Page 2 of Shadowkissed

He doesn’t move like a human. Doesn’tfeellike one, either. Not PEACE, though he’s got the predator stance. Could be a rogue, a hunter, hell, maybe even a pissed-off guardian.

I risk another glance up.

He’s gone.

I spin again, faster this time, heart pounding against the cage of my ribs. The runes on my skin start to shimmer, agitated by whatever energy he brought with him. The lights flicker—just slightly, just enough to make the crowd murmur—but I know what it means.

I push glamour harder into my limbs, sweat slick on my back as I move into the final sequence of the set. The crowd is eating it up—none the wiser—but I feel like I’m dancing for my damn life.

As the music fades, I turn and drop to a crouch, spine curved, chin lifted. A final pose to close the show.

They clap. Some cheer. The regular in the leather vest throws up a heart with his fingers.

But I don’t feel victorious.

I feel hunted.

Backstage is just a hallway behind the stage curtain, more shadows than light, and it smells like hairspray, lavender oil, and warm metal. I grab my robe, yank it over my shoulders, and press a hand to my stomach.

The magic isstirring. Unhappy. Alert.

“Hey, Nightshade,” calls the manager, a human woman with way too much contour and not enough common sense. “You’ve got two more sets. Ten-minute break. Don’t disappear again, yeah?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, not turning. “Sure.”

I walk to the end of the hallway, toward the emergency exit—the one I’m not supposed to use. The door’s sealed, the lock runic. Mine. Just in case. I press two fingers to the sigil and exhale softly. The door clicks open.

The alley behind the club is dark and wet. Rain must’ve passed through while I was onstage. I lean against the brick, trying to calm my pulse.

The magic still whispers. Something’s not right.

A gust of wind rips through the alley—and then I smell it.

Wolfsbane. Iron. And dominance.

He’s close.

I don’t move.

“You’re not just a dancer.”

The voice is behind me, low and rough, the kind that drags across skin like grit. My fingers twitch toward the glamor. I turn slowly.

And there he is, standing at the end of the alley like he belongs to the night itself.

“Neither are you,” I say, voice sharper than I mean it to be.

His eyes narrow. He steps closer.

“Name?”

“Don’t need one,” I say, tugging the robe tighter. “You here to pay for a private set, or just to stalk me?”

“I saw what you did up there. You don’t cast a shadow like that by accident.”

His scent is smoke and pine laced with something that makes me more curious than I like. Alpha. Definitely.

I should run.

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