By the time evening rolls around, I still haven't learned anything concrete.

Everything on the internet is just conjecture; wooden stakes, garlic, holy water, crosses. How do I know if anything like that would work for sure? What if none of them work? The last thing I want to do right now is piss him off.

And then there's the rest of it. Apparently they have no reflection, but I have seen Henry in a mirror before. I have also seen him in the daytime, so that whole sunlight thing is clearly not true as well.

Maybe he sparkles?

I almost smile before I remind myself that this is definitely not a laughing matter.

I'm grateful that Naomi has gone out with the guy from last night, leaving me alone with my thoughts. His name is Calvin, and I can't help but wonder how she possibly got Roy or Rory or anything with an 'R' in it.

Henry is going to be here soon, which scares the living crap out of me as I don't know if I will be able to hold myself together. I keep giving myself pep talks in the mirror, which doesn't help that much as it reflects a different person than it did yesterday.

I have dressed all in black this time, refusing to wear red. I doubt I will be able to look at the colour the same again. I threw away the shirt I had been wearing last night because I couldn't even stand looking at it. And it was one of my favourites. It's yet another reason for me to be angry at Henry.

Bastard.

By the time he has picked me up I have calmed myself down and let the anger takeover. My fury multiplies when he parks outside the very same restaurant he had brought me to the night before.

Bastard.

He places his hand on the small of my back as we are lead to, thankfully, a different table than last night. A waiter comes over to take our drink order and I eye him in pity, desperately hoping that Henry won't kill him too.

"I will have a beer and she will have a chardonnay, thank you," Henry instructs him.

"Actually, I will have a whiskey, neat." I'm going to need it if I will make it through the night.

Henry looks at me quizzically as the waiter goes to get our drinks. "I thought you liked chardonnay?"

"Actually I don't really like wine that much." That's not really true, but I am so irritated by him that I can't seem to control my mouth.

"But on every date we've gone on, you've had wine." He tries to reach for my hand across the table and I lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest. I want to limit our contact as much as I can.

"That's because you ordered it for me."

"And you've pretended to like it this whole time?" he questions, sounding almost hurt.

"You're one to talk." I accuse, my common sense clearly snapping. His eyes darken, his face clouding over in anger, and for the first time, my fear threatens to break through my rage.

Don't agitate him Peyton.

"Fine, sweetheart," he takes a deep breath. "I can see you have many questions. Why don't you start and I will answer honestly."

I don't even know where to begin, so I go for the most obvious, although I am positive that I will regret it. "How old are you?"

"Technically, I will forever be twenty-four. But I was turned around sixty years ago. So I guess that would put me in my eighties," he says this calmly, as if it's no big deal. I was right; I wish I hadn't asked the question.

I've been dating an old man.

I know that's not what's important right now, but I can't help a shudder at the thought.

"How did you become a, you know," I can't quite bring myself to say the word. Thinking it in the confines of my bedroom and saying out loud are two very different things. Right now, I can't face the latter.

He waits while our waiter places our drinks down on the table and only speaks again once he has left to fetch us menus. "I got bitten by one. Although, it's not quite that simple. The venom needs to reach your heart for you to turn and it works its way out of your system pretty quickly, through sweat, blood, tears; that kind of thing. You need to be bitten close enough for it to travel quickly."

"You can walk in the sun," I point out.

"I'm not something out of a movie sweetheart," he smirks at me. I beg to differ; he is clearly the villain from several story books. I can't believe that this is reality. I'm still waiting to wake up from this nightmare.

Henry goes silent as the waiter brings us menus and leaves again to give us some time to look at them. Once we're alone; he continues, "sunlight doesn't affect me. Nor does garlic, wood or any of that other rubbish you see on the television these days."

"So what does?" I whisper, hardly daring to ask.

He looks at me for a long moment and I swear I see his eyes shift to red for a second. When he speaks, his voice has lowered to a dangerous level. "Now, why are you asking me that Peyton? Are you planning on killing me?"

"N-no. Of course n-not."

"Good, because I assure you, that would be a very bad idea." His ominous words are matched by his tone, sending shivers crawling along my skin. He seems to notice that he's making me uncomfortable; a small, reassuring smile spreads across his face. "I won't answer that question, but do you have any more?"

The waiter comes back and we both place our orders. It gives me the time I need to gather my courage for the next question I want to ask.

"Why me?" I need to know what I did to deserve his attention. It's something I've always wondered, but now that I know what he is, it seems sinister as opposed to exciting.

He reaches across the table again, stroking a finger down my cheek while I try my best not to pull away. "You are beautiful and kind, innocent, genuine and extremely funny. You are everything good in this miserable world Peyton. I would know; I have spent years searching for someone like you."

That would have been the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me if he wasn't a ruthless killer. I'm struck, yet again by how many things I hate him for.

Bastard!

I don't even bother thanking him for his compliment, instead launching into my next question. "How many people have you killed?"

"I used to keep count." He drops his arm away from me and hangs it lazily over the back of his chair. "I don't anymore. Somewhere in the thousands I should think."

My heart skids to a halt

"Somewhere in the thousands!" I shriek, unable to hide my shock. The casual way with which he said it has my head spinning. I glance around nervously, hoping that no one noticed my outburst. Lowering my voice, I continue. "How can you be so cavalier about this?"

"Would you rather I starve?"

Yes.

"No," I lie.

"Do you not eat to survive?" he queries.

"I don't kill people."

"I'm sensing judgement radiating off you. You eat meat don't you?" he points out. "Where do you think that comes from?"

It's decided. I'm becoming a vegetarian.

"This doesn't have to change anything between us Peyton. We can carry on as before." He stops talking as our waiter comes back to bring our orders. I look at mine, regretting ordering the steak. My appetite disappears completely as I look at the blood leaking out of it and onto my plate. "I do love you, I would never hurt you."

Just thousands of others.

"Aren't you going to eat anything Peyton?" he looks at me and for some reason it almost seems menacing. "It's rude to waste food."

"Do you eat?" I blurt out, instead of answering him. I have no idea why I bothered asking him, I've seen him eat before on our previous dates. Except the last one, where I saw him draining someone's blood.

"Of course," he says, but doesn't offer any other explanation. Like how he could possibly digest food when he's a monster. "Now, eat, Peyton."

I eye my plate, the meal honestly making me feel ill, before I hesitantly pick up some vegetables and place them in my mouth. Chewing is hard, but swallowing is near impossible. I have to wash them down with a big slug of whiskey.

"Now, as long as you don't say anything to anyone or act any differently towards me I see no reason why we can't resume our relationship. Isn't that what you have wanted all along?"

Not anymore.

"Yes."

"You know sweetheart, I can hear your heartbeat from here. It's racing at the moment," he points out, which of course makes it pound even faster. "Are you scared of me?"

Yes.

"No," I lie again. I'm giving Pinocchio a run for his money.

"You have no reason to fear me, as long as I stay well fed, I am not a threat to you. As I said before, I don't want to hurt you, I care for you deeply."

"Okay." I have no idea what else to say to him.

"Now let's enjoy our date shall we?"

¤

As Henry drops me off at home, he leans in to kiss me goodbye, clearly he has no idea how to take a hint. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it to be over. He doesn't seem to notice the tension in my shoulders and pulls me closer. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't care.

When he finally lets me go, I step back and mumble goodbye. I quickly open the door and escape into the apartment before he can try to kiss me again. As soon as I hear the sound of footsteps walking away, I breathe a sigh of relief, leaning against the wooden door. I stay like that for a moment, too shaken to even turn the lights on.

"Peyton Jennings," an unfamiliar male voice speaks in the darkness. A silhouette steps towards me out of the shadows.

"Ahhhhhh!" I fling my handbag towards the unknown shape, but my aim is terrible and it crashes uselessly against the wall behind him. "Who are you? What do you want?"

The room is suddenly flooded with light, revealing not one but two strange men. The one who is touching the light switch is tall, well over six feet, with light blonde hair that is cropped short. His ice blue eyes seem to pierce right through me, analysing every move I make.

"You don't need to be scared of us," the shorter one says, running a hand through his already messy dark brown hair. The smile on his face is mischievous, and his green eyes, the colour of fresh cut grass, stand out against his tanned skin.

They would have both been good-looking if they weren't so terrifying.

I pick up the nearest thing I can find, an umbrella that's leaning against the door frame, and point it at them. As far as weapons go, it's a pretty poor effort, but desperate times call for desperate measures. "Oh yeah? I've been hearing that a lot lately."

The shorter one steps forward, his hands held up in the air. The smile slips off his face, replaced by a frown. "Easy Jennings, we're here to help."

"You can help me by telling me what the hell is going on!" I sound a lot braver than I feel. Truthfully, I am scared out of my wits. "Who are you? How did you get in here? Why are you here? I don't have much to steal in this place!"

"Peyton-," the blonde one starts but I interrupt him.

"How do you know my name?" I shriek, my fear escalating to full blown terror and confusion.

"If you just-," he tries again.

"You better tell me what's going on!"

"I'm trying to-,"

"Ahhhh," I cut him off completely, yelling and throwing the umbrella at them. I don't wait to see if it hits its target, turning to run into the kitchen and frantically searching through the drawers for a knife.

"Okay, Peyton. You need to calm down. We are not here to hurt you. We are here to help." The blonde one approaches me, taking slow, careful footsteps. "I'm Zach and this is Caleb. We are Hunters."

"What?" my fingers finally close around the handle of a knife and I hold it aloft, pointing it at him.

He doesn't even seem slightly fazed by the blade aimed at his face. "We hunt vampires, like your boyfriend."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"We want you to help us kill him."