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DANTE

T he shadows vanish like breath on glass. One second they're snarling at the corners of the alley, thick with menace, and the next they're gone—sucked back into the void they slithered out of.

And I’m left alone in the dark.

No—not alone.

I turn, breath sharp in my lungs, ready to ask if she’s okay, what the hell that was, if she even knows how close she came to?—

But she’s gone too.

Figures.

I step forward, scanning the alley. No scent trail. No rustle of movement. Just the faintest shimmer of magic clinging to the brick wall where she leaned a second ago. A subtle pulse of something ancient and bitter-sweet, like a lullaby with a blade tucked inside.

Shit. She moved fast.

She’s supernatural, that’s for sure. But something I don’t think I’ve encountered before.

She looked like a mirage wrapped in a secret. The tattoos, the eyes, the way the air bent around her skin. And I walked right into it like an idiot with a hard-on and no sense of self-preservation.

I run a hand down my jaw, flexing my fingers to push the tension out of my knuckles. The beast inside me still claws at the bars of its cage, riled up, all teeth and heat. Not because of the threat. That I could handle.

Her?

That’s a different danger entirely.

What the fuck was that?

I’ve dealt with magical creatures before, not shifters, but others with abilities that is more than animalistic. But there was something different about her. Something, ethereal. Maybe I just haven’t had enough sleep, or maybe she’s something more than just a supernatural dancer. And the dark mist? It’s as if she were scared of it, knew what it was…

My mind goes back to thinking about the way her body moved inside of the club and my pulse skips again, and I curse under my breath. I’ve got a mission. A rogue wolf, a string of dead civvies, and a trail that led me straight to this club. I’m not here for some dancer with violet eyes and shadow-thin clothes and a spine like tempered steel.

But she’s in my head now. And worse, in my gut. Something about her… it pulls .

"Focus," I mutter, dragging in a breath.

The alley’s a dead end. No sign of the rogue. No sign of the fae. I scan the rooftops out of habit, then step back inside through the fire door she left cracked.

The hallway smells like cheap perfume, hairspray, and something sharp underneath. Blood magic, faint and old. My boots echo as I walk, and the bass from the club throbs back to life as I push through the black curtain.

Bodies pulse and sway like nothing happened.

Of course they don’t notice. Mundanes rarely do. The Veil’s cracked, not shattered. They may think they are aware of it all, but not fully. Not even close.

I weave through the crowd, eyes scanning for familiar signs—shifter scent, blood crusted under fingernails, magic discharge. Anything that might tell me the rogue is still here.

Nothing.

Just sweat and smoke and flashing lights.

The trail ends here. Bastard’s either clever or got help.

Either way, I’m stuck.

Might as well make use of it.

I head toward the bar, throw a few crumpled bills down, and catch the attention of the guy drying a glass with a rag that’s way past clean.

“Who’s the dancer?” I ask, nodding toward the empty platform she was on.

The bartender gives me a once-over. He’s stocky, human, probably thinks he’s seen it all. He hasn’t.

“Which one?”

“Dark hair. Violet eyes. Tattoos. Moves like she owns the air.”

He snorts. “Oh. Her. ” Then he leans in, lowers his voice. “We just call her Nightshade.”

“Real name?”

He shrugs. “Don’t ask, don’t get turned into a frog. That’s how I run this joint.”

Cute.

“She always disappear like that?”

He frowns. “Only when assholes go sniffing too close. You followin’ her?”

“Looking for someone. Rogue. Came in here tonight night. Big guy, beard, wild eyes. Might’ve smelled like wet dog and bad choices.”

The bartender raises a brow. “That description fits half the guys in here, but yeah. Think I saw one like that. Caused a stir, back door’s still dented.”

“Where is he now?”

“No idea. Security chased him into the alley earlier. He vanished.”

So he’s gone. Dammit.

My jaw tightens. I hate loose ends. But if that’s all I’ve got… maybe the fae saw something.

“Nightshade,” I say again. “She around?”

“She just finished her last set,” the bartender says. “Probably getting her stuff. If you wanna chat, you’ll have to catch her before she ghosts.”

I nod, already turning toward the hallway.

“Hey,” he calls after me. “Careful, man. That one’s not normal.”

“I’m not either,” I mutter without looking back.

I move fast, pushing through the curtain, slipping into the backstage corridor. The smell of her lingers here—smoke and moonlight, if that makes any damn sense. It punches straight into my lungs like a memory I don’t have yet.

I don’t know why I care. She’s not the target. She’s not the mission.

But she’s in this now. Whatever that shit in the alley was? It wasn’t just random. Something was stalking her. And if it ties to the rogue, or this place, or anything else going sideways in the supernatural world, then I need to know.

That's all this is.

Yeah. Right.

I reach the emergency exit at the end of the hallway as it clicks shut behind me as I step into the alley again.

She's not here yet.

Good. Gives me a second to get my head straight.

The rain has picked up again, a soft drizzle that steams on the warm pavement. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, watching the door.

She'll come out soon. And when she does, I’ll ask about the rogue. Maybe she saw him. Maybe she didn’t.

And if I happen to get another look at those violet eyes?

Well, that’s just a bonus.