four

It was a different night, couple later, and it was late again and I was out and about again. And there was a stone the size of the Beast's ego inside my shoe. Not that that simile would have come to mind then. I had more important things to worry about.

Leaning one hand against a wall for balance, I tugged the shoe off and jiggled it upside down. They were my favourites – purple rubber, three inches high with sinuously curved heels and the smell of fake strawberries infused into them. I sniffed appreciatively then stopped. In the industrial blankness of a street in Forbury there was something that didn't belong. It was deep and heady, spiced and dark, spoke of deep-rooted loyalties, long-lasting enmities, of land and home; it was the unmistakable scent of the Old Country. I looked up and found a cracked-open window above my head, then higher still to the building sign. Whitcliffe Papers. Didn't mean a thing to me.

I slipped my shoe back on, readjusted the strap, and pushed away from the wall. I moved off, hips swinging because heels never let them do anything else. The sassy clip-clop echoed off buildings and accompanied me down the street.

Another block and as I was checking my bag for the usb I had chucked in it, I heard the sound of footsteps behind me. Is there any other sound that's even half as ominous to a lone girl out on the streets? I picked up the pace like I was cold and working off the chill, the footsteps followed suit.

You get the idea; standard Hollywood fare. The pounding heart beat unnaturally loud in the quiet street, the shallow breaths verging on the pant of a hunted animal, looming shadows and the overwhelming urge to shout 'Look out behind you'. I might have enjoyed it if it hadn't been my heart putting a dent in my ribs as I looked oh so nonchalantly for the miraculous appearance of a benign crowd to slip into. But Forbury isn't exactly known for its company outside of nine-to-five.

I decided to screw it and make a break for the better-populated streets of City Rise, hoping my pretty purple shoes wouldn't take the opportunity to break my ankles, when as quickly as they had started the stalking steps stopped. I spun around and the street was empty, windowless walls blank and silent. The moon was a slip of a fragment but very bright, the air cold.

A sound came from the deep shadows that veiled a side alley. It was one I knew through paper-thin walls as the neighbours argued, across a bar as tempers spilled over like beer, as my head snapped back on my neck for a sharp still moment before the rush of pain. I knew I should go but I didn't move.

At length, a hulking shadow detached itself from the depths of the alleyway and moved towards me, the silhouette of a trench coat and hat.

"Are you alright, miss?" he asked me.

My lips were too dry but I smiled anyway. "Finer than spun sugar, honey. That was quite the dandy altercation you had yourself."

The Beast bent his head towards me intently.

I bobbed my head in a jaunty thank you. "It's a pity I don't have the time to show you just how much I appreciate it, but if you call–"

"It's you."

"It's me who? I don't recall–"

"The girl from the subway."

I made my eyes take a leisurely stroll over him and tossed my curls over my shoulder. "Now, honey, I'm sure I'd remember someone as ... big as you. You're not the kind as would slip a girl's mind."

His heavy brow lowered, scowled. "You're dressed differently..."

"I can dress however you like, honey. Just tell me what's your fancy." I fluttered my fingers at him. He seized my hand and used it to pull me close. His nose pressed to the hollow where my neck met my shoulder. It was warm and dry, more cat than dog.

"But your scent is the same," he said.

"Well now, you're making me a mite uncomfortable; I don't hold with any kinky stuff."

"I don't know why your hair is red not blue, you saunter not shuffle, your breasts are propped up around your ears instead of hidden under a too-big hoodie, or why you drenched yourself in ten-credit perfume, but underneath it all you're still the girl from the subway."

"Honey, I can promise you I don't take my business into the arena of public transportation. That's just beggin' to get yourself slapped with disorderly conduct."

In less than a blink of an eye, I found myself with my back against a wall, one wrist shackled above my head, and his hand (paw?) around my throat. "Don't play games. I'm the Beast, and what was it you said the other night? I don't make mistakes."

"I said your information was generally accurate, no more." Stupid perhaps to let pride prick and defend myself, but it was pretty obvious the game was up.

"Are you following me?" His heated breath washed over my face, and there was something odd – I'd noted it the other day as well but couldn't put my finger on what 'it' was.

"No, I have better, not-useless things to do with my time. Are you following me?"

"No, I just go where crime leads me. You seem to have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or perhaps it's more than coincidence?"

I looked left towards the alley from which the Beast and sounds of a thorough beating – it couldn't really be called a fight – had emerged. The soft pads of his paw rubbed against my skin like leather. "What have you done with him?"

The Beast shrugged cooly. "Don't mention it."

"Excuse me? If you'd like to do a little mental review you'll notice I didn't thank you, and I have less than no intention of doing so now or in the future."

"What is your problem? He was drunk and stupid and I distracted him from that sound your shoes make."

"What sound?"

"That clippy-cloppy sound that says 'Hello, I'm a woman in cripplingly-high heels alone on the streets, and though I could ram this sucker through the top of your foot if I tried, I won't because I'm too distracted being unable to run away'."

My eyebrow rose all of its own accord. "I hadn't realised my shoes were so talkative – do my sneakers next."

"The point is you should be thanking me."

"You're right – gratitude is the first thing that comes to mind when a stranger shoves up me against a wall."

Our eyes crashed together and held. I felt a lick of red-hot danger down my spine. His fingers tightened fractionally and then slowly I was released. The cold bit at my naked throat.

"Okay, I'm asking nicely this time," the Beast said in a quiet, rumbling voice that didn't fool me for a second. "What is your problem?"

I hunched my shoulders. "You've committed assault twice in my presence now, isn't that problem enough?"

"I saved you."

"I don't know that you did because nothing had happened and I only have your word that something might have. Why should I trust you? What's the difference between the guy in the alley beating on someone and you doing it?"

"I'm a good guy, he's a bad guy. I prevent crime, he makes it."

I snorted. "Your reasons are too shallow and too quick. You stole one of his human rights."

"He gave up his rights when he decided to commit a crime."

"That's so simple-mindledly stupid, especially when he hadn't even yet."

"Yet – yet, but he was going to. I could smell the adrenaline on him, the excitement, the hunt."

"What are you, the thought police? He was guilty of nothing but walking down a street while buzzed. And don't you bring me into it – I'm fine, I'm not even out of breath any more – all you've got is circumstantial bullshit. I mean it might be his birthday today he's excited about, and for a present you handed him his ass on a plate."

"Lady, you're even worse than you were on the train." And all of a sudden, I realised how loud my voice had risen.

"I have an opinion, alright, about justice and the system, and an abusive vigilante is like the polar opposite of that, whatever." Embarrassed now, I slid away from him. Having an opinion was one thing; taking on a beast, physically endangering myself to act on it, was a whole 'nother.

"Hey." Again with the lightening-fast moves, he grabbed my wrist and stopped me in my tracks. "You're not afraid of me anymore."

"Guess not. Blame it on the heels – they're killers on the ankles but do wonders for a girl's ego."

He looked at me hard enough to make me wonder if x-ray vision was one of his superpowers. "Who are you?"

"Every person in this city is tagged and recorded five times before breakfast. Surely you have a batcave somewhere you can find that out. Let me go please."

My arm was released slowly. "Or I could follow you to your home now."

"Serious? You want to just hand me the opportunity to add stalking to my list against you?"

The Beast almost let me walk at that. I got one step before he demanded, "Give me a name."

I took two more deliberate steps then shot back over my shoulder, "How about 'Conscience'? It's got a ring to it," and sauntered off into the night.

And okay, yeah, maybe once I was a couple of blocks over and sure I was out of earshot, I did a little victory dance, whatever.