She had the sense that these brothers weren't part of any organized clan of hunters, not like the Syndicate for which she worked. But then, those sorts of clans kept well below most radars; no one found one unless the organization wanted to be found. She wasn't sure just how many Syndicates operated on American soil; perhaps only one.

Either way, killing paranormal entities for a living did get a little...wearing, and she'd learned to compartmentalize both monsters and victims in order to complete her contracts without going absolutely insane from the horror of it all. Yes, she knew what lurked on the other side of the shadows, and perhaps she wasn't wired correctly not to be afraid of it.

But then, she hadn't needed a monster in the closet to witness the ultimate horror. Humans were quite adept at that, after all.

Now, however, Natasha found herself watching--without meaning to--Dean's fingers scritching along that sharp jawline, and felt slow warmth beginning to seep into her blood. Horrible timing, that. And for the love of God, she had no intention of getting involved further with these two...no matter how this Dean Winchester just somehow fit the type of man that checked each and every one of her preference boxes.

Bloody fucking hell. Mind yourself, Natalia Alianova.

So she pulled her gaze away briefly, giving it back to respond with, "Mm? Oh, yes, thank you. It's fine." A sincere smile curved her lips, backed by a soft chuckle. "I'm not the sort to expect satin sheets and a gilded headboard, Mr. Winchester."