She was nimble and certainly a natural when it came to dancing. She put him to shame really, but Darien actually didn't mind. If anyone was going to radiate on the dance floor, it should always be the woman. He forgets that she's trying to vanish and blend in with the crowd as they twirl and slow with the music. Wrapping her arms around him, he in turn places his hands on her hips; his heart begins to speed up almost in sync with the bass. That liquid courage was starting to wear off and the skittish Fae immediately had butterflies fill and swirl in his stomach. The room seemed to spin, but focusing on her helped to steady him. Just keep looking at her.

That would be easy.

This was fervent and unrestrained. Exciting, unintentionally thrilling. As if Darien wanted it any other way. He may have complained and often swallowed his anxiety, but he certainly loved it. The danger, the forbidden and the risky. He's so enthralled, he doesn't notice that her arm was now bleeding feverishly.

Over the music he hears her speak. His eyes automatically glance down to look at the movement of her lips (being they are still entwined rather intimately). Things were gonna get even more intimate. "I'm sorry!" His brow wrinkles with curiosity and paranoia. For a second his thoughts even go to that dark place of thinking she had tricked him and was about to stab him there on the floor. He's ready to throw her to the ground, the moment he feels her hands slide around his neck and grab his hair, he knows where this was going. Or he thinks he does, but he's still in flight or fight and ready to deck her in it came to that.

Flashbacks of being hunted by that Hunter play in his mind like a horror movie.

But she doesn't pull out a dagger. The feel of her soft lips on his was electrifying and unexpected. Every time he kissed someone (and it always seemed to be a stranger), it felt like a first. Uncharted and pristine in touch and taste. Closing his eyes, he's quick to fall in line with the fiery and impromptu makeout session. His left hand raises up from her hip to grab her neck, his forefinger running along her jawline and his thumb occasionally (and softly) rubbing her chin when it was available through the enthusiasm. The music seemed louder, his sense of smell heightens and he can pick up something faintly sweet. Her lips felt even more lush as the passionate kissing amplified. But just as he was getting revved up, she pulls away and her facial features become indifferent. She apologizes again and now Darien isn't sure if that was part of a distraction or if it was just a lustful impulse.

Either one was fine by him, but seeing her become almost detached in an instant was a bit offensive to the Fae. Oh yeah, she's hiding from someone ... shit. He shakes his head, unsure of what to say. She looks like she's about to take off, but instead she wobbles back into him and Darien instinctively catches her. Is she drunk or high on something? It was certainly starting to look like it, but then his eyes catch the blood-soaked towel around her arm. His eyes widen and he knows now this was more serious than she was putting on. "Hang on! Okay? Put your arm around my shoulder." He grabs her left arm, carefully lifting her up slightly and putting it around his neck and grabbing her waist with his right as he yells at people to move.

He doesn't even notice the blood that was dripping onto the floor, leaving a trail (including stains on the back of his jacket and jeans from their dancing).

He carries her to the bathrooms in the back. There is a line for the women's but he wasn't about to drag her into the men's (unless it came to that). Luckily, there is a handicap bathroom available and he quickly opens it. Not even knocking. It was a single bathroom, wide and relatively clean. Of course it was still a bathroom and he hated having to bring her here, but it would have to do for now. He leads her over to the toilet, carefully letting go of her and waiting for her to sit. He first goes back to the door and locks it, then he races over to grab several paper towels, wetting some of them and leaving others dry. Returning to her, he sits on the balls of his feet, handing her the wet towels. "Here, to wipe the blood off your face." In the fluorescent light, he can clearly see now it wasn't paint or makeup. The silver substance was certainly strange, but it doesn't phase him. He had met her kind before. "You're a Witch, eh?" He says nonchalantly. He looks at the soaked towel around her arm (and it's certainly strange seeing it with silver instead of red) and he looks at her with caring and thoughtful eyes. "Can I look?" He points at it, asking her permission. "It looks pretty serious. I'm no expert, but I can help, please?"