[ A N D R E A ]

The guy says yes, because of course he does, looking back at me. I know what that look means: go along with it. Yeah, no—I scowl, open my mouth, about to protest—but he steps back, towards me, and drapes an arm across my shoulders. I flinch; my fingers twitch. I bite my tongue. I suppress the change, the shudder.

"I just arrived late to see, uh—" he turns toward me, dark gaze flitting across my face, probably searching for a name. I give him nothing but a glare. "—Sofia here."

"Correct. Sofia and..." I lean forward, search his face now. Slightly pointed, strong nose, flat brows, dark shadow of facial hair growing in. Lips that aren't thick or thin, with a pointed cupid's bow above. His lashes are long, eyes deep-set, shadowed. I can't tell the color with the shifting club lights. His eyes are gentle. I've seen people like him before, stolen those features—the strong nose, the scruff, the angled jaw. I swear I've seen him before. I know I have. I don't forget faces. I study them, memorize them—

But thinking hard about this man is making the pressure build in my head.

"Dante." he says before I can make up a name for him.

Dammit.

"Yeah." I realize I'm staring, and I face away. The creep's lost his fire. He huffs, running a hand across his bottom jaw, his tongue across his teeth, and walks off.

"Fucker." I hiss.

"Sorry that guy did that. Women can't just go about their lives without some guy ruining it, huh?"

I give him a look, squinting, and nod. Well, at least he's a bit aware. "Thanks—"

"Dante. That's my actual name. You?"

"You got it right. It's Sofia." I scan the dance floor, but Preethi's not there. I suck in a breath, phone still in-hand, and move to slip out of Dante's grip, and—

"Oh. My. God! Andrea, did you seriously find, and talk to, a cute guy before I did?" Right on cue. She must've been at the bar, because she has a blue cosmo in her hand.

Dante smirks and glances at me. "I got it right, huh...?"

"Sure did." I deadpan. Well, there goes the fake name plan.

"Also," I add, finally slipping out of Dante's grip, who thankfully doesn't fight me, "No. I didn't find a cute guy. He helped me when this creep tried got angry when I said I wasn't interested."

"At least she's not denying that I'm cute." he laughs.

Preethi laughs with him a bit too hard. She's such a romantic. A guy could hold open the door for her and she'd swoon. Then again, Dante looks like the kind of guy that'll easily capsize any woman. It's in the light eyes, the toothy smirk. It doesn't take long to recognize.

"Anyway, thanks for the help, Dante, but—"

"No! Oh, no, no, you're so not getting rid of this handsome guy so quickly. Dante, do me a favor. My roommate here's chronically lonely, and chronically cold, and is desperate to date someone—" she grabs me and pulls me closer. She's staggering, eyes glazed over. Already drunk.

Dante chuckles and raises a brow, looking over me. The pressure's building in my skull, further, walls of bone closing in against my brain. The music shifts; deep, pulsing beat, growing faster, faster, ready to bass-drop—

"Preethi, enough."

Her smile dissipates.

"There's too much going on here. I'm heading back home."

"Aw, wait, what? Did I push too hard? I'm just being honest! You need to open up, Andrea! And this guy's come to your rescue! Right, um—Dante, right?"

Dante's silent, looking between me and Preethi.

"And anyway, I've been locking eyes with this one guy at the dance floor and I think he's gonna talk to me and..."

I tune her out, slinging my bag across my arm, jacket over my body, scarf around my neck. "Good luck, and please don't get murdered, alright? Thanks for the help, Dante."

With a short nod, I curve around the dance floor to exit out the back entrance. It's a heavy, industrial door; the migraine's carved out my strength. Still, I push with a huff, and I'm back outside, in the brick alleyway, dim lighting, rat's squeak, dumpster on either side.

It's finally quiet(er). Distant car honks, the thrum of the music inside the bar. Better. The cold is best for me, too; my bones feel light. The heat weighs them down, strangely enough. Mut be genetic. I check my phone. Past midnight; I need to get out of this spot, into a public area, so I start speed walking—

"Andrea!"

I turn. Dante's re-adjusting his coat, tucking his hair behind his ears. I don't slow down.

"Hey, wait!"

I ignore him. The alleyway opens up to the city street. There's no line outside the club anymore; it's too late. The city's jagged in the night, the low lights; pointed skyscrapers, windows reflecting the moon. I wrap my arms around myself and look for the nearest bus stop, subway, whatever—

Dante's caught up to me. I can feel his warmth, his shadow, his...subtle buzz, and I stop, turning to face him.

"What do you want? I thought you said—"

"Your hair's changing color."

I scowl deeper, lifting a curl. He's right; the bottom of the spiral's going from black to pink. Fuck. I tug it behind my ear.

"Let me guess...witch? Fairy? Shifter?" He's smirking confidently, low-lidded eyes following my hair, each twist. I suck in a sharp, cold breath.

"Something like that."

My phone's not responding. I sigh, looking over at Dante. "What do you want?"

He raises his hands, taking a step back. "Hey! No need to turn into a jaguar or something; I come in peace. I wanted to see if you were alright, since your friend seemed to be a bit buzzed; I—"

"Thanks, but yeah. I'm fine." I stare at my phone, gritting my teeth. There's an uncomfortable pressure in the back; I can feel them sharpening, changing. It feels a little like the inverse, numb pressure of them being shaved down. I clamp down on my tongue and wait.

It's quiet out here now. The wind howls through the street. It's nice.

"Turning into a jaguar's pretty tough." I give him a flat look. "There's all types of shifters, but...at least for me, the more you know a creature, the better you can become it. So a cat or dog's a lot easier than, say, a wolf, or a lion. Pigeons are easier than...I dunno, toucans."

"And people are the easiest thing to become, since you're surrounded by them?" he asks, pointing to my hair.

"Yeah."

I start walking again. He's there too, easily keeping up. His stupid long legs. I don't move any faster; I'm not really threatened by him, but I know I should be. So I remain hyper-aware. Look around, then down. There has to be a subway station soon; I try to think of how I got to the club, but it was such a rush with Preethi and her friends. Now, it's time to go home.

Alone.

"Sensory overload, right?" he asks, breaking my concentration. I exhale slowly.

"Yes. Which is exactly why I'm going—"

"Before you say 'home,' would you like to have some dinner? There's a good, quiet restaurant nearby. My treat."

"I'm..." I stop and survey him, biting the edge of my lip. He doesn't look dangerous. But looks can be deceiving. And there's something strangely...familiar about him. But, again—I've seen and cycled through enough faces to find something familiar in all of them.

Still. A quiet meal. I suddenly realize how hungry I am. I had to run home, but all the clients made me skip dinner and have a very rushed, small lunch, and the hunger's cutting into me, and probably making me grouchier than I mean to be.

"I appreciate the offer to cover dinner, but I'm good with splitting it." I say first, tucking back that same, stubborn, two-tone curl. I've heard stories of men holding it against women. No need to give him another reason to expect something from me.

"So that's a yes?"