She waited in the underbrush in the copse of trees. There were reports that there was to be trouble at this meeting. So far, nothing was unusual. The crowds, the protesters, and the usual hangers on, not even the local constabulary seemed concerned.

Without warning she felt it, the burning in her chest that said she'd been shot. She cursed under her breath as she felt her life slip away. She hated dying.

Some undetermined time later she awoke gasping for breath and living again. Carefully she looked around and saw him, the young man with dark, longish hair. He carried a weapon and obviously knew how to use it. She approached him cautiously; he seemed unconcerned with her. She obviously was dead. She took the knife from her boot as she drew near. He was concentrating on his job. She waited until he finished and was preparing to leave when she moved.

She held the knife to his throat; a single slash and he died.

"Drop the gun" she said, her voice low and guttural in her throat. He followed her order. He did not wish to die. She pushed him back against the tree, the easier to control him. She braced herself against the tree and moved in to smell him. With her nose at the base of his throat she could smell his scent. She was lucky, he wore no after-shave or cologne, and she could smell him and come to know his essence. She smelled his fear, and something else. His scent was different, something strange.

She glanced up and saw the milling around that was going on and knew she had time.

"I smell fear on you, young one. Have no fear. I will not kill you now. Perhaps I will not kill you at all." She whispered in his ear. "They will not think to look here, yet. We have some time."

She moved in closer. Smelling him and tasting him, salty with the acrid over tone of fear. She wanted to make sure she knew and would never forget what it was she smelled and tasted. This one was new.

"Yes, you are different, young one. I taste fear and something else, something I have never encountered before." She turned his head and looked into his eyes, eyes the color of lake water on a summer day. Mmmm, such an interesting face. She could do much with one such as he, but that would come later.

She touched his face his hair, eyes, cheeks, chin. Noticing details, how it was constructed and melded together. She came in closer to smell him, and closer still to taste, he tasted salty and sweet. His eyes had a peppery taste that was sharp on her tongue. She came down to taste his cheeks and then lips. When she kissed his lips, he opened to her, surprising her but she gently explored what was offered. This one was ready and eager. She could keep him if she wished.

She felt rather than saw the change in his stance that told her she was in danger. She pushed the knife gently into his throat, just a warning. She smelled his blood as it was released.

"Naughty, naughty, just because I like you doesn’t mean I won’t kill you." Her voice sounds harsh in her own ears. He was affecting her far more than she had thought. She looked at him evenly. She could not leave him injured, so she raised his chin to heal his injuries. She runs her tongue along the knife and feels the releasing of power that will heal. His blood tasted like the blood of Caesars, something she had not tasted in centuries. He could do much with his life if he wished. "You have possibilities", she whispered. Many possibilities, she knew.

She touched his face again, she did not want to forget.

"Close your eyes." She felt him shudder and smiled to herself. He was not stupid, he expected to die. Not now, not today. "Yes, young one, you have a myriad of possibilities. We will meet again." She whispers, inhaling his scent once again.

She stepped back and removed the knife and vanished. She knew how to disappear and stay still. She moved as far as she could and yet keep the young man in sight.

He appeared visibly shaken by his encounter with her. No matter, many had felt that way and many more would, undoubtedly. She watched him leave from a comfortable distance.

Lewis had the car right where he said it would be. When he got in Lewis had his hand out. He gave him a spent shell. "Satisfactory." He had done well. He fingered the other shell that was still in his pocket. He'd gone in with a hot round as a precaution. When would he see her again?