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"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he suddenly says, taking me by surprise with the change in subject. His eyes are fixed on me and it's like he's devouring me with his gaze.

A blush creeps up my cheeks at his scrutiny.

When he'd told me he planned on taking me out on a dinner date, I'd tried to put some effort into my appearance.

Since I hadn't had a lot of practice with make-up and dressing up, I'd quickly searched the internet for some ideas. I'd managed to put on some eyeliner and mascara as well as a reddish lipstick to contrast with my pale hair.

I'd also chosen to go with a lacey off-white dress, not too long, but not too short either since Vlad had been very vehement in his refusal to let me leave the house if there was too much skin showing.

"You should have been a poet, not a killer," I retort, bringing my glass of lemonade closer and placing my lips around the straw.

"Can't I be both?" He raises one eyebrow. "Although imagine if I could kill people with my words," he says pensively, going in depth about the merits of personally killing someone personally versus via proxy.

"There's this manga, Death Note" he starts, explaining it's some Japanese comic book, "and the protagonist acquires a notebook in which once he writes someone's name, they promptly die."

"Don't tell me you'd like one of those too?" I ask, a little amused. Although, as he excitedly recounts the events from Death Note, I find myself invested in the story and its twists. Certainly, I can see the appeal to someone like Vlad, who might just be the nerd of nerds.

"I don't know. Depending on my goals," he adds after spending some time thinking about it. "If my aim was world domination, then a death note would definitely be more helpful than my bare hands. Especially when it comes to the evidence left behind, since forensic science is evolving and the tech is more sensitive than ever to the smallest amounts of trace evidence."

"But you don't want that," I say confidently, because I know him. He'd never opt for world domination because it would betoo boring for him. Maybe he'd enjoy one day of it, but after that he'd want to return to his usual routine of murder and mayhem.

"Indeed," he drawls, his lips spread in a wide smile, his white teeth gleaming in the dimly lit restaurant and making him look like the predator he is.

"World domination is for the weak," he adds. "I prefer to do things my own way." He brings his arms on the table, cracking his knuckles.

My eyes are drawn to the veins bulging in his arms, the way his big hands could snuff the life out of a man without even trying.

"I may like to be in the loop, but I rarely interact."

"That's because foryou, power isn't in numbers," I note, "but in knowledge."

"Exactly." He smirks. "You know me well, hell girl," he mentions, and I shrug.

"I've been studying you. After all." I lean forward, pushing my boobs out as I do, his eyes immediately snapping to my cleavage. "The devil you know is better than the devil you don't."

"Is that what I am to you, hell girl? The devil you know?" He comes closer, and even though we're on opposite sides of the table, we're so close our faces are almost touching.

"Hmm," I murmur, letting him stew a little. "You're theonlydevil I want to know."

"Good," he breathes out, his eyes focused on me in a way that has goosebumps appear all over my skin. "Otherwise I might have had to change your mind," he rasps out, and for a moment I can only imagine what he has in mind. His gaze holds me captive as I see myself spread out on the table, and him workinghardto change my mind.

"Are you enjoying your meal?" the waiter's voice brings me back to reality, my eyes widening at the way I'd lost track of everything.

Vlad is watching me amused, swirling his glass of red wine.

"It's wonderful. Thank you," he tells the waiter, pure charm dripping from his voice.

I don't even pay attention as the waiter mumbles something before taking his leave. I'm still focused onhim,and the way my heart is beating insanely fast.

"You know," he starts, a wicked smile on his lips, "thereissomething else I'd love to dominate," he says suggestively, and I cross my legs, moisture already pooling between my thighs.

"Is that so?" I ask, almost breathlessly.

It dawns on me that we've barely touched our food. Engrossed in the conversation, we'd simply forgotten it was there. And especially now, when he looks at me as if he'd eatme,I can't muster any appetite.

At least not for food.

"But I wouldn't need any notebook for that."