She could feel the strength of his will again. The hunger in her grew. She squared her shoulders and moved toward him.

"Do you have a name?" He requested as she reached her seat.

She slid upon the stool gracefully, and the power of her strength was overcome by her need; her eyes met his. "Kyi, and you are?"

"Jade," he supplied without offering his last name to follow suit. He was not one to approach a woman. It wasn't because he lacked the courage, but that he simply never had reason before. They always swarmed to him. This, however, was not just any woman, and he was certain she was afforded the same luxury of men flocking around her.

He was not sure what was pulling him toward her, but he was without question being pulled. Pulled, in fact, from the comfort of his home on a night, when he had not intended to venture out. But feeling propelled, he had come, and seeing her, he knew why. He could tell by her cavalier way that she would never come to him. He also knew that if he did not approach her, she would stubbornly sit there all night.

Their eyes held and she noted he did not falter as he watched her. Most men would have glanced away from her, unconsciously knowing something was not right. She rarely looked a man in the eye like this. He was striking, looking every inch the vampire. His features were strong, well defined, his hair almost the same color as hers, the deepest brown, almost black. Yet she knew he was mortal. She should not have come here. His eyes, they were beautiful, thick lashes covered them as they probed hers. His words brought her back to reality.

"And you give pity to men?"

"Excuse me?"

"That man you just danced with . . . was for pity."

She glanced back at the man. She had not asked his name, but he was talking to his friends having forgotten about her, just as she had intended. Her eyes went back to Jade's.

"You intend to deny it?" He offered into the silence.

"No." She spun on the stool. His shoulders were broad, and he was dressed in a black button-down shirt that had a slight shimmer affect to it, the collar open, revealing part of his chest. He wore black jeans. When he reached for his drink, his cuffs where open, revealing his wrists and masculine hands. She groaned inwardly. They looked as if they had come together, dressed in black. Her mind wandered back to a time long ago when she could stand in the sunlight and face the day. She had worn black even before she believed in fairy tales and vampires. She had always preferred black. Over two hundred years and she had never worn anything but.

"Then, if you will dance with him for pity, a dance with me for pleasure should be your reward."

"Awful arrogant, aren't we?" She responded with a wayward smile.

His smile in return was most charming. Her hunger grew. She felt she should leave.

He stood, offering his hand confident she would accept.

"You always get your way with the women?" She questioned, remaining where she sat.

"An insult?" He feigned hurt, humor dancing in his eyes. "As if you do not always get your way with the men?"

If only that were true. She could feel his hunger grow for her as he gazed bracingly at her. She was certain he knew she felt the same, but he had no way of understanding her hunger for him. It was not the same. She met his eyes again. Powerful. The hunger stung at her and it hurt. She placed a hand in his and slid off the stool. She followed him onto the dance floor and allowed him to lead her in another waltz. He was good, skilled. He pulled her close, indecently so. He was playing with fire and he had no idea.

When the song ended, he could sense she would walk away, so he ended with a bow. Making a point, he turned and walked back to the bar first, reclaiming his stool.

She knew he thought she would follow and sit beside him again. Her heart and her hunger grew, and she wanted to do just that but she could feel Mesha howling for her. She walked past him and out the door. She moved to the seclusion of the parking lot where she could vanish into the night. She could not risk driving as her car was marked as Patrick Clayborne's car by the town's people, and she didn't want her female side associated with the Manor House.

He called her name.

She had not been quick enough. She turned slowly to catch his questioning eyes.

"Running away? Why?"

"I was just passing through and I needed a drink," she lied sweetly.

"Dressed like that, I don't think so. I think you wanted company."

Company. She craved company. She craved a soul-mate. She had learned that was not to be. He would be no different, she reminded herself.

"Come back inside," he prompted.

"I can't, I must be going."

"No, you want to go, there is a difference."

"Well, either way, the same result is the end," she chided.

"No, not if I can persuade you otherwise." He kept the amusement in his tone.

"There are at least three women in there who would gladly spend quality company time with you."

"Yes, I know, but it's not them that pulls at my heart strings."

"Your words are not your own."

"What?" He was confused by that one. "Oh, I see . . . " The light donning on him as he spoke. "You're so charming that I can't resist you, and for my own good, I should run away while I still can, because . . . because . . . " He was searching the air for words. "You have this horrible past that you are running from." He paused with a tinge of a smile. "How's that?"

"Well, I can see why you couldn't resist me, but how did you guess the rest?" She laughed as she walked closer to him.

"A coy game women often play to make men chase after them."

"Really? Then what you're saying is that you've been fool enough to fall trap to it before?" She scoffed.

He laughed. "Witty."

"Charming. So what? You want me to invite you back to my place? Spend the night, pretend to be my prince for the evening, and then run away tomorrow, furthering the pain of my past?"

"And you accuse me of being the fool?"

"Meaning-?"

"You fell for the reverse trick. The man pretends to aide the damsel in distress thereby satisfying his own desires. You would not have responded such if you had not fallen victim as well, so you mock yourself by mocking me." His lips curved in humor.

"Clever."

"Charming, witty, clever are we." Eyes glittering and a laugh on his lips, he proceeded. "Now, your car or mine."

"Yours."

"It's parked down the street."

"I'll wait here. Out of the wind."

"You won't run away?"