Staying away from Tristan was not as hard as I thought it would be. After all, this was a town filled with Lillin, as all the others had been. As the days and nights went by, I questioned my decision to let him live. Had I done it out of pity, curiosity, or God forbid, attraction to the monster? The more I let the decision tumble around in my brain, the more I thought I had been wrong.

Life may be more complex than black and white, but a demon had no shades of grey. Tristan had played me, and I had fallen for it.

I still had the intense aroma of Tristan on my radar, so it was not hard to find him. The trail did not end at his apartment, but at a small restaurant. It was the kind of dive people went to when they were broke but still wanted to eat out. "Dave's Shack" was the name that lit up the neon sign out front. Every table was covered with checkered tablecloths and a vase of fake flowers. Cheesy but quaint.

I scanned the minds of everyone inside, but none yielded the results I needed. Going inside was not something I wanted to do because I could hear the thoughts of thirty people or more, and it would only get worse if I went in.

When I still didn't see him after a while, I went inside the restaurant to look for Tristan. The smiling hostess asked me how many would be joining me for dinner. I told her my party was already seated and I would look for them. As I breezed past her, her fake smile faded and she resumed flipping through a magazine.

Couples and families looked up from their meals briefly, but Tristan wasn't among them. A few of the clientele pointed and whispered about the sword on my hip. But I was used to that.

Smells and shouts from the kitchen caught my attention.

"Order up!" The lilt in the voice surprised me. Through the metal shelves of the kitchen's opening, I could see a golden head of hair that the voice belonged to.

Despite the looks from the waitresses, I waited at the kitchen bar. Tristan whirled around with a bowl and whisk, chewing down a stick of garlic bread. He saw me, and the bread fell from his mouth.

"You."

Crumbs on this mouth did nothing to belittle the beauty of his face. The imperfection made him even more appealing, like a puppy with a discolored tuft of hair on its head.

Where did that sappy analogy come from, I wondered.

"Yes, it's me," I said.

Tristan continued to whisk a white, creamy concoction around in the bowl. A lanky youth in an apron tapped him on the shoulder, and they conferred about ingredients and time tables on orders. A minute passed. Three minutes. Five. I felt stupid just standing there, and equally stupid for showing up and lamely saying, "Yes, it's me," when I should have dragged him outside by his Ken-doll head of hair and fought him to the death. But no, I had stuck myself in the same situation as most teenage girls; I was waiting for a handsome boy to take notice of me again.

A waitress with a heart-shaped face and wiry red hair approaching the kitchen serving counter asked me, "Miss, do you need something?" You've been standing here for no reason.

"No, I was just," waiting around like an idiot, "leaving."

I ducked my head to hide my strawberry face. I was sure that everyone was staring at me as I strode out of "Dave's Shack."

Outside, the air was muggy. I wished I was in Boston, if only for the cold dry air that would have served to refresh me as opposed to the thick Florida air that made me feel suffocated. God, what was I thinking? Was my plan to shyly chat Tristan up and then kill him?

Without thought, I was walking. To where, I wasn't sure, but I had to put distance between myself and my embarrassment back at the restaurant.

Clop, clop, clop.

Footsteps sounded from behind me. By habit, my hand went to my sword. A Lillin must have followed my scent. I was not the only one on the offensive.

"Where are you going? Whoa, hey!" Tristan had his hands in the air.

Before he had finished his first sentence, I had drawn my sword, making the impressive ringing zshawing sound I had come to love. Even though it was only Tristan (ha, only a bloodsucking killer) and not a Lillin, I didn't put my sword down.

"You're not gonna use that, are you?" He grinned like he wasn't worried at all.

"I have a job to do, and I'm going to do it, regardless of my personal feelings." I was breathing hard, eyes narrowed.

Ready or not, I was going to end this man. No, not this man. This monster.

"You don't have to do anything. Well, I wouldn't mind if you came back to my apartment so we could talk without you running off. A bad habit, that, running off. The only bad habit I've ever been accused of having was my habitual charm."

There was something about his voice that I found erotic. It was hypnotizing me. At least, I didn't want to believe it was, but it was overtly seductive. Not only that, but his words held a kind of normalcy that made me feel ridiculous for even thinking about attacking him.

In response to his request, I sheathed my sword and relaxed my pose.

"How is it that you seem so...human?" I asked.

A slow smile pulled in the dimples on his face. "It's my accent that helps me fool everybody."

His statement should have worried me, but it didn't. Instead, I smiled and turned away from him, almost like flirting.

"Ah, see? My charm wins again!"

* * * * *

Back at Tristan's apartment, we both sat in his drawing room staring at one another. He was perched on a stool, and I was seated on a purple velvet lounge chaise across the room. He was eating a shiny red apple, crunching on it obnoxiously loud.

I wanted to tell him to cut it out, but the awkward silence was too thick, and I didn't want to be the one to break it. If he wanted me to trust him, he had to work for it.

Things got so quiet that I was counting the ticks of my watch. One, two, three, four....

"You could sit over here, ya know." There was an empty stool next to him.

"I'm good where I'm at, thanks," I said.

"You don't have to pretend not to like me, love. Empathic, remember?"

Ugh, it was worse than Rosalind's mind reading, and much more embarrassing.

"And you don't have to keep suggesting what I should and shouldn't do!" I took on a poor British accent, mocking him with, "You could sit over here. I know you like me. You don't have to kill me, love."

Tristan had stopped mid-chew when I began my lilting tirade. When it was over, he blinked, and then laughed.

"That wasn't half bad."

I thought back to the other two times I had encountered him. The man always had a smile in answer to my questions or threats, never anything real. "You don't take anything seriously, do you?"

"Why should I when you take on that load enough for ten people?" He shifted in his chair and took another bite of his apple.

"This is not about me. This is about you, the monster that lives like it's a post-grad student. You could have anyone, or anything, anytime you like, and yet you spend your time working as a sou chef."

"Gotta pay the rent somehow," he grumbled in between bites.

I went on as if he hadn't spoken. "You have the power to manipulate matter, but you paint the slow way—"

"The human way," he corrected me.

"And you could have me, right now," I spoke loudly, "but you seem much too decent for that. I don't understand you at all."

My admission of attraction hung in the air. Obviously, Tristan knew I liked him, but my saying it aloud made it more substantive.

But what about that one guy, Rafe? You know, your husband, a voice inside me whispered.

I hadn't forgotten about Rafe. Not Really. I was merely curious about this rare Djinn who was more like a human than a demon. He was a super being with powers, but he didn't take advantage of them. Tristan was like...me.

So that was it then. The allure was that I had found someone who could understand me and I wanted to explore it. My mind was made up.

"I'm going to go now, but of course, that won't surprise you." As I spoke, I rose up from the chair, and I began walking to the kitchen to make my exit.

"What? Why?"

Tristan sputtered the last few bites of his apple. He got up to follow me as I went.

"I'm wasting my time sitting here talking with you when I should be out hunting."

I was walking down his front hallway, my boots thudding on the wooden floor.

"By all means. Don't let me keep you."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I buttoned up my coat. "You're coming with me."