"Would you run from me?" he asked in a low voice, hating the fact that his heart sped at the thought of pursuing a mortal girl.

Leslie paused as a group of young men catcalled from their car. One of them hung halfway out the window, displaying his vulgarity as if it made him a man. Niall doubted that she could hear their words: the bass in their car was too loud for mere voices to compete with. Actual words weren't necessary to know threat. Leslie tensed.

The car sped away, the rumbling bass fading like thunder from a passing storm.

He whispered against her ear, "They're just children, Leslie. Come now. Where's that spring in your step?"

Her breathy sigh was soft enough that he would have missed it if he hadn't been standing very close. A little of the tension eased from her shoulders, but the drawn look stayed on her face. It never seemed to fade. Her makeup didn't hide the shadows under her eyes. Her long sleeves didn't hide the purpling bruises from her brother's angry strikes the other day.

If I could step in …

But he couldn't, not into her life, not into her home. That was forbidden to him. All he could do was offer her his words—words she couldn't hear. He still said, "I'd stop anyone from taking that smile from you. I would, if I were allowed."

Absently, she put one hand on her back and glanced in the direction of Pins and Needles. She smiled to herself, the same smile she'd worn when she left the tattoo parlor.

"Aaah, you've finally decided to decorate that pretty skin. What will it be? Flowers? Sun?" He let his gaze drift up her spine.

She paused; they'd reached the restaurant. Her shoulders sagged again.

He wanted to comfort her, but instead he could only give her his nightly promise, "I'll wait right here."

He wished she'd answer, tell him she'd look for him after work, but she wouldn't.