Aazuria stared at the redhead blankly. She tried to picture his face and frowned when

her mind faltered. She could not remember a single attribute of the man—not the color of his

skin, his hair, his clothing, or even his height and build. Nothing came to mind. But burned

into her memory was his peculiar pair of emerald eyes, and the odd feeling which they had

stirred in her breast.

“I do not know,” she said in confusion. “He was interesting.”

“Interesting!” Visola barked as she recoiled. “Darling, ‘interesting’ is tantamount to

‘deadly.’”

Aazuria smiled at her friend. “Just because you married a demon…”

Viola stiffened at the mention of her husband. “I know. Not all men are mass￾murdering monsters—just the ones I like. Come to think of it, I don’t even know what type of

fella you like. You’ve always been so disciplined. I haven’t seen you display interest in

someone since 1910.” Aazuria shook her head. “The Rusalka prince? That was diplomacy, not romance. I was

being cordial for the sake of the alliance.”

“Good. If you can be polite to the Russian sea-dwellers for our country, maybe you can

be friendly to American fisherman.” Viola grinned and reached under her skirt, revealing a

giant knife. “I’ve got your back. Go out there and have fun! I can’t wait to see what this guy

looks like—he must be a total hunk if he managed to get your attention.”

“Perhaps,” Aazuria said with a frown. It still bothered her that she did not remember

what the green-eyed man looked like. She could recall the general area where he had been

sitting, but it was possible that he had already left the club. If he had moved to another

location, she might not even recognize him. “He could be hideous,” she mused.

“Well, go find out,” Visola encouraged, nudging Aazuria playfully. “Remember, the

most important part of a man’s appearance is the girth of his…”

“Viola!”

“…wallet.”