8
“Holy shit!”
Rinaldo danced away from the little spitfire. He tried not to laugh. He really did. But he failed miserably. Marguerite slashed at him with the steak knife like a madwoman. He laughed again. The girl was all gusto and no skill. It was easy enough to dodge her sloppy, desperate attempts to hurt him. He was impressed with her effort, if not her finesse.
“Calm down, tiger, I’m not—whoa!” He laughed again as he ducked under another of her wild swings. He picked up one of her kitchen chairs and held it between them like he was an animal tamer. “Back!” He grinned. “Back, hellcat!”
That seemed to confound her. She stood there, staring at the chair, and clearly tried to wrap her head around how to get around it. Growling in frustration, she turned her attention back to him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I really appreciate your passion. I really do. It’s clear you mean that. But…uh…I don’t know how to put this politely. You’re coming with me, and I don’t care how it happens.” He lowered the chair and smiled. “What’s your plan, anyway?”
“To stab you, obviously.”
“And then what?” He chuckled. Shucks, she was adorable.
“I—uh.” She blinked. “What?”
He smirked. This was more fun than it had any right to be. “Think about it. Either I’m bleeding, and pissed, or you kill me, and then you have to call the cops.”
She lowered the knife briefly. She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out.” She jumped at him again.
That caught him by surprise. Staggering backward, he bumped into her table. Looking down, he furrowed his brow. “What the…?”
He almost missed Marguerite’s lunge.
Almost.
* * *
No,she didn’t have a plan. “Defend self at all costs” was about as far as it went. And the more Rinaldo looked at her like she was just the gosh-darn cutest thing he’d ever seen, the more she wanted to stab him.
There was nothing in the world she hated more than when people humored her. It was insulting, infantilizing, and made her want to do more than just stab him a few times. Now she wanted to stab him and kick his ass.
Unfortunately, she had no clue what she was doing.
For a few moments, she thought she might pull this off. She thought she might at least scare the old weird stalking priest away with her dumbass wild swipes with a steak knife.
When he bumped into her table and looked down at her carving, she had a glimmer of hope. He was distracted and confused. “What the…?”
If she couldn’t successfully stab a distracted man, she was officially screwed. She lunged at him. And it was in that moment that she came to the sudden realization that while she had no clue what she was doing—he very much did.
He snatched her wrist. “Wait a second.”
“Hey! Let go!”
“Just hold on, will you?” With practiced ease, he twisted her arm, forcing the steak knife from her fingers. He took the knife and, once more without looking at her, pointed at the carving with the blade. “What the hell is this?”
“Ow!” She snarled and kicked his shin. “Let go of me, asshole!” When he didn’t respond, she kicked him harder.
That finally got his attention. He turned to look down at her and sighed. The sight of the symbol had flipped his mood from playful to extremely stern. She shrank away from his serious expression. “Listen to me, Marguerite. This is serious. This isn’t a game. This isn’t a delusion or hallucination of yours. There are very large, very complicated powers at play. Now tell me—what is this, and where did you see it?”
She felt small. Suddenly, she realized how out of her league she was trying to attack the man who clearly had years of experience with fighting.
This isn’t a hallucination.
This isn’t fake, is it?
This is real. He’s real. All of this is…is real.