I hate it when I'm moody. When I'm moody, I tend to pace. And when I pace, I talk to myself. And when I talk to myself, I feel like a total jackass!

I stopped my feet from abusing the hard wood floors of my apartment and just glared around the room. I was too wound up to stay here, even though I had craved the comforts of home after the whole bad guy ordeal. Wolfric had offered to take me home, and I had almost agreed. But, if I'd let him bring me home, I don't think I would've had the strength to keep myself from asking him to stay with me.

Ugh! I know, I know. I sound like a corny weak woman in distress who needs a big, strong man to comfort me. But, sometimes, you just want to take your mind off things and Wolfric can, and has, made my mind go blissfully blank before. But, I'll be damned if I let that pompous ass have the satisfaction of finally getting me between the sheets.

I glanced at my Mickey Mouse watch. 2:32, huh? Not as late as I thought. In the "City that Never Sleeps", there's always something to do, no matter what time it may be.

Making my decision, I grabbed my jacket from where I'd haphazardly tossed it on the dining room table and shrugged into it. I made sure to check my makeup in the oval mirror hanging on the living room wall before I even thought about walking out my door. My lip was healing, though it was still swollen, but not as fast as it should've been if I'd fed. Other than that, I looked just peachy.

I snagged the keys to my bike before stepping out the door. Time to find me a date.

I'm not sure why, out of all the clubs and bars in the Big Apple, I picked Dusty's as my favorite watering hole when I needed some alcoholic feel-good juice or my go-to place when I wanted a man.

Maybe it was the atmosphere. Dusty's wasn't a dive-bar by any means , and neither was it a nightclub. The wooden floors and bar gleamed, the rich mahogany freshly polished went well with the gunmetal gray walls. Industrial lights hung from the ceiling, casting the bar and its patrons in a slightly amber light that gave the place a warm and inviting feeling. Can lights above the bar encased the precious liquor bottles in a spotlight of sorts, demanding the attention and money of customers.

The music wasn't deafening to the ears, which I liked. I hated to yell just to speak with someone standing next to me. They only played classic rock or alternative music here, sometimes, they even had bands. But, no matter what they had playing, they made sure that everyone knew the song and could sing along if they so desired. And don't even get me started on the food! In my personal opinion, Dusty's has the best nachos in the city.

I went to the bar flashing a smile at the owner, Jeff, who smiled back in welcome. Without me having to order, he poured some orange juice and vodka into a shaker and proceeded to give it a vigorous shake. After adding an orange peel for garnish, he slid the finished product across the bar top and straight into my waiting hand.

Snagging my Screwdriver, I took an appreciative sip before sighing with pleasure. "Thanks, Jeff."

He sent me a wink, "No problem, RJ. Let me know if you need anything else." With a slight wave of departure, he moved away to serve another customer.

Swiveling around on the barstool, I did a little people watching as I waited for Hank to arrive. Nobody liked to drink alone, and Hank just happened to be my favorite drinking buddy. So, at a red light, I'd shot him a text asking him out for a couple of beers.

You buying? he'd texted back in response, which had made me chuckle.

I'll buy the first round, Stud. I replied with a smile, which he agreed was fair enough and that he would head my way shortly.

I watched two hotties play a good ol' fashioned game of poole. Though they both seemed quite skilled, the blonde with the wavy hair was ahead. Hm, those golden locks reminded me of someone…

When a pair of pale green eyes, bright with wry amusement, flashed in my mind I had to actually stop myself from breaking the glass in my hand.

Damn, Wolfric.

It sure as hell isn't a good sign that he's starting to ruin me for other men. I mean, I like men, all men, young and old. Now, I'm no skank by any means, but usually, I tend to avoid a committed relationship. Probably has something to do with some repressed psychological crap from my childhood, or some junk like that. So, for me to show interest in one particular man is a significant blip on the "Uh-oh" radar.

What I really need is some time away from Wolfric and those pesky feelings he stirs in me. A couple of nights doing the frisky twisty with Hank is just what the doctor ordered.

I was halfway done with my second drink by the time Hank finally sauntered through the door. He sank down onto the stool next to me and ordered himself a whiskey and a full order of Dusty's awesome nachos. Drink in hand and food on the way, Hank grinned at me over the rim of his glass, "Hello, darlin'."

I held up my glass and he obliged me with a clink of the glass, "How's it hanging, Stud Muffin?"

Taking a sip of whiskey, he let it linger on his tongue before swallowing, "Pretty boring, actually. The city's been surprisingly quiet the last couple of weeks." His eyes crinkled as he wiggled his eyebrows at me, "And, I haven't been seeing much of my best girl lately either."

Jeff took that moment to deliver the heavenly smelling nachos, he set them down and left us to our meal.

I dug into the delectably cheesy morsel with obvious delight and I invited Hank to join me. We ate the nachos and drank our drinks in compatible silence. When you've been friends for four years, you don't feel the need to fill every moment of silence with chatter. Sometimes, you just like to sit together and enjoy each other's company without uttering a single word.

"So," Hank mumbled through a chip as idly wiped his hands, "how's your case going?"

That dimmed my good mood a bit, "Awful. Well, I guess you can say I've had a break, of sorts, in the case. I now know the name of the killer and have even spoken with him." I then proceeded to tell Hank about the incident at Blood City.

The werelion let out a whistle, "Wow. I miss everything on my night off, huh?"

When I didn't follow that with a smart-ass reply, Hank frowned at me with concern, "RJ? What's wrong?"

Clutching my glass in both hands, I stared down at the orange liquid. "It was," I began slowly, as if the words had to be dragged from my mouth kicking and screaming, "the first time I've been scared." I glanced over at Hank, "I mean really scared, like, terrified. I'll tell you, Hank, that psycho mother fucker scared the absolute shit out of me and he wasn't even really in the room."

I downed the last of the Screwdriver and clanked the empty glass back down with a little force. "And Wolfric won't admit it, but he thinks this guy can wipe the floor with me. I mean, how am I supposed to kill this guy? He's a pureblood and, on top of that, this guy is over a thousand years old and me, I'm only twenty-seven! I don't stand a chance!"

Sometime in the midst of my mental breakdown, Hank had gotten up from his stool and had come to stand at my side. Taking both my cheeks in his hands, he forcefully turned my head sideways and up so he could look me in the eyes.

"RJ, if anyone can beat this guy, it's you." When I opened my mouth to protest, he interrupted me, "I've known you for years. You're strong, tenacious, funny, and most of all you have the can't quit attitude that I've always admired. You'll find a way, you always do, no matter what obstacles stand in your way, you'll either tear down or burst through them."

I could only stare up at Hank as he finished his sweet, yet encouraging praise. He was right, moping around like this wasn't like me, not in the least. I could and I will kill Sebastian, even if it kills me.

I patted Hank's hand and sent him a smile, "Thanks, bud. I'm good now."

Letting his hands fall, he gave me a exploratory look with those golden eyes before retaking his seat.

I let out a sigh, and gave Jeff a nod, letting him know I was ready for another drink. "Thanks, Stud. I needed that."

With his eyes on me, he smirked as he lifted his glass to his lips, "What else do you need, RJ?" When I sent him a sidelong glance with brows raised, he chuckled, "You and I both know that when you call me out for drinks, there's usually an alternative motive behind it."

I glared at him, stabbing a finger in his broad chest, "Geez, you make it sound like that I treat you like a booty call, when you know good and well that I genuinely, for reasons that I'm starting to question, enjoy your company."

He rubbed the spot where I'd poked him as if it was sore, and probably was, he shrugged and flashed that confident grin that I'd always found sexy, "I didn't say that I didn't like being a booty call."

That made me laugh and I ended up giving him a friendly punch in the arm. "Well, then. Would you mind terribly being my booty call tonight after I've gotten you more than a little drunk?"

He flashed me that grin again, and reached out to tweak my nose, a move he knows I detest, "Honey, I thought you'd never ask."