My mind snaps free of the fog. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

The man’s bald head whips around. He’s a big bloke, same height as me but wider, with a face like a slapped bulldog. His cheap suit stretches tight across his muscled shoulders.

“Who the fuck are you?” he bites out.

I address the woman. “You need help?” It’s best to check. It looks rough, but it’s none of my business what people are into.

The man slams his hand across her mouth. Her blue eyes plead with me. Fresh mascara-stained tears slide down her cheeks.

I step closer. “Move your hand.”

Baldy sneers. “What you gonna do if I don’t?”

There’s no point arguing with the arsehole. I jump forward and slam my fist into his face.

Baldy’s head whips sideways, his body crashing into the dumpster beside him.

I shake out my hand—hurts like a bitch. I know how to throw a punch, but hitting a face is like smashing your fist into concrete.

I check on the woman while her attacker remains distracted. She’s slumped to the ground, faux-fur coat gripped tight across her chest, blue eyes wide with fear. I want to pull her into a hug, take her somewhere safe, but I’ve got dickface to deal with.

“Go to the bar,” I say to her. “Find Terry, the barman. You can trust him. He’ll help you.”

She nods and scrambles to her feet, stiletto heels unsteady as she lurches away.

Baldy wipes blood from his nose. He sways but doesn’t take long to recover. His face twists with fury. “You little bastard.” He thrusts off the dumpster and flies at me.

I dodge sideways. It’s easy; he must have had a few. He lands on the concrete facedown but soon pushes up to try again.

“Let it go, man. You’re too drunk to fight.”

With a frustrated growl, he launches at me again, and from the shadows, Alyona steps up behind him. She spins him to face her as though he weighs nothing and, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to keep him still, stares him straight in the eye. “Leave.”

The man blinks. “Leave,” he repeats robotically, then stumbles away.

Well, shit. Why didn’t I try that?

“Thanks,” I say to Alyona, but when she turns, her face is all wrong. Her brow protrudes in a fierce line. Sharp incisors glint white between her lips. Her eyes burn like two flames in the dark.

A cold shiver slides down my spine. I don’t know what’s going on, but I know a predator when I see one.

I take a step back. “What are you?” My voice cracks on the question, fear tightening my throat.

She smiles. It isn’t a pleasant sight; it’s a raptor’s grin. “You’ll know soon enough, little Channeler.”

“You finished playing with the prince’s toy, Alyona?” The male voice comes from behind me.

I spin and find six men in the alley, all in identical black leathers. Not biker gear, more of a uniform: buckled vests, leather trousers, shiny boots, and long leather coats. They’re armed with swords.