A WEEK EARLIER, Washington, DC . . .

It had been three months and four days since my last encounter with one of them. Since moving to DC, I'd been running into more; however, the past few months had been about work, work, and . . . oh, yeah, work.

Steven signaled the blonde waitress to bring another three bottles.

I hadn't finished half of my first Corona, and Steven and Mark were already on their third. It wasn't my first time going out for drinks with my colleagues, but I was always surprised by how well they held their alcohol.

"Hey, let's go talk to those girls over at the bar," said Steven, eyeing a group of women who were chatting. "We have to celebrate. It's Friday, and we finished the code."

Mark nodded and winked at the waitress, coming with the three drinks. He stood and reached for the chair to support himself. His movements were a tad sluggish. Taking a bottle of beer from her, he gave her a crooked smile.

She kept a straight face, ignoring his poor attempt at a flirt, probably used to seeing dozens of men trying the same thing every night. "Is there anything else you need, guys?"

"Your phone number," Steven and Mark chorused together. They glanced at each other and burst out laughing, then high-fived.

The waitress rolled her eyes and gave me an expectant look, waiting for a similar comment.

"I haven't finished my first." I raised my bottle for another sip.

She gave me a nod, probably glad I didn't try a pickup line, then she dashed off, muttering, "Idiots."

The waitress was cute in a girl-next-door sort of way. She wore a black top with a floral print that matched her wide-leg pants. All the employees at the club, Yuugen, wore floral prints of various colors, which was a bit unusual for a place like this—or at least, it was something I hadn't seen before.

She swayed between the people and tables like a ballerina, and I had to admire how graceful she was. It was as if the entire place was a dance floor for her.

"Hey, aren't you coming?" Steven's words snapped me out of my trance.

"Not right now, maybe later. You guys go ahead and do some testing." I motioned with a fake grin.

They shrugged, grabbed their bottles, and made a beeline toward the women at the bar.

Working so many hours with them for the past few weeks had taken a toll. I knew all the jokes, all the stories. I wanted some time for myself, to clear my head and focus on something else. But I had a hard time relaxing, feeling like something nagged at me. I turned my chair to gleam a better view of the dance floor and took another sip while reviewing the past week. I'd been skipping the gym, and my body didn't like it—I had too much energy built up.

"Hey, I see your friends have moved to the bar. Should I close the tab, or is there anything else you want tonight?" A silky voice, whispering words close to my ear, brought me back to reality.

It was the waitress, but her tone was different—more enticing.

A quick glance confirmed Steven and Mark were now involved in a conversation with a couple of girls. They were laughing and having fun, and I couldn't blame them.

"No, nothing else, thank you. You may close out the tab." I turned, handing her my credit card.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and licked her red lips. "Sure, sweetie. I'll be right back."

For a second, I thought she was flirting with me, but it must have been my imagination. It wasn't like this chapter of my life was full of stories.

Au contraire. When it came to girlfriends, they were few and far between, and for a good reason. It was challenging to make a real connection with someone and even more challenging to talk about them.

One, they wouldn't have believed me and would have thought I was looney, and two, if they did, believe me, they would run away in fear, screaming.

Sighing, I forced myself to shift away from this train of thought because I'd been on this path before.

I checked my phone out of habit, but there were no new emails in the last ten minutes. In a way, I felt like an addict.

It's already 10:30 p.m., so I'll leave in ten minutes, maybe less.

I was getting bored and lonely, even though the club was full of people and my friends were down at the bar.

Out of curiosity, I Googled the club's name and was surprised to find out one of the Japanese translations meant something like "the beauty within." What an appealing name, it suits the place well.

On the outside, it didn't seem like much. It was just another red brick building that had stood the test of time. However, the inside was completely different, with two floors, a balcony, and VIP booths along the walls where dark green couches with tufted backs exuded a vintage-inspired style.

The green sparkle-infused dance floor had a gaudy feel, and the ground floor also hosted a charming wine bar space with exposed brick, where one could pick out a bottle of wine if desired.

All in all, it wasn't a bad place to be, and the noise level was lower than I had expected. At least you could have a conversation without getting into a shouting match.

Steven had found this club earlier today while searching for a place to have a couple of beers after work, even though I suspected he and Mark had a few even before coming here. He said it had opened about six months ago, which I wouldn't have guessed judging by the packed crowd.

"Here you go."

I turned, startled by the purr in my ear.

Damn, she's fast. I took the card from the waitress's hand, carefully ignoring her generous cleavage.

"Let me know if you change your mind. My name's Lydia," she said with an amused expression on her face.

"Sure." A wide smile spread my lips. I was flattered by her interest in me, but I knew how quickly my relationships ended, and I didn't want to do the same thing again.

Most of them ended quickly, with harsh words, basically telling me I was a jackass. One actually ended in cries of fear when she saw me fighting one of them. That's when she ran and never looked back or called.

My attention switched to the VIP booths, where two bodyguards stepped aside to let two girls pass. Between the dimmed lights, the flashing disco ball lights, and the swarming party people, their faces were hard to assess.

One was a redhead wearing a beautiful, expensive-looking, knee-length blue dress, and the other one was raven-haired, wearing a gorgeous, long, thigh-split green dress.

A powerful feeling hit me when I laid eyes on the girl in green—a strong sense she was in danger, combined with an even stronger desire to protect her. It was the feeling you had to defend someone weaker, who couldn't protect themselves from someone who wanted to hurt, brutalize, and kill.

My adrenaline levels surged, anger boiling inside me, forcing me to move, to stop what was about to happen. I'd never felt anything like this, and it took a moment to get myself under control.

I stood, and my eyes darted from one side of the club to the other, scanning the crowd.

Every time I had a feeling like this, the hashashins triggered it—at least, that's what I called them, and for some reason, I was the only one who could see them.

It wasn't long before I spotted it, fixing the VIP booth with its eyes devoid of any emotion. It started its fluid movement, how a snake stalked its prey, then went straight for the girls.

I didn't bother to find a path through the crowd. I just locked my eyes on the hashashin and sprinted toward it.

You might think trying to run through a crowded club is impossible, but for some reason, whenever I had a lock on a hashashin, people moved out of my way like waves split by a racing boat.

The hashashin wasn't running, but I had a lot of distance to cover, and I wasn't sure I'd be able to intercept it before it reached the two women.

I put all my energy into a dead sprint, jumping over tables, knocking down a few beer bottles in the lap of startled patrons.

Risking another glimpse at the girls, I assessed if I had made any progress.

The redhead stopped to talk with someone—an older-looking guy—whereas the black-haired one entered a hallway leading to the VIP restrooms. The hashashin followed her through the door, and I wanted to shout, but I knew it was useless because the club was noisy enough to drown the words. And even if it wasn't, I was sure no one would have paid any attention to me.

I crashed through the door and straight into the hashashin, pushing it against the far wall.

Every time I'd encountered one, it had been faster and stronger than I was, a formidable combination to fight— especially when the opponent was invisible to everyone else.

It recovered quickly, and I barely had time to realize it was holding a knife before it lunged at me, his movements a blur.

In anticipation of his attack, I sidestepped the thrust and blocked with my right palm, then tried to grab the weapon. And at the same time, I used my left hand to pop its elbow.

Unfortunately, it understood what I was trying to do and pulled back, slashing my right palm.

A jolt of pain went up my arm, and I felt something hot trickling between my fingers. I adjusted on the fly, taking a step forward, and the heel of my left palm connected with its jaw, followed by a kick, which threw it back a few feet.

Again, it recovered faster than it should have been possible. It stopped, seeming to assess me with its dull, white eyes. Without saying anything or making a sound—they never did —then, it spun around and ran through the opposite door, faster than I could react.

I could sense it leaving the area, and with the danger running away, I turned toward the girl, a feeling of dread gripping me in its clutches. I didn't want to lose someone else to them, even though I didn't even know her.

The hilt of the hashashin's knife stuck out of her hand, pinning her to the wall next to the door. Blood poured from the wound, covering the blade and leaving a long trail down the wall, accumulating in a pool on the floor. She was crying, thrashing, and screaming, trying to get the knife out, but I knew she wouldn't be able to.

I'd seen knives—or more accurately, daggers—like this one many times. They always had a short, curved blade made of something dark, like obsidian, a wooden hilt with inscriptions, and a large red ruby on the end. If anyone but me touched the daggers, they produced a cold burn similar to sticking your hand into liquid nitrogen. I'd been stabbed once with a similar blade, but I knew the pain it caused while inside the body was intense enough to drive one mad.

I quickly approached her. "You'll be okay. I'm here to help." The cut I had sustained during the battle, didn't bother me much.

Gently but firmly, I pulled the dagger out of the wall with my right hand. I knew from experience it would evaporate quickly once the hashashin was gone.

She wasn't screaming anymore, something I hadn't expected.

Now, she was staring at me with brilliant green eyes and a pained expression on her face, tears rolling down her cheeks.

I took her hand in mine and whispered, "You're safe now, but you need to let me bandage your hand. We need to stop the bleeding."

She made no move to acknowledge she understood what I said.

I took off my shirt and used the blade I just dropped to cut it in two. I had barely finished cutting the material before the knife started melting into some kind of goo.

I wasn't sure she noticed it. She held her left palm close to her chest and murmured something unintelligible.

In her eyes, I saw the moment when she realized what I was trying to do, and she slowly extended her left palm toward me.

With quick movements, I bandaged her hand. A work that any doctor, would have considered sloppy, especially since I had no way to clean the wound. But it was good enough until the EMTs arrived.

"Keep your hand curled in a fist to help stop the—"My gaze met her emerald-green eyes.

Time stood still, and I forgot about everything else. I was spellbound, staring into an abyss. An unstoppable pull tugged at my chest, and something like a low-intensity electrical jolt ran through me.

I had never experienced it before, and though I thought it was a myth, I could have sworn it was love at first sight.

It's a feeling that's hard to describe. Like when you see a shooting star, and in a blink of an eye, it's gone, leaving you with the cold, motionless lights hanging on the celestial ceiling. Except you saw it, you know it happened, and you know your wish will come true. And something inside you radiates this immense emotion of joy and happiness.

That's how it felt for me. My whole being knew I had met the person I was supposed to be with, my soul mate.

A door opened somewhere in the distance, a shriek pierced the air, and a fraction of a second later, I felt a blow sweeping me off my feet and throwing me against the wall.

Luckily, I absorbed most of the impact with my left arm and landed on the balls of my feet in a crouch.

A tall and athletic black guy with a shaved head and angry-looking eyes glared at me. Behind him, an older woman with dark hair pointed in my direction.

The redhead I saw earlier crouched next to the woman in the green dress and checked her wound.

Behind the tall guy was another woman who resembled my waitress, Lydia, except she wasn't smiling anymore—her eyes were angry. She was staring right at me, like everyone else.

I didn't have too much time to study the situation.

The tall bald guy started toward me, fists clenched.

Quickly, I stood and took a combat stance for both offense and defense, with knees slightly bent. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I was ready for another fight.

"Stop," the girl with the green eyes said in an icy tone. At her words, I saw everyone freeze and turn their heads toward her, stunned. I could swear the temperature dropped suddenly.

"He saved me," she continued, "and no one shall harm him."

My heart swelled. She hadn't screamed, she hadn't run, she hadn't called me a jackass.

Yep. She's the one.

The tall guy took a step to the side. His eyebrows gathered in a frown, studying me carefully.

She approached with graceful steps and stopped right in front of me. I met her gaze, and she pointed to her chest.

"I'm Dea." She had a melodic voice and the way she pronounced her name sounded like Dee-a.

I took a deep breath to steady myself and answered in what I hoped was a calm voice. "Hi, Dea, I'm Robert. Robert Connor."

She smiled the most beautiful smile I had ever seen, and I returned it like we had a mutual understanding which didn't require further words.

"Robert, my name is Candice Mitchell, and I want to thank you for saving my daughter."

The older dark-haired woman brought me back to reality. With some effort, I tore myself away from Dea's striking green eyes and turned toward Candice, who was smiling politely, but the smile didn't reach her eyes.

"If you would be so kind, please tell us what happened. And can someone please clean up this mess?"

"Yes, Mrs. Mitchell," the tall guy said, with a trace of a British accent, and then nodded at Lydia, who floated into the main room of the club.

"Thank you, Henry." Mrs. Mitchell gazed at me again, expectantly. "Please, go on."

"Well . . ." I took a deep breath to buy some time and think about what and how much I should tell them.

"Well," I continued, "Dea was attacked by a hashashin, and I—"

"By a what?" Candice's right eyebrow arched.

"Ah, sorry. That's what I call them." I shrugged apologetically. Besides my grandfather, I hadn't told anyone else about them, so people wouldn't think I'm crazy.

Well, I'll try to stick as close to the truth as I can.

"It's kind of a trained assassin." I scanned the room, watching the others clean up the area.

"Trained assassin?" Candice said in an incredulous tone.

"Yes," I replied, a tad annoyed, knowing she didn't believe me. "I've dealt with them in the past. Usually, its objective is to kill a specific target." Even to me, after so many years, it seemed far-fetched when I said it out loud.

"And you stopped it?" Lydia, who had come back unnoticed, joined the conversation.

"No, just delayed it, which isn't a permanent fix. You gotta kill it, or it will continue trying to—"

"Why do you keep calling the assassin an it?" Candice narrowed her eyes.

"Ah, you see, they're kind of, well, not human," I said in a tight voice. "And I believe I'm the only one who can see them."

I was curious about how they would react to my words. Would they dismiss what I said and try to find a rational explanation?

Whenever I'd imagined telling someone other than my grandfather about hashashins, I felt people would start thinking I was crazy—much like this moment.

"What do you mean, they're not human?" Candice asked with a thoughtful look, definitely not what I expected from her.

Everyone stared at me again, including Henry, who had stopped spraying chemicals on the floor that dissolved the evidence.

"Well, it's hard to explain. Once I kill one of them, it melts away. I mean, they kind of look and feel human, but if killed, they disappear, leaving nothing but goo behind."

"He's telling the truth, Mother," Dea said in a clear and powerful voice.

Dea half-turned toward Candice then glanced at the redhead, who nodded at her.

"The thing that attacked me, I didn't hear or feel it coming. I only saw it when it grabbed my hand, pushed me to the wall, and stabbed my palm. Then Robert came through the door and pushed it away from me. I think it also tried to stab him." She focused her gaze on me and lowering it to study my right hand.

"Oh yeah, forgot about that. It's a minor cut." I turned my palm up to examine it.

Well, apparently, it wasn't a minor cut. There was a deep gash on my hand, and blood was dripping on the floor.

Hmm. It usually stings more.

"Should be okay in a few days." I shrugged, not wanting to appear weak. It would probably take a week, maybe more, to return to my usual typing speed, in all honesty.

Henry threw me some wound dressings, which I deftly caught with my left hand. He nodded at me, and I pressed a dressing onto my cut to stop the bleeding. I used the wrapping to try to clean the blood off my hands.

"I think he needs a shirt as well," Lydia said before she disappeared into the club again. I hadn't noticed my shirt's condition, but when she came back, she was right. I needed one, especially now that the adrenaline was wearing off. I felt cold. Even though it was May here in DC, the temperature was around sixty degrees during the day, and when the night settled in, it was getting closer to fifty.

". . . and then Robert fought it and saved my life," said Dea, and I realized I'd missed part of the conversation.

Just then, Lydia brought in a black T-shirt with the name of the club, Yuugen, on the front and back.

"Here you go! We wouldn't want you to get cold." Lydia handed me the T-shirt. "Even though I really don't mind if you don't put it on." A big smile stretched across her face, and I also caught sight of Henry grinning.

"Thank you!" I put it on and noticed it was a tight fit, but was definitely better than nothing.

"Dea, let's go home and get you cleaned up," Candice said with authority. I hadn't observed earlier, but Dea's lovely dress was ruined, with blood trails all over it. Her hand, rebandaged, looked like something done by a professional, presumably by the redhead.

"Mr. Connor, we are grateful you saved my daughter. Please, let us know how we can repay you," Candice said in a cold tone that didn't exactly match her words.

"No need, ma'am. This is what I do."

Actually, I wanted to say I was grateful for the opportunity to save Dea, but before I did, I realized they might conclude something else from my words. Like maybe I was glad the attack had happened, or something. Best to keep it short and simple, so they wouldn't think I was more nuts than they already did.

"Nevertheless, there has to be something you want," Candice said with an annoyed expression on her face—like everyone had a price, and she just wanted a sum to get rid of me forever.

Each time I saved someone from being killed by a hashashin, I did not expect a payment, and I never got one. Most of the time, people didn't even realize I had saved them from certain death.

On a couple of occasions, they'd seen "something," but before they could react, the hashashin had melted away and I was gone, not wanting to wait for the police.

This was the only time I'd had to explain myself and talk about hashashins. Surprisingly, this felt good. Still, I didn't want anything from Candice. In a way, I wanted to prove to her that not everyone has a price.

But a thought kept nagging at me, and a moment later, I realized there was indeed something I wanted, but not from her.

"Well," I said, directing my gaze at Dea, "would it be possible to get your phone number?"

She beamed at me. Her brilliant green eyes sparkled like diamonds. She then glanced toward Lydia, an expectant look on her face.

"Sure. I'll give you her number," Lydia said, smiling. I glanced at Candice, who wasn't smiling anymore, not even a fake one. Her lips pursed into a thin line, and she seemed irritated with me again.

"Alyssa, do you want to go with Dea? I have things to finish at the club," Lydia said.

Maybe it was the tone of her voice or the look she gave to Alyssa, but I had a feeling she meant more—her words taking on a double meaning—things I wasn't privy to.

"Sure," said Alyssa, the redhead I'd seen earlier, and she wrapped an arm around Dea. "You have to be careful," I said to Dea.

"The hashashin may return. I don't think it's going to happen tonight, but if you want, I can stop by tomorrow to make sure you're safe. In the meantime, make sure you're not alone."

"The limo is here," announced Henry.

Henry opened the door and held it for the ladies. He was glancing everywhere, trying to pierce the night's veil in search of threats.

Kind of useless. I was the only one who could see the hashashins, but even if I tried to explain it to him, he would have checked anyway.

"Don't worry, Mr. Connor. She'll be perfectly safe," said Candice, and she headed toward the door.

Candice exited first, followed by Dea and Alyssa. Before she stepped out, Dea turned her head toward me, and a quiet "thank you" formed on her mouth.

The way her lips moved, it felt like a kiss.

"Anytime," I whispered, and to my surprise, I meant it. I would protect her with my life.

A few seconds later, the limo drove away into the starlit night.

"Hey, pretty boy, there are things I have to tell you." Lydia startled me out of my focus on the departing car.

"I hope her phone number is one of them," I said, half-joking and half-hopeful.

"Yes, but first I have to tell you—or actually warn you— she definitely isn't like any other girl you've met. In normal circumstances, I don't think you would have stood a chance. However, since you saved her life, we'll see." She gave a quick laugh, then she added, "Your friends left with the girls at the bar."

"Oh." I tried to clear my head, having forgotten about Steven and Mark. "Good for them. In that case, I guess I'll leave too." I took out my phone to order an Uber. "So, what's her phone number?"

With a grin, she extended her hand, gesturing for me to give her my phone. She typed something and handed it back, and I could see Dea's name on the list, along with what I hoped was her number.

"There it is. Now I have to teach her how to use a phone." She laughed, probably an inside joke I didn't know.

"Thanks," I said, unsure about the joke, and ordered a car to get me home.

The map showed the vehicle was a couple of blocks away, and I headed toward the door, but after a couple of steps, I felt Lydia's gaze on my back and turned.

"Thanks again for everything. I hope we didn't keep you from work or anything. You'll probably have to explain to your manager what happened."

"I'm sure she already knows," she replied with a light laugh.

I stepped out of the alley, and the sounds of the city collapsed over me, taking me by surprise. All the people shouting, cars honking, and tires screeching to a halt, blared in my ears. My heart rate accelerated, and I felt the need to breathe.

My ride home pulled to the curb, waiting. And without losing another moment, I got in and shut the door behind me.

The driver said something, but my mind was buzzing with the night's events, so I grunted the address, then fixed my gaze out the window, trying to relax.

This evening had been totally different from what I had expected, and for the first time, I had talked about hashashins with someone else other than my grandfather. I was surprised by how good it felt, and even more surprising was no one thought I was barking mad—or at least no one said it. But the thought the hashashin had been so close to killing Dea made my chest constrict and my stomach clench. My breath shortened, and even the idea of anything happening to Dea made me sick.

Before long, the driver pulled up in front of my apartment building on Connecticut Avenue, waking me up from my reverie.

"Thanks." I gave him the highest rating plus a tip, then entered the building. After a brief elevator ride to the second floor, I was in front of my apartment.

I closed the door, but before I had a chance to turn on the lights, something next to me touched my legs, tripping me.

The thing then went away without a sound, and from the darkness in front of me, I heard a meow.

"Hi, Ariel. Miss me already?" I turned on the lights and crouched so that I could pet her.

She was a fourteen-pound "gentle giant" black Maine Coon with a white spot on her chest.

"Let's see if you have any food left." Even though I left her bowls full of food and water, you never knew with Ariel; she could eat like a dog.

Once I was sure she had enough food to last until morning, I took a quick hot shower to relax my sore muscles.

The hand didn't bother me anymore, and I was exhausted, but my mind was racing, and I knew if I continued like this, I wouldn't be able to sleep for several hours and would be a zombie tomorrow.

I had trained myself to wake early in the morning, with the help of an old teacher of mine, a retired Navy SEAL instructor who used to say, "Son, wake up early, get aggressive, and attack the day!"

A warm glass of milk worked wonders, though, and despite my agitated state, I swiftly fell into a dreamless sleep.