The club throbbed with heat, velvet and neon bleeding together—red and gold lights flickering across sweaty skin like tiny suns. The crowd moved as one, a mass of bodies writhing to the bass that shook the floorboards, but Troy didn’t move.

She stood near the back, shoulders broad, arms crossed across her chest in that impossible stance that made her feel like she could flatten the entire room if she chose. Golden eyes fixed on the stage, unblinking, like she was observing a solar eclipse—dangerous, untouchable, impossible to look away from.

The dancer.

She moved with a power that made the air bend around her. Every step, every flick of her hips, every curl of her fingers told a story of grace and control. The music clung to her, wrapped around her like a second skin. Troy recognized it immediately—the fluid dominance, the reverence this body commanded—it mirrored the dancers back home, untouchable and worshiped.

Troy knew the rules.

Keep your distance. Do not reach. Do not speak. Admire. Respect.

And yet… the dancer noticed her.

Not like most people noticed her—few ever dared—but like she was a rare specimen. Not a predator, not a fan, not someone trying to stake a claim. Just… presence. Respect. That fascinated the dancer more than any flirty gaze or touch.

When the set ended, the dancer glimmering with sweat and glitter, she moved through the crowd with the effortless magnetism of a predator closing in on prey. Her eyes locked on Troy.

Troy tensed, four arms tightening slightly. She didn’t look away. She couldn’t.

“Let me guess,” the dancer said, low and smooth, voice like smoke curling through silk, “you come here just to stare and suffer in silence?”

Troy opened her mouth. Closed it. Finally, carefully: “No.”

“You’ve got the look of someone starved of indulgence,” the dancer said, tilting her head, the curve of her smile teasing. “Or are you just shy?”

Troy’s chest rose slowly. “On my planet… dancers are not touched. They are sacred. We admire. We do not approach.”

“Sacred, huh?” The dancer laughed, soft and amused. “That’s a first.”

Troy’s gaze dropped. “I did not want to offend you.”

“Oh, honey…” The dancer’s fingers brushed against the lowest of Troy’s arms, almost a tease, almost nothing. “You’re the first person all night who didn’t try to grab me like I was for sale.”

Something in Troy’s chest snapped. Heart hammering in unfamiliar rhythm, she looked up. Really looked. Golden eyes wide, pupils flickering. Panic, hunger, awe—raw, unfiltered—shimmering in her expression.

“You don’t mind?” she asked, voice low, rough with edge and disbelief.

The dancer leaned in, breath hot against Troy’s jaw. “I do mind being ignored by the tallest, sexiest thing in this damn place.”

Troy flinched, muscles tensing like a bowstring. “I—”

“You look at me like I’m a constellation,” the dancer whispered, trailing a hand along Troy’s forearm, “but act like I’ll burn you if you get too close.”

Troy’s voice cracked. “…Maybe you will.”

The dancer tilted her face until their lips were inches apart. “Then what a way to go.”

For a heartbeat, Troy’s two lower arms hovered awkwardly at her sides, upper arms still folded tight. Every instinct screamed to pull, to envelope, to protect and possess all at once, but she stayed frozen.

“You gonna just stand there?” the dancer teased, voice velvet and fire. “Or are you gonna let me show you what this planet does to girls who look at me like that?”

Troy murmured, “…I don’t know how.”

“Good,” the dancer smiled, brushing fingers along the base of one black, curved horn. “I love a challenge.”

One of Troy’s massive, scarred hands found its way into the dancer’s smaller one. Together, they moved toward the side lounge, the haze softer, the music gentler.

Troy followed, silent, eyes locked. Thoughts fleeting, fierce, and certain: If she’s fire… let me burn.