Hard to Hate You // Michael Langdon

Part VIII - Cold Blooded Killer

Upon seeing Michael's true Antichrist face, my instincts take action.  Almost immediately, I grab his arm, which is still holding me by the neck, and he flies back.  His face returns to its human form as he crashes into the wall.

I swing my arm out and the bookshelves on both sides of him flip over onto him. Deciding that the bookshelves aren't enough, I turn my attention to the candle chandelier above him. The chain breaks, and the metal structure falls on top of him. The candles tumble from their holders, catching the bookshelves on fire for an added touch.

I stand back and cross my arms smugly. My anger has now practically dissipated - perhaps I should consider taking my anger out on Michael more often.

Michael stares at me in shock as he pulls himself to his feet, pushing the bookshelves to the side.  He slowly walks forward, barely paying attention to the growing fire behind him.  "How did you do that?" he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Surprise bitch, I have powers," I scoff.

"Have you been hiding them this whole time?"

I roll my eyes.  "No, I only got them after your father decided to make us allies and shit.  Trust me, if I had them before I knew you were the Antichrist, I would've tried to kill you with them."

He sighs as he puts out the fire and fixes the mess behind him.  "Well, this complicates things."

"What?" I question.

He transmutates over to me and grabs my arm before transmutating us to his bedroom.  "Give me some warning before you just do that," I complain as he releases my arm.

He ignores me and walks over to his bedside table. He opens the drawer and grabs a knife from it before slamming it shut.

"You just keep knives in your nightstand?" I mock.

He rolls his eyes as he raises his arm and a candle flies into it.  "Give me your hand," he states as he sets the knife and candle down on his desk and holds out his hand.

I raise a brow as I walk over to him and extend my hand.  "Why?" I ask.

Without warning, he flips my hand over so it is palm up and slides the knife across my palm.

"What the fuck?" I gasp as I pull my hand away.  "What is your issue?"

He rolls his eyes. "Stop being overdramatic."

"You're one to talk," I scoff. "You just showed me your true antichrist face in perhaps the most dramatic fashion possible."

He ignores me as he makes an identical slice across his own palm. Without asking, he takes my bloody palm in his.

"I'm guessing it's too late to ask when the last time you had a Hepatitis B test was."

"Valentina," he scoffs lightly. "Do you have to ruin every moment where I'm trying to be mysterious?"

With a shrug, I reply, "Yeah."

Although he tries to hide it, I catch a glimpse of the small smile that passes over his face. I don't get the chance to press it though as he closes his eyes and begins muttering in Latin. I watch as patiently as I can, trying to ignore the residual stinging in my hand from him cutting me. 

Eventually, his eyes open at the same time that the candle lights on fire. "Wow," he murmurs.

"Wow in a good or a bad way?"

He ignores me and moves our joined hands to be over the candle. He tilts them to the side so that all of the blood collects on one end, and he allows a drop to drip onto the candle flame. The flame turns green for a few seconds before returning to its normal color.