From out of nowhere, Niall was there. "Are you okay?"

"I will be." Leslie turned to walk away from Mitchell, but he grabbed her arm. Unbidden, the image of the dealer crumpling to the ground with her hand on his wrist rose up. It would be wrong. She stared at Mitch's hand on her skin. So? He's wrong.

"Don't touch Leslie," Niall said. He didn't move, but the tension in his body was obvious enough that people were backing away.

"Niall? It's cool. I've got it." She pulled her arm away from Mitchell, but when she turned around, Mitchell slapped her ass. His friends laughed again, but this time they sounded a little nervous.

Leslie swung back, hand curled into a fist, angry to a degree that felt obscenely good. For a moment, her vision was off. People all through the club were watching her, but they didn't look like people. Claws, thorns, wings, horns, fur, misshapen features, so many people looked wrong. It made her pause. Niall stepped in front of her and asked, "Are you well?" She was anything but well. Her pulse was racing like she had been chasing caffeine pills with espresso shots. Her vision was a mess; her emotions were a mess; and she wasn't about to say any of that aloud. Instead, she said, "I'm fine. It's fine. Everything's … fine. You don't need to—“

He cut her off. "He shouldn't disrespect you like that."

Leslie put her hand on Niall's shoulder. "He's no one. Come on."

Mitchell rolled his eyes. She hoped he'd leave it at that, but he was too drunk to have the sense to keep his mouth shut. He leaned in toward Niall. "You don't need to act all heroic to get in her pants, man. She'll spread those scrawny legs for anyone. Won'tcha, Lezzie?"

The sound that came out of Niall's mouth was more animal than human. He started forward, his body at an odd angle as if something were physically holding him back. Mitchell backed up. Leslie followed. She reached out then and gripped Mitchell's face with both hands. She pulled him toward her like she'd kiss him. When he was close enough to feel her words on his lips, she whispered, "Don't. Not tonight. Not ever again." She squeezed his face until tears came to his eyes. "I'll eat you alive. Got it?"

Then she let go, and he stumbled backward. The people who were watching her, those who'd looked just a moment ago feathered and oddly proportioned and otherwise not right, grinned. Some nodded at her. Others applauded. She pulled her gaze away from them. They didn't matter. What mattered was that her heartbeat was calm again.

A few steps away, Mitchell stood stuttering. "She … she … did you see … bitch threatened—"

Right then, Leslie felt invincible, like she could walk into a fight and not be touched, like there was some extra energy humming in her bones. It made her want to move, roam, see how far she could push it. She started to walk away, but Niall touched her arm gently.

"There's all sorts of dangers out there." He caught and held her gaze. "It would be safest if I walk with you."

Safe wasn't quite what appealed to her right then. Safe wasn't how she felt. Invincible, in control, powerful— those words felt closer to true. Whatever this fearlessness, this strength, this difference was, she was starting to like it. She laughed. "I don't need protecting, but I'd take the company."

Although Niall was mostly quiet as they walked through the dim streets, it didn't feel awkward or uncomfortable. Her bad feelings, her usual worries and fears, seemed to be absent. It felt good; she felt good. The choice to change herself, to get her skin decorated, had been a turning point.

Niall caught her hand in his as they walked. "Will you stay at Seth's tonight? I have a key."

She wanted to ask why he cared where she slept, but the chance to stay somewhere safe was reason enough not to ask. She might feel invulnerable, but she wasn't entirely without logic. So she asked, "Where's Seth?"

"At the loft with Aislinn."

"And where are you planning to stay?" she asked.

"Outside."

"So you're going to sleep in the yard?" She looked away, and in doing so saw him out of the corner of her eye. Gone was the face she recognized. His eyes weren't just brown: they were shimmering with the patina of well-aged wood, the sheen of something caressed too often. His scar was red, like a still-tender wound, jagged as if an animal had slashed one long claw over his face. But it wasn't these things that made her draw her breath in so suddenly: he glowed faintly, as if he were being illuminated from some brazier inside.

As at the Crow's Nest, what she'd seen a moment ago and what she saw now weren't the same at all. She shivered, staring at him, reaching her hand out to touch the thick black shadows that lingered alongside his skin. Those dark shadows surged toward her hand, as if she were a magnet.

"Leslie?" He whispered her name, and it was the voice of wind racing down an alley, not a sound made by a person.

She blinked, hoping he wasn't one of those people who asked, "What are you thinking?" She wasn't sure what she'd say. The shadows pushed against her outstretched fingers, and she had a flash of the ink at Rabbit's shop: those shadows had wanted to crawl toward her from the uncapped ink bottle.

Niall spoke again. "I want to stay with you, but I can't."

Hesitantly she faced him, immeasurably relieved that he looked normal again. She looked at the street. Everything looked fine. What just happened? She was about to turn her head again, to see if he'd look different again, but he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the underside of her wrist.