Past 1 a.m. Tristan was probably walking home. In order to catch him before then, I rushed like the dickens. I wasn't as fast Tristan, but I was fast. I knew he would walk home from work like he always did as part of his ruse to appear human.

As I suspected, he was strolling along on his usual route back to his apartment. I came up behind him, slowing down to approach more quietly.

Tristan didn't hear me. He was whistling Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon." Yeah, he had a lot to whistle about. He had an easy thing going with me. Well, no more.

"What are you doing, shadow of mine?"

I was stupid to think Tristan couldn't hear me. Of course he could. His senses were keener than mine. He was a freaking demon.

We both stopped walking, and stood on the sidewalk. Tristan didn't turn around, waiting for me to answer.

Being blunt straight off was the best thing, I'd found. "I'm not your shadow. I'm the person that's going to kill you."

Still not facing me. "We're on that page again? Why?"

"Because I can't trust you."

That got him to turn around. "How so?"

His white button-down shirt was undone, giving me a show of the goods underneath. Ah, Imogen, concentrate.

"You let me think you killed that demon from our first hunt together. Yet, it was alive, and I found that out tonight because it tried to kill me."

"That's why your emotions are all over the place."

Tristan was mostly speaking to himself, unconcerned that I had uncovered his treachery.

"Yeah, genius, it's also why I'm going to kill you."

Inside, I let the fire rage white hot. It expanded, filling me up like a long deep breath of air. Just as I was about to let it out, Tristan spoke.

"That doesn't seem fair."

The fire fell from my eyes, also dousing internally. I was confused about what to do next.

Tristan continued, "How can you hold it against me that I'm not a master Djinn hunter. That's your job."

My tongue was as frozen as my fire lore. I had come to him expecting one thing, and I should have known he would deliver something else entirely for me to consider. He had turned the situation around, and I should have been suspicious. I should have been more cautious. I ignored my rationale in favor of forgiving the fiend.

"I thought you killed it. You never told me otherwise."

"You never asked."

Again, we stood in silence on the sidewalk. The wind blew my hair gently around my face. Tristan reached across the divide to tuck my hair behind my ear. It was something I would have done myself, but his gesture was so tender that I forgot about any misunderstanding between us.

"Demon hunter?" I repeated his phrase with a mocking smile. "There's gotta be a better term for that."

"There is." He returned my smile. "In the old days, your kind was called a venator."

"A venator? What is that? Greek?"

"No, it's Latin. In Greek, my kind was called a daimon."

"You are just full of useful information."

We made love four times that night, kicking the bedpost against the wall well into the morning. I thought our unions were full of emotion and intimacy, but Tristan never looked me in the eyes during.

* * * * *

Bed was a much easier place to stay. Getting up, getting dressed, and going out...all that seemed above and beyond. Peeing, food...those were the staples in life. That and cuddling with another warm body.

Cuddling? Mmm, sort of. And warm? Not really.

The non-cuddling was keeping both of us under the covers. When the light was highest in the sky, we decided it was time to break free of our naked cocoon.

"Where shall we go?"

Tristan and I were across from each other on the bed, stomach-side down, elbows acting as our support columns. I felt positively giddy.

"Let's go to Dave's and have lunch."

"Ugh." A pillow in the face. "I work and eat there all the time. Let's go to that French place for brunch."

I giggled, not caring if I sounded ridiculous.

"Lunch at Dave's," Tristan chided. "American."

Hand-in-hand, we walked to the French café that was a few blocks away from the apartment. The sun was bright, birds were singing new tunes, and I was happy. I had full trust in Tristan. Therefore, I wasn't prepared for what was to come next.

We passed by a cobble stoned ally, the same one we passed almost every day. It was always empty. For the most part, cats crawled in and out of the dumpster, content in their trash paradise. I expected we would pass the alley without incident, but the sounds I heard coming from it were not the mewls of a cat.

The dumpster had been turned long-ways in an attempt to hide the crime taking place. Two young girls struggled for their lives as a group of five men put their hands up their skirts, down their shirts, and everywhere else.

Their faint sounds of distress made me look down the alley I had previously dismissed. How no one else responded to the muffled screams astonished me, but then I remembered that my senses were heightened. It was possible that no one else heard but Tristan and me. Then again, humans didn't like to get involved in confrontation.

Tristan's attention was on the alley, same as me. In wordless agreement, we both moved into the opening of the alley.

Each girl was kicking and fighting, but their waning strength was no match for five excited men. We had to step in quickly, before the girls were seriously hurt. Or worse yet, killed. This was new territory for me, though, and I was sure it was for Tristan as well. These were humans, breaking human laws, meaning I couldn't in good conscience kill them. Knocking them unconscious and breaking their legs was my second option.

"You get the two pigs standing off to the side, and I'll take care of the rest," I whispered to Tristan, unaware that he was hardly listening.

In fact, Tristan couldn't take his eyes off of the scene in the alley. I couldn't either, but I was more objectively assessing things, whereas Tristan's eyes were silver hooded pools of delight. It was the beginning of the end for us, but I was never a good predictor of my own future.

I nudged Tristan to make sure he had heard me. He glanced at me sharply, as one does in annoyance when they're bothered while watching their favorite movie.

"No killing. They're human. Barely, but we have to respect that. All right?"

Tristan didn't acknowledge my words.

"All right?" I asked louder.

"Yeah, all right. No killing."

With our combined speed, strength, and precision, the five men never stood a chance. Tristan pinned two men against the wall in a whirlwind of what I thought was a display of self-righteousness. Really, he was acting on passion and aggression.

As for the three men who were enjoying themselves far too much, I made good on my promise. I broke their legs. My sword hilt was my Billy club. The men went down in a heap before they even realized their femurs were poking through their skin. They lay on the street, screaming in greater agony than they had been inflicting. It was music to my ears, and probably to the two victims as well.

Skirts and shirts askew, both girls were stunned into silence. Two more thuds resounded off of the walls of the alley, and the girls jumped. They had nothing to worry about, because it was the other men Tristan had taken care of. He had a choke-hold on them until they passed out. That didn't seem like enough punishment to me, and I was about to remedy the situation with a good snapping of their bones, until I saw the state of their mangled necks. Tristan was wiping blood from his mouth.

I gave him a look and he shrugged. "You only said not to kill them."

True. My attentions turned back to the young women still cowered on the ground. With the dignity they deserved, I knelt down and began buttoning buttons, and smoothing their yanked up skirts. They stared at me, frozen in their incomprehension of what had just happened.

"You're okay now. They can't hurt you anymore."

I didn't know of any more appropriate things to say as I righted their underwear for them. There were no words to match that intimate act, and no words to alleviate their pain and humiliation.

When the girls were once again dressed, I got up and extended both of my hands out to help them. After a moment's hesitation, they took my hands and stood up as well.

One of the girls toppled under legs that were still shaking in shock. She looked embarrassed.

"It's all right. Take your time."

The girl that was standing asked me, "Who are you?"

This was another scenario for which the proper response escaped me. Tristan answered for me.

"She's a venator." The girls eyes widened in awe at the foreign word and the power behind it.

I laughed, and they were even more shocked at my cavalier attitude.

I said, "No, I'm not a venator. I saw you in trouble and wanted to help, that's all."

As I assisted the other girl in standing up, she said, "Whatever you are or aren't, thank you."

I had never been very involved. It was worlds easier to distance myself emotionally so that if people died (and I had found that they always did so before their time), it wouldn't matter much to me. The last victim that had died on me was a memory that still cut deep. These two young women, not just with their gratitude but with their living state of being, helped to alleviate my guilt.

Could I buy back the life of that woman, or even Rosalind's, by saving two other innocents? Did that make me a venator? Not really, but it was a start.

"Let's take you to the hospital. Tristan, can you...?" My question was directed at the second young lady who stood behind me, alone.

"Where's—?"

"He left." The second girl shrugged.

Odd, but I had no time to analyze his disappearance. I wasn't about to jeopardize lives by waiting around for Tristan a second time.

On either side of me, I held a girl up for support, and we made our way out to the street.

* * * * *

A/N: What could Tristan be up to? Do you trust him?

Dedicated to a constant reader, NehuUpadhyay. You're my new favorite badass :D