My chest heaved as adrenaline coursed through my veins, and I was barely aware that the bottle that had been firmly grasped within my fist moments before now flew through the air, aimed at the strangers head. I was hunched, the hand twisted behind my back coalescing flames within the palm, ready for him to make the next move.
The bottle hit his head with an nasty CRASH; a grunt fell from muffled lips as the mask–stark white with red eyes, ending in a wicked-looking beak–loosened itself from his head, clattering to the floor. A long hand clenched the side of his face, crimson blood flowing freely from broken skin on his pale face, and I straightened, jaw set and squared my shoulders, eyes narrowed in the minimal light.
"Fiery one, aren't you~?" he chuckled, straightening up. A single eye fixed upon me, the other hidden behind an ebony eye-patch, and I could feel my stomach drop, realizing who this man was. Or, who I thought he was. Regardless, my hand whipped around front, orange flames flickering and hissing in my palm, the glow casting a light on my features from below.
"You have no idea."
Barely a second later, the flames were flying from my hand, illuminating an orange streak in the air between the man and I, connecting us through some string of fate. He sidestepped out of the way, and the flames hit the wall behind him, narrowly avoiding a tapestry Asra had woven several months back, leaving a charred, black circle on the wooden surface. A grin flashed across his features as he flashed his gaze back upon me, hissing when he discovered I had taken the opportunity to move during the distraction.
I hopped the counter, shoving my hand into a drawer below; within it was a collection of knives, all used to cut a certain type of herb, all of various sizes and serration. While thoroughly cleaned and void of any poisons our herbs might have gathered, they were still razor sharp and painful when cut, and would likely cause serious damage if used improperly. My hand clasped around the handle of the largest, and firmly in my fist, I hopped the counter once again, shoving my body against his in an effort to knock him off balance.
It was then that I got a good look at his face; I barely recognized him, and there was a certain hint of familiarity in his handsome features, but the adrenaline and fear that coursed through my body at his intrusion hardly had me thinking straight.
Shoving him into the wall, I pressed the flat of the blade against his neck, my lips lifted in an aggressive snarl. "Fight me, you attractive stranger." My voice was no more than a growl, and yet I was mildly surprised at my choice of words. Clearly, the stranger, the doctor, was amused as well, and with my momentary distraction, he wrapped his hand around my wrist, tugging the knife away from his throat, hissing slightly as it cut a small line in his skin.
"I'm not here to fight you, my dear," he chuckled, eyes flashing with a quirk of his brow. "I'm looking for the witch. The witch who operates from this shop."
His grip on my hand was unrelenting, and as I took a step back, pulling my arm with me, I failed in my attempt to break free. His hand remained clasped as I threw myself against the counter with an irritated growl, lips curled, and he followed my every move, making it impossible to use the knife to defend myself in any manner. Try as I might, I only succeeded in pinning myself between the counter and his body, his face uncomfortably close to mine as he watched me closely, staring down his long nose into my golden eyes. His hand rested beside my hip on the glass top, and I was very aware of how his knee rested between mine
"I don't know where he is," I hissed defensively, a slight blush creeping over my cheeks. Asra never told me where he went–why he kept it from me, I did not know, but it hurt to think that he couldn't trust me enough with the slightest knowledge. The mere thought caused my grip on the knife to slacken, and a second later, it fell from my fingers and landed on the floor with a clatter. I cast my gaze aside, nose wrinkled. "He doesn't tell me where he goes."
My expression was hard, brows furrowed together as I met his gaze unwaveringly. There was a slight pout to my lips, and though my heart still raced at the fright the doctor had given me minutes ago, I held my own, puffing out my chest in challenge as he watched me carefully. He seemed rather amused by my refusal to back down, and for a moment, I thought he was going to accept his defeat and carry on. However, the hand beside my hip rose, thumb running along the wound on his neck. Upon the thumb of his glove was the smallest droplet of blood from the cut I had drawn on his skin, and he returned his gaze to mine with a thoughtful glance.
"Odd," he murmured, casting his eye to the curtains separating the shopfront to the backroom. "I would have thought he would have told his protege where he was going…" His gaze traveled lazily back to mine, smug grin plastered across his face at his proximity to mine, and though my expression remained resolute, I couldn't help but to feel the tips of my ears blaze. However, the hand that was not captured within his raised to grab him by the scruff of his shirt, pulling him dangerously close, and though I could see the blush slowly creep upon his cheeks and along his nose, I ignored it, raising a brow skeptically.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Doctor Jules."
His brows raised in surprise, grip loosening slightly on my wrist, before it slipped through his fingers. It was a moment before I, too, released his clothing, leaning back against the countertop with a huff, my knees squeezing his nonchalantly, my gaze cast toward the back room. He straightened up, widening the space between us ever-so-slightly, and tilted his head in thought, eye narrowed as it fixed on mine.
"Oh, he'll be back for you, my dear. I'm certain of it."