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Lawrence turned to face his admirer from the deck bar. The time for subtlety had passed.

“You did indeed,” he said. “But you should know, before we take this any farther, I haven’t eaten in nearly two weeks.”

“Oh.” She frowned in confusion. “Are you on some kind of a cleanse? There’s plenty of food here—”

He leaned down, her perfume as overpowering as her personality, and said, “I don’t mean food. Men like me, we need something very different to sustain us. But do not fear. It won’t hurt . . . too much.”

Poor Kat, properly appalled by his innuendo, could only stare. Good. One time he’d used this same trick to ill effect—the woman had smiled coquettishly and put her hand somewhere it didn’t belong.

His sister didn’t like it when he hinted at his true nature. Few knew of their existence, and the only unwritten code of their community demanded it stay that way. All well and good, but they were cursed for eternity. Surely they deserved a bit of fun.

“Hurt?” she muttered. “Uh, yeah. It was nice to meet you.”

She fled without offering a proper excuse for doing so. A pang of guilt nearly made him regret his methods, but the blonde woman immediately sidled up to another man at the bar. A slight grin lifted his lips. No damage done.

He would finish his drink and then leave. At least he’d stayed long enough to pay his respects to the mayor of Stone Haven. If he were to stay in the area, and Lawrence had every intention of settling in the quaint Pennsylvania town for as long as a man who didn’t age could, he would weave himself into the fabric of the place as necessary.

Staring at the bottle of half-drunk lager in his hand, Lawrence heard the music change to a song with a faster beat. Most of the guests would be dancing, he guessed, although he couldn’t bear to turn around and look for her. At least her foolish boyfriend didn’t appear to be in attendance. It killed him to see a woman so beautiful and intelligent waste her time with a man so unworthy of her. A man who disrespected her with his roving eye. But it was her choice, and it didn’t matter in the least to him.

A bald-faced lie.

Toni tugged at him. She always had, right from the first time he’d seen her at Murphy’s Pub, her hair swept up in an effortless bun, her amber eyes sparkling with life. That passion she felt for life, for her friends, and for everything she loved was infectious. It made him feel almost human again. Like he was the man he’d been before his brother died.

The way he felt about her was dangerous. For him and for her.

He drank the remainder of his beer in one long, deep swallow.

“You’re unusually broody this evening.”

He’d sensed her coming. Although she wasn’t a Cheld like Alessandra, Toni had an almost supernatural draw. Maybe it was her perfume, part coconut and part amber and spice. A scent that reminded him of the sun-kissed beaches of Brazil, combined with the sophistication of a Parisian boutique. Though not nearly as pretentious.

This interaction diverted from their usual pattern. Toni typically avoided him—rather, they typically avoided each other.

He turned slowly, careful not to lean too close or appear otherwise interested.

“And you are unusually . . .”

Sexy. Radiant. Desirable.

“Talkative.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked, cocking her head.

“I could ask you the same.”

Toni took a bold step toward him, the proximity making his skin prickle with awareness, and leaned over the bar.

“I’m here,” she announced, “for another drink.” The raven-haired bartender, who was mixing a drink at the other end of the bar, ignored her. Had a man been tending bar, he would have immediately abandoned his other customers to serve her.

“I see,” Lawrence said, leaning back and crossing his arms. He did not respond to the obvious dismissal.

She refused to look at him. He refused to move. One minute passed. Two. Finally, he made eye contact with the bartender, who had been eyeing him as if he were a dessert martini that she intended to drink rather than make. The young woman smiled and glided toward him.

“What can I get you?”

He lifted his bottle in response and added, “And a Pinot Noir for . . .” Struggling, he landed on, “. . . the young lady.”

He’d said it on purpose, knowing it bothered Toni that she was approaching thirty. Though the milestone was still a year off, she’d told Alessandra it made her uneasy.

She gave him a look that said, Go to hell, even as she smiled.

A grin twitched on his mouth. He should back off. Stop provoking her. And he definitely should not say what he was thinking at this moment.

But Lawrence Derrickson had never been a cautious man.