Flame of the Huntress

Found You

Keeping a ten foot distance, I wait for the perfect moment to pounce. Even if it is taking all the years of practiced patience to stay here, waiting for the right moment. Oh how badly I wish to burn him to a crisp at this very moment. But, I continue my prowl against the walls, using the corners as shields.

His walk is so powerful and honed, it's as if the shadows themselves scurry away in his presence.

A lantern dims beside him casting a light on half of his face, on his ears.

Fae ears.

I kick myself for not noticing earlier. Based on the way he moves alone, it screams Fae. His build can only be achieved from years of training. Not just the length of mortal years, but hundreds of them.

Where is he going?

Even with his heightened senses, I am still confident he has no way to sense me. I have worked with Fae many times,

Arobynn personally sent me on countless missions where the victims were of Fae heritage. Each with their own unique powers–some shapeshifters, others magic wielders with powers similar to my own.

He could be any of the sort.

Based on his build, I would say he leans toward shapeshifting; the ones who rely on themselves as weapons rather than their magic.

I am without the pointed ears or pointed teeth, but I still hold power like the Fae. My magic has always been a mystery. Arobynn kept my power to himself, keeping me his little deadly secret to the world.

My magic is everything to me, so not knowing where it comes from has been a growing burden–since Arobynn took me, he was all I can remember. I have no recollection of my parents, just very vague memories of their murders, but nothing else. So, finding the origin of my powers is a lost search. 

I push down the thoughts, refocusing on my victim.

Gods, enough waiting around, I no longer care to see where the bastard is headed–I just want to see blood spewing from his broad chest.

My black leathers make me one with the night–a whisper of death. I keep my breath tight, even though the slight breeze would mask any sound.

Unsheathing my dagger, I twirl it between my fingers and right as he is about to take the next step—I pounce.

A loud thud echoes through the alleyway as I knock his hard as steel body on the wall, as if its the wall who felt the impact.

My dagger is now tilted straight over his throat, the gold embroidering gleaming in the candlelight, "Move, and you're dead," I whisper, my face only centimeters from his own, where slight shock glimmers in his green eyes.

Gods, he's massive. At least a head taller than me, but I've defeated Ogors ten times his size, so I learned to manage.

I dug my dagger deeper, drawing blood.

He studies me through a scowl, so I return his look, " Are you going to plead for mercy?" I use the tip of the dagger to tilt his head up, "Or are you going to make this, oh so, mundane for me?" He does not even squirm beneath my touch, it's as if all of his focus is on reading me –he's might as well be begging for a death wish. After his lips remain stern I let out a sigh, "A shame, really" I look at his snow-white hair, "I think your blood will leave a stain" I purr.

Finally done with my mocking he husks, "How interesting," Even with his head tilted by my weapon, he scans me head to toe, and just smirks, calculating–god's, do I just attract cocky bastards or what? He looks over at my weapon and sniffs, "Blue-blood," he huffs.

There's that Fae's heightened senses, I made sure to wipe every drop after I killed that damn witch.

Fed up with this little game, I demand, "Who are you?" returning the same question he gave me at the tavern, but with a little more bite, "Why did you seek me back at the tavern?" It was clear that a man like him wasn't there for what I accused him of, or at least it was not his intention towards me.

Without even a blink later, he pinned me against the wall, my back groaning at the impact– Shit, he's so damn fast, faster than any Fae I have encountered.

He lets out an amused smirk, pushing he knee between my legs so we are eye to eye, now that he is the one with the upper hand–however I can't help but think he believed this match to be over before it even began.

Who is he? I frown, utterly furious he is not dead yet.

He pushes my dagger harder at my throat, in a low growl he purrs, "Use it", his face is purely demanding, a warrior trained to intimidate.

I let out a slight smirk not allowing a hint of fear trickle my expression, "I don't know what youre talking about,"I respond through clenched teeth. 

He pushes the blade deeper, however I have a feeling that he could kill me just as easily without it, "Don't waste my time any longer," He says, a muscle in his chiseled jaw twitches.

He wants to see what I can do? Fine, consider this a courtesy.

Flames spark through my eyes and I let out my power burst straight for his chest causing him to stumble back in a grunt. This bastard has the audacity to demand, me? I'll show his arrogant ass exactly what I can dam do. 

While he's off balance, I shoot another beam straight for his hand, causing him to drop my dagger.

With a quick slide, I catch it before it falls to the ground, "First my whiskey, now my dagger?," I glance up at his challenging emerald eyes. I reach my hand down, using the cobblestones to slow me. Irritation and bloodlust clouds his expression as I pant slightly, crouching on one knee, a strand falling down my forehead as I look up at him and tsk, "Men are becoming much too bold these days", I fling my flaming dagger straight for his beautiful head.