His deep sapphire gaze seared through my skin, my cheeks burning. The man sitting across from him in their tiny window-side booth gestured wildly, loaded fork in hand. I lifted my menu up further in front of my face to ease the intensity, but I could still feel his gaze burning through the cheap, plastic covering.

"Cas!"

A rough, irritated voice caused my head to jerk up. His wide, liquid-blue orbs were averted, instead glancing at the man directly across from him. His face was set in confusion and his head tilted to one side.

With his attention directed elsewhere, I took the opportunity to look him over. His hair, a dark luscious brown, was wind-blown and mussed up in a rather sexy fashion. His crisp white dress shirt was slightly unbuttoned, revealing the tan skin of his lower neck. A solid blue tie hung loosely around his neck and an oversized trench coat seemed to swallow his petite frame.

I tilted my head, my eyes scanning over his black, pleated dress pants and perfectly unscuffed dress shoes.

"What could POSSIBLY be more important than this, Cas?!" the deep voice rumbled.

His companion was leaning across the generic faux-wood table between them. His elbows resting on the table's edge, his meaty-looking hands curled into tight fists.

Damn, I thought. I was literally scared for the guy. The man he was with was probably a good 3 inches taller than him and had him by at least 50 pounds, all most likely pure muscle. To make is simpler, the man could probably make him his bitch. But he never wavered. His intense gaze still inhumanly strong, his head still tilted in that "confused puppy" manner. He seemed to be analyzing every single thing that came out of the other man's mouth to the smallest detail.

I continued to stare, not even acknowledging the waitress who set the steaming mug of hot chocolate on the table next to me.

His companion still ranting, he stole a quick glance at me, his expression unchanged. A shock of electricity jolted me upright, our gazes connecting instantly. His wide, innocent-looking eyes bore a hole through my skin, burned into my heart. In the short amount of time it took for him to flicker his gaze at me, it felt like he was staring into my soul.

I paced the dingy motel room, hands jammed into the pockets of my ripped jeans. It had been a week since the encounter at the small town diner, but every time I closed my eyes large crystal blue irises dissected me. Tearing away my skin in layers, searching for the complexities of my soul. I shivered in voluntarily.

"I don't know, Genna. I just can't shake this feeling."

My best friend and fellow hunter set down the .38 pistol she was cleaning, slinging the rag over her skinny shoulder.

"I still think you should've shot 'em," she said matter-of-factly.

I stopped pacing ad stood in front of her, hands on my hips.

"Why would I shoot him? For all we know, he's just a really intense tax accountant!"

Genna shrugged in defeat.

Though we were pretty much separated at birth; same taste in music, clothes, etc, Genna had a tendency to shoot---or stab, whichever was most convenient at the time---first and asks questions later, and it made working with her difficult at times.

I sighed and flopped on the queen-sized bed next to hers.

"Look," Genna said, wiping her small hands on the stained rag, "I have an idea that will take your mind off of this creepy-trench coat-guy."

I propped myself up on my elbows and glared at her through my bangs.

She grinned and tossed the rag at me.

"Road Trip!!"