut with a speed and strength that is unfamiliar, and he slams back, hitting the bridge's sloped wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with you!?" My voice isn't my own. It's higher-pitched, smoother; I try to move, but my feet are firmly stuck. I curl my hands to fists, lips curled. Something inside me is stirring, shuddering; I can feel energy ripple in my gut.

"Calm down, Andrea! Breathe." Again, his voice—I have no control. I face his voice, lips curled, and I try to talk, but all I do is breathe—in, out, in, out—chest rising, falling; lungs swelling, contracting, lips parted. I keep breathing, angry, body slowing, telling me to calm down, calm down...

Dante stands; I can hear his sneakers shuffle against the stone, feel the warmth, energy, as he lifts his hands and takes a small step towards me. Then another. A ripple shreds its way through my throat, and I can't help it: I growl.

Then I freeze.

My nailbeds hurt. My teeth, my jaws; my scalp. I feel itchy and hot and dizzy, but I hold on. I continue to hold, to squeeze my palms, to push my claws deeper into my hands and focus.

Dante's breath is warm on my scalp. His hands are firm on my shoulders. I immediately attempt to slap him away, but he holds me, keeps me still.

"There's something else, Andrea—something I was scared to tell you."

I can't talk until I calm down. I can only breathe. I just shove him.

"Bianca's a werewolf."

I try to shove him back, harder—but his command is still stuck over me. It's like I'm encased in stone. It's wearing off a little, but it's strong. Too strong. It scares me. His hands are close to my neck. He can kill me here, can't he? He said he wouldn't; but there's something about him, the darkness around his eyes, the way his voice can make me freeze—

A werewolf. I've turned into a blind werewolf.

Oh G-d—

"The next question you're going to ask, is if I am one. Right?"

I don't respond. I don't give him that satisfaction.

Dante's leaning closer. I can smell him, what he had for breakfast—bitter espresso and an egg sandwich. I can smell the toothpaste he uses—peppermint. The cologne he uses—earthy, smoky. His own musk—something rich, natural; like the forest. It's too much to make sense of. It's overwhelming. I lean back ever-so-slightly, Bianca's slick bangs falling into my face. Dante brushes them away with a hand that feels somewhat inhuman. He's so close. Hovering inches from me, my face—

"You want to know, right? Andrea?"

Dante waits. I don't talk. He snarls. "Ask me if I'm a werewolf!"

"Are you a werewolf?" I snap. My head spins. Something changes—I can move, somewhat. I lean back, slack—and kick him, hoping to go between his legs. I think I've hit his hip instead, where pants meet sweater. He's flung backwards. I try to run away, to follow the sound of traffic outside, but Dante's fast, superhumanly fast—he's standing, holding me, again. His hands are bigger. His body, too—looming, dark. He's blocking out the light from under the bridge, and of course he is—he's a dark spot on the damn world.

It was a mistake to say yes to him.

"Let go of me!"

"I can't." he says, voice gruffer, deeper—more animalistic. Still human enough. His grip tightens over my shoulders, claws pressing against my skin. "We made a deal; I need you to see it through. Then you'll never see me again. So stop fighting."

I try to uncurl one hand, but it's firm. Steady. "You're a monster."

He laughs. Bitterly. "That the best you got?"

I can't run; I'm too disoriented. And judging by the way that my nails feel against my palms in my curled fists...I've shifted—as a werewolf. Shit. My teeth feel too large to fit into my jaw, too. So I sit down, and Dante hesitantly lets go, sitting next to me. His shoes scuff against the floor; he huffs, joining me below.

Will this interfere with how I regularly shift? I won't be stuck here, right? No—

I tell myself to breathe, calm down. It'll be fine. I'll be fine.

It's time to ask questions—and get answers.

"Are you and Bianca mates, or however you wolves do...that?"

"Yeah. Sometimes it just happens—two wolves imprint on one another in a moment; they're bound together. It's euphoria for some; doom for others. It just...is. Random, but...exciting. Most people aim to imprint, be imprinted on; it's fate deciding for you, in a way."

He clears his throat. "In other cases, it doesn't happen. To some people, it never does. But for some members of packs—people like me, alphas, future leaders—imprinting doesn't usually happen. Matings are arranged; they're all power plays. Bianca isn't ever going to lead her pack; she's the younger of three, and a woman, she'd never rule—" I glare at him, and can feel him raise his hands. "Hey, pack tradition—as leader I'll do away with that, trust me."

I hum, shaking my head, unsure if he's just trying to please me in the moment. Whatever.

"Our packs are close. The Esposito pack—Bianca's—wanted to partner with mine. Business ventures and...off-business ventures, that'd be more powerful together, so—"

"Are your families the mafia?" It's a stereotype; of course not all Italian American werewolves. But the way he talks about their families—and his own wealth...

"Just business." Dante says, voice slick. "We run a restaurant group—and a few other businesses. The other families—that are involved—do go there sometimes to eat; they help us with protection, we help them with discounts. So by proxy, I guess, sure?"

Would you kill an evil person if it meant you saved many others?

That dinner question lingers in my mind. Suspiciously weird, dark...

He waits for an answer.

"Yeah. Got it." I'm not convinced; my tone conveys that.

It sounds so goddamn weird, to hear Bianca's voice talking in your inflections." A change of the subject—but it's effective. I frown. Think. It is strange, to hear someone else's voice come out of my own lips. I'm so distracted by this information—all of it; his werewolf customs, the sensory overload, the body—that I'm struggling to even think through the changes, realize them. My head's pounding, but I'm still thinking on my own, unencumbered. No Bianca, not in my head, not yet. Good. I need to keep pushing her back; her thoughts, her instincts, her memories. There's a storm swirling in my head, but it's distant. Looming.

I just need to ride it out.

Dante clears his throat. "Anyway...that's why we're arranged together. We've known each other since we were kids—but never like family. Just friends. Then, once we were teens, our families had ideas. And we've been pushing off any engagement for a while—"

There's something he wants to say, but won't. His voice holds. Hitches. I raise a brow and wait, but he doesn't elaborate.

Fine. I'll ask the tough questions.

Most pressing question first. Time to make him squirm.

"Do you love her? For real?"