Back in my hotel room, I dropped into bed without showering. I felt strangely clean after my ordeal in the water. Clean and drained.

That was close.

"Too close," Rosalind echoed in my head.

"Well, it's dead, isn't it?" I answered aloud in an empty room.

"Yes, but you can't hunt unprepared anymore."

"What do you mean? I have the sword, my powers, my training. I'm prepared!"

"Tonight demonstrates how unprepared you are. You're becoming arrogant, and it will get you killed, again."

To that, I had no answer.

"It's not only that," Rosalind went on, "but there are distractions that can hold you back as well."

My subdued state flared into anger. "I'm not letting Rafe distract me from my duties, even though I know I'm getting closer to him."

"He's not the only distraction to worry about."

"Can you see the future?" From her heavenly vantage point, I wondered if she could see all that there was to possibly see.

He answer was as vague as ever. "In a way."

"Why can't you just tell me what happens?" I was frustrated and tired. Figuring out my sister's mind games didn't appeal to me just then, not that they ever had.

"Have you ever told anyone what's in store for them?"

Rosalind's logic had silenced me again.

"I won't see you again, will I?"

"Not for a long time, no."

I didn't respond. She had left me before without explanation. It seems that everything she did, everything she planned for me was without explanation. If I asked her why she was leaving, or when she would be back, I would've been wasting my time.

Rosalind last words to me were: "Be careful, big sister. Like I said, I can only help you so many times."

* * * * *

Even though I had gotten used to being alone, I still felt lonely without the constant commentary from Rosalind. There was no one to direct my next move, or tell me to look behind me.

It was nice to have my thoughts back to myself though. I could think of Rafe without guilt. City after city, his scent grew stronger. I clung to it like a lifeline. There were times when I lost it, but I could always pick it up if I kept heading south.

From my original starting point, I had traveled southward about 350 miles. I hoped he'd gone no farther than Miami because if he had jumped to the Keys and beyond, I wasn't sure that I was up for an ocean voyage just yet.

However, I had the city of Naples to deal with first. There were dozens of Lillian trails for me to follow, but there was a more distinctive scent that I recognized as a Djinn. If I dealt with it first, it would not have a chance to create more Lillin, and my job would be simpler.

I followed the scent to the heart of the city. Instead of leading me to a club or bar, I stood in front of an apartment building. It's in there, probably tearing open the throat of a some poor girl or boy, I thought.

On the first floor, the smell took me to the 2nd door in the hallway. I was being reckless and perhaps arrogant once again. I was going after the enemy with no plan, but I didn't want to let someone else die.

I touched the doorknob, melting the locking mechanism. On well-oiled hinges, the door opened without complaint. Music hummed in her ears, emanating from a back room in the apartment. I followed my nose, and the music grew louder. Vivaldi's Concerto in A minor. Well, the demon chose a classy victim.

Past the kitchen was a work studio, cluttered with colorful paintings stacked on the floor and on the wall. On a stool was a paint-splattered radio, the source of the classical music.

Another stool held a demon that was the source of the burnt-bacon smell. Its back was to me, because it was studying a fresh painting before it on the easel. No, it was actually adding to it, paintbrush in hand, blond head tilted at an angle.

This was all wrong. Where was the victim? Where was the barbed teeth and animal lust? Could this creature be different? It was living in an apartment, painting, and just acting human.

Distractions, my mind warned. It's a demon, kill it.

Eyes ablaze with the fire inside me, I strode closer to it. The Djinn may have been somewhat different, but evil was all the same. A few paintings wouldn't change its true nature.

I was directly behind the monster, and ready to destroy it. Yet everything changed when I saw its hands. Really saw them.

Long, tapered fingers. They were almost too long to be real, but it wasn't the sort of long one equates with a spider. No, the hands were perfect, or what I imagined a pianist's hands would look like. Creative hands like those couldn't belong to a killer, could they?

The picture it was drawing was a farm landscape, like the rolling hillside farms in England. There was an endless quality to the painting, and that's what it was meant to convey, or at least I thought so. I watched the brush gently rise and fall in its hand as it finished adding detail to the blue sky. The picture was beautiful, and he—

Oh God, I called it "he," I thought.

Then he turned around and I...

* * * * *

...I saw his eyes. They weren't silver. Not totally. His irises were silver, but the surrounding color was a blue-green. He smiled, and it was one that would melt any schoolgirl's knees. His build was tall, strong, but not threatening. He had a swimmer's body. Okay, don't think about his body, just—

"Hullo." His British accent was audible from that one word.

And that was all it took for me to change my mind and break my rules. Killing him on the spot was out of the question. He was too...unique.

"Do you greet everyone who's about to kill you?"

His smile held. "You're not going to kill me."

"Oh really? Why not?"

He shrugged. "Just a feeling."

"What...are you?"

"You know, or you wouldn't be here."

He nodded at the sword that was lowered at my side. I looked down at it, as if noticing its existence for the first time. What, this old thing? My face betrayed little of the sheepishness I felt. But my reasoning returned gradually, and I scrutinized him more closely.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, but from your look and smell, I can guess at what you are." He put his brush in a jar of water on the stool next to him. "You're a hunter of my kind."

"You say 'your kind,' but you're the first I've seen like you. Living in a clean apartment, and not an alley or cheap motel room." I failed to mention how dingy motel rooms were my home of choice. "I mean, you're painting and...your eyes." They stared at me intently, and I was struck by the intelligence and kindness I saw in them. "You're different. How?"

"We may be born of the same parents, but that doesn't mean I'm the same as my brothers and sisters."

"Does that mean you don't need blood to survive, as they do?"

"None of us need the blood." He took a step forward. "But it makes us stronger."

My mind was racing, and I was frustrated that I could only ask one question at a time.

"Let me see if I can grasp the full scope of this." I took a step forward. "You're an otherworldly being with powers unimaginable to man, yet you choose to spend your time painting in an apartment. Unlike your 'siblings,' who enjoy maiming and killing, you enjoy creating works of art?"

"More or less, you've summed up my life in a few sentences."

I shook my head. "No, I think I've heard enough."

Despite my reservations, I was going to do what I had come here to do: kill a demon. For the second time, I raised my sword.

"You don't want to do that." The Djinn's tone was patronizing.

"I have to."

"You feel like you have to. You feel conflicted, but you also feel some wonder at what you've found in me." With a softness in his voice that I could feel, he went on to say, "There might be some attraction mixed in with all of those feelings of yours.

"How would you presume to know all that I'm feeling?" I was indignant, but I lowered my blade just a bit.

"Because I am an empathetic Djinn. Well, you can call me Tristan. I can feel other's emotions, including yours. It's part of why I live like I do."

At that point, my sword came back down to my side. He was right; I was conflicted.

Noble Djinn or not, the burning-bacon smell threatened to override my senses and send me into battle-mode once more. To avert any rash decisions, I thought it was best if I left promptly so I could analyze things alone.

Without a word, I turned and walked out of his work room. Before I closed his apartment door behind me, I heard him say, "Thanks for breaking my lock! When will I see you again?"

It was the answer and not the question that bothered me.

****

A/N: Bad boys are too tempting! And bad-boy demons even more so, ugh.

I wanted to thank the awesome kaygirl4life for noticing when The Dark hit 6.66k in reads. Quite the funky accomplishment. Furthermore, she was a good sport and put up with me on the 7.77k read anniversary. What a friend :D