Mark Caten threw a dart at a blown up picture of Ambrose’s mug shot. And he missed.
He tried again.
Ad nauseum again.
And ad nauseum missed.
“Aaagh!” He rushed over to Ambrose’s enlarged face and stabbed it repeatedly with a dagger.
Preyuna sat down on the bed and braided her red and silver striped hair. “Let me know when you’re done slicing Ambrose Smith in effigy.”
He spun around and threw the dagger right at her. Completely missed her. “You are my captive. You could show me some compassion.”
“Of course.” She tied up her braid with a small piece of red leather. “Or I could give you some advice. If you’re willing to listen.”
“Since when have I ever been willing to listen to you?”
She sighed. “Never. But that’s because you’re a stupid human. So full of annoying emotions. Incapable of—”
He picked up one of the darts and threw it at her.
Missed her by fifteen miles.
“—clean, rational thoughts.”
“You don’t understand. That socially retarded vampire killed my daughter My little girl. She was all I had, everything I loved—”
“More emotional talking. So dull.”
“See! I told you that you don’t understand and you don’t.”
“I am fey. What do you expect? A hanky wringing party? That would be dull and a waste of my time. So, come here and listen to me.”
“I will not take orders from one like you.”
She flared out her black lace-like wings. “Oh, for goodness sakes. Shut up. Come here. I know how to help you.”
He reluctantly obeyed her.
“Good.” She folded her wings against her back. “You want Ambrose Smith dead or staked or whatever. Right?”
“You have one of your hunter dogs on his trail. Right?”
“Right but wrong. He wants to wait. Wait. Why doesn’t he just get it done and over with? Idiot waste of space third grader hunter school flunkie!”
He gaped at her. “That was your brilliant plan? Thank you so much for your worthless input.”
“Let him do his thing. He might succeed. He might fail. If he fails, grab the one thing, that one special person Ambrose Smith treasures and bring her here.”
“He will undoubtedly come running to her aid, if he’s as stupidly over-emotional like you. And I know he is. That’s when you.—”
“You don’t even have to finish that sentence. I see the possibilities. Possibilities rife with Ambrose Smith down on his knees, pleading for mercy.” His smile grew mean. “As if he’ll ever get mercy from me.”
“Are you done?”
“Yes. I feel much better now.” He unbuttoned his shirt. “I hope Hildreth Mayhew fails.”