"What's the matter, handsome?" The redhead rolled to her side and propped herself up onto an elbow to regard her companion, who seemed to have suddenly and inexplicably lost interest in her unique charms. "You seemed more than willing a little while ago. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Rhys replied, rolling to the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans from the floor, and pulling them up over his legs.

"Who is she?" the redhead asked, watching him while he got dressed.

Rhys frowned. That was a loaded question and one he had no simple answer for. "There is no she," he said, moving to his feet, pulling his jeans over his hips and zipping them.

"Honey, I beg to differ. You've got it and you've got it bad."

"Got what?" he asked, furrowing both brows in her direction. She was a random stripper he'd picked up in a bar. As far as he was concerned, she hardly knew him and vice versa. It was better that way.

"A broken heart," she replied. "How long's it been?"

Rhys frowned and turned away, her reply hitting too close to home. "Not long enough," he said curtly, grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his head. "She's getting married." To someone else, he added silently. It seemed to go without saying.

"I'm sorry," she told him, sounding sincere. "I know you don't want to hear this right now," she continued, "but there are other fish in the sea."

"So everyone keeps telling me," he said as he sat down on the bed and grabbed his socks and boots. His thoughts drifted briefly to a certain blond he'd left behind back home, and he wondered if he'd ever see her again. There was a small shred of hope in that thought, but only a shred.

"Let me help you forget," she offered, sliding up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, resting her chin against his shoulder.

His jaw tightened at her suggestion. Forgetting was the last thing he wanted to do. Forgetting was too easy. If he was going to finish this once and for all, he couldn't forget. He needed to remember what they'd done to him and Riley and Patrick. Remembering would give him the strength to carry on, the strength to do what he had to do, even when there was little hope.

"I don't want to forget," he told her, tying his boots and moving to his feet. He turned to face her, frowning with regret, sorry he'd gotten her involved. It was a mistake, like so many others. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

He watched as she got up and closed the distance between them, admiring the lush curves of her body, the way her hair fell softly against her shoulders and down her back. She was so different from Riley, almost the exact opposite. Fair where Riley was dark, lush curves compared to the willowy grace that was Riley, blue eyes instead of caramel brown. She was his for the taking; all he had to do was ask and yet, he couldn't.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her body against his, mouth drifting to his neck, smiling as she felt his pulse leap beneath her lips. No matter what he said, no matter how hard he tried to resist, no matter how much he protested, some part of him still wanted her.

He closed his eyes a moment, nearly lost to her spell, and then pulled slowly and reluctantly away. "I'm sorry, Becky. I just can't." He snagged his jacket from a chair and threw it over his shoulders, unconsciously patting it to make sure his gun was still carefully stowed in a pocket.

"Rhys," she said, as she watched him getting ready to go. "Call me when you change your mind." Not if, but when, seemingly confident he'd be back.

He started toward the door, unsure if he was going to live long enough to call on her again. Just one last time, he'd thought, but nothing had come of it. One last time to remember what it felt like to be with a woman. One last time to let someone hold him and at least pretend to care for just a little while. "Maybe," he told her. Maybe. If I survive.

She watched as he closed the door, the sound of a car engine rumbling to a start outside and then fading away into the distance. She smiled, blue eyes bleeding to black, and then she laughed.

"Oh, Rhys," Naamah said to herself. "You can try to resist, but you're going to lose. We're going to have so much fun together."

Rhys had taken all the proper precautions, though only so many precautions could be taken where demons were concerned. It was like playing with fire really, but he didn't have much choice. He'd never really had any choice when it came to demons - it was kill or be killed. Twenty-two years of fighting and hunting had taught him that much.

He'd killed his first demon when he was nine, though you never really killed a demon. You only killed the meat suit it was wearing and if you were lucky, sent its soul back to hell to try again. His father had been the first of the poor damned bastards he'd had no choice in killing. Over the years he'd lost count of the rest. The one that stayed with him the most was the one that had targeted Riley.

The man's name had been Chris and she'd been dating him at the time he'd become possessed. The demon was good at fooling her, but Rhys knew it was all a ploy. He'd gone over it in his head a hundred times and knew he'd screwed up, but he hadn't known her then. He hadn't expected her to interfere. He was confident he could have saved the guy's life had she not interfered. But one thing lead to another and the demon had tried to kill her, leaving Rhys no choice. A silver bullet to the heart had slowed him down some, but it was Riley who had made the killing blow, shifting form and ripping her own lover's heart out.

It had sickened Rhys to watch it, taking him back to that first kill so many years ago when his own father, possessed by a demon, had killed Rhys' mother and tried to kill him. Rhys didn't know how many bullets he'd pumped into his father. He'd fired until he couldn't fire anymore, passing out and waking up in the hospital in a state of shock. He'd since learned that the demon that had killed his mother was, in fact, the same demon who'd gone after Riley. Abaddon.

Rhys had done his research. Abaddon, Lilith, and Naamah were the chief demons he was after, and he intended to kill each of them one by one. Lailah had told him she'd give him the means to do so when the time was right, but he hadn't seen her in weeks. She hadn't answered his calls, and he was no longer sure if she even existed or was just a figment of an alcohol or stress-induced imagination. She had seemed real enough at the time, but he could never be sure.

Angels, demons, faeries - all of them had screwed with Rhys and Riley's lives, vying for power, using mortal souls as pawns in some sick game of chess. He just wanted it to be over, and so, he'd taken the first step, carefully preparing the warehouse, taking all the proper precautions. Sigils were drawn, salt was poured, traps were set. All of this was merely a test to see if the spell would work - a spell to summon demons. If it did, then he'd take the next step and that was to find out how to kill them.