A sharp look, furrowed brows, broad shoulders, arms scarred from fingers to neck, weapons of all kinds at his waist, an expression of pure indifference and readiness. Not a single shadow of conscience.
"Are you going to kill me?"
And yet she was not unarmed either - her fingers were easily bent, a sharp knife was safely hidden in her boot. Any moment, any sound, any gesture - everything can be a signal to fight. And she would fight. She fought against the mad afrit, fought off a pack of werewolves on equal terms, and challenged all sorts of creatures and powerful magicians.
Kitty Jones will not be intimidated by an ordinary hired killer.
No matter what he knows, no matter what he wants, no matter what his goals are.
"You're invulnerable to magic, aren't you, girl?" a strangled whisper, a barely noticeable whine, glassy blue eyes turned directly at her, a sharp exhale, "Then we're alike in some ways.
The treacherous cold that paraded down my spine. The hand that froze in half-motion. Goosebumps she hadn't expected. The mercenary didn't move, still standing there, clutching the silver disk between his fingers. And he was smiling at her. With every passing second, more and more expressive and wider, as if he didn't even consider her an enemy at all. As if he was just mocking her.
Okay, maybe Kitty Jones could be frightened by an ordinary hired killer. She didn't like to lie to herself. And she wasn't going to give up either.
"I have nothing to do with those who prefer to work for magicians." It came out much quieter than she'd intended, but just as clearly.
The Mercenary took a step forward. Kitty didn't realize how she recoiled. The man slowly stepped out of the shadows that covered him, his face, his image. It was as if he himself were that shadow, without meaning and without purpose. A darkness that goes where other people lead it.
Kitty Jones had no price for him.
"If you don't bother me..." The Mercenary skillfully turned the words on his tongue, thinking, "In that case, maybe I won't touch you.
He let her words pass him by.
With a warning movement, the silver disk came within a millimeter of Kitty's neck. He was twice her size. There was no point in arguing. Nor was there any point in attacking.
But if the mercenary attacked first, he shouldn't think that she would raise a white flag. Even if the only payment is her own blood.
And the man seemed to understand this. For the first time, she saw a glint of approval in those dead eyes, a response to her own gaze.
He was right about something. Kitty was looking into a broken, torn, repulsive, and wrong mirror.
"Get out of the way." he commanded, a little less threateningly, more firmly.
A moment later, they missed each other.
