Page 6 of Shadowkissed

He pushes off the wall, slow and smooth, like a man who knows he could take down whatever’s hiding behind the next corner and still not break a sweat.

“I’ve got questions,” he says. “About the guy who came through here tonight. Big, bearded, smelled like blood and bad decisions.”

“You just described the majority of our customers,” I deflect, shifting my bag on my shoulder. “What makes you think I’d know anything?”

His eyes narrow just a hair. “Because you’ve been here all night and I heard he caused issues and I would bet it was because of watching you. I get the feeling you might have that effect on people. And because whatever was stalking you last time we were out here, the smoke, you didn’t flinch. And because you’re not just a dancer.”

My heart punches my ribs from the inside. No one’s supposed to see through the glamour.No one.

But he’s not human. I know that much. There's something in the way he moves, in the heat he carries, that screams he’s a shifter. Loner, but still a powerful shifter.

Still, I can’t afford exposure.

“Look, I didn’t ask for your help back there,” I snap, sharper than I mean to be. “So whateverhero complexthing you’ve got going on, maybe save it for someone who didn’t grow up learning to run from men like you.”

His jaw ticks for a moment. Then he steps forward, voice low but steady. “Men like me?”

“Big. Quiet. Dangerous. The kind who ask questions they already know the answers to.”

He’s close now. Too close. Close enough that the steam curls around his body like it wants to touch him. And the glamour—fuck—itquivers.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll trade. I tell you why I’m here, and you tell me what the hell was trying to crawl out of the dark earlier.”

I open my mouth. Ready to cut him down with a joke, a flirt, a lie—something.

But then I feel it again.

The cold.

That unnatural hush before a scream. The shadowsshiver.

He turns, instinct already in motion, scanning the alley.

It’s back.

Themist.

It snakes around the edges of the bricks, thicker this time. Slick and black, like oil spilled across glass. But it doesn’tmovelike mist. It pulses. Like it’s breathing.

“Behind me,” Dante says again, but his tone’s different now. Grim.

I don’t listen.

I can’t.

Because while he’s focused on the thing creeping in from the ground,Isee something else.

Up on the fire escape, crouched like a goddamn gargoyle, is a man I don’t recognize—but I know his kind. Eyes glowing yellow, lips peeled back over elongated teeth. His aura’s sick, too bright and too wrong, crackling with unstable magic.

It has to be the rogue the guy claims he’s after.

And he’s about to pounce.

“Hey,” I breathe. “Move?—!”

He turns half an inch as the mist retreats.

It’s enough to throw the attack off—but not stop it.

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