ROARKE'S BODY THROBBED with the loud music that was pouring out the nearby club and travelling down the alleyway to his sensitive ears. The shadows surrounded him as he crept along the wall towards the club's only door, heavily guarded by two large bouncers. Not a major problem for him. The only potential issue that could possibly arise from this certain encounter would be someone coming to investigate, and Roarke didn't exactly want to deal with more stupid humans.
Just before Roarke reached the alley's opening onto the empty street, he crouched low against the filthy brick wall. Closing his eyes, he blocked out all the noise coming from the club and concentrated on his soul. Roarke felt the familiar rush of exhilaration as his Eagle form took over his body. He straightened up and opened his golden eyes, bright with natural curiosity. Roarke was a Shifter. This was his life.
Roarke opened his wings and welcomed the breeze that felt ten times more invigorating than when he was as his human self. Shuffling his large clawed feet the last metre and exiting the alleyway, Roarke beat his wings a few times and took off in the direction of the bouncers.

Once inside the club, Roarke shifted back to his human form behind the largest pot plant he could find, which, he noted, was artificial, like most things these days. Shrugging, he headed straight for his second favourite place in the world. The bar. He waved cheerfully at the regular bartender, Alex, who gave him a questioning look in return. Roarke guessed he should probably explain why he was here, and why he was here now. As Roarke reached the bar counter, Alex raised his grey eyebrows.
"Yeah, yeah. I broke the rules, okay?"
"Hell, yeah, Roarke. I'm already serving you your regular drinks… and covering it." An awkward silence followed Alex's rant. "How did you get in here, Roarke?"
Just last week, Roarke had been a tad too forward with another local. His punishment was a three week ban. Not that Roarke acknowledged this. "Let's just say I used my talents."
Alex huffed and turned away to get Roarke his drink, an Irish concoction, called Alcopops, made with water, sugar, food color, juice and strong alcohol. Handing it to Roarke, Alex turned again, shaking his head, and began making two more, as it was customary for Roarke to have more than one. Despite this, Roarke never made it past his record of three glasses.
Sipping the drink slowly, Roarke studied the crowd and thought of his trip he went on last year with his father to Ireland. Being Irish of descent, Roarke hadn't minded. What he had minded though, was that that was the last time he would ever see his father again. Some idiot had ploughed into his motorbike, killing his father instantly. Just one of many reasons that the bar was a favourite spot for Roarke. With effort, Roarke drew himself away from the painful memory, scanning the crowd on the dance floor again. A blonde haired girl caught Roarke's attention instantly. Damn, he thought. Like in a trance, Roarke made his way down onto the floor. He was just two wriggling bodies away when he saw him. No, he did not know him, but Roarke felt as if he had seen this boy before. Tall, but still looking sixteen or seventeen, the boy had dark, spiked hair and bright, green eyes. Around his left wrist was a tattooed pattern, delicate tendrils that wove around each other. Ignoring the look the boy gave him, Roarke tapped on the girl's shoulder, making her turn.
"Er. Hi." Roarke smiled.
"And who the hell are you?" the girl fired back.
"The best thing that's ever happened to you," Roarke said, his voice low.
"Mmhmm." She looked unconvinced.
"Hey, buddy! I don't know who you are, but this is my girl," the taller boy snarled.
"Okay, buddy. Don't worry. Have her." Roarke laughed. "She's way out of your league anyway."
Roarke turned sharply on his heel, heading back towards the bar.
Suddenly, a strong hand dragged him backwards, almost pulling him off his feet. It let go for only a moment, allowing Roarke to spin around looking for his attacker. He had already guessed who it might have been. The tall dark-haired boy was glowering, his face becoming red with anger. Roarke held up his hands, palms facing outwards. "Okay, didn't mean to make you mad. What have you had to drink, anyway? A bar's no place for a teenager." Like he could talk. Roarke was barely nudging 18.
This last comment seemed to provoke the boy even further, and Roarke bent his knees; slid into a subtle crouch. Although this wasn't exactly threatening, the taller boy let out an unusual growl and came barreling towards Roarke, aiming for his stomach. Roarke simply side-stepped and followed through by swinging a clutched fist towards the boy's back. Although emitting most of his power into his punch, Roarke's fist never even grazed the boy's shirt. Instead, an invisible force stopped Roarke's attack, sending splitting pain up his muscled arm. Ignoring the throbbing, Roarke looked up at the boy now standing just in front of him, staring down coldly. As he straightened up, Roarke gave a probing look at the boy. He just shrugged in answer. "So," Roarke said, hiding a grimace, "You're like me."
The other boy glared at him, eyes narrowed. A muscle in his jaw twitched in agitation. "Who are you?" he snapped.