Run, Run, Run, As Fast As You Can

Pain

Finding the kitchen wasn't hard at all. Even with my insensitive, human, nose the smell of pancakes was overpowering.

I looked around a little when I got in there. It had a very modern look, but you could tell it wasn't used often. Meaning that I was probably in a house full of boys. At least they were clean boys.

After taking stock of the whole kitchen I walked over to where a warm plate of pancakes sat and took a few. 

As I leaned up against the counter chewing my treat, I saw Jambres walk in. 

His face was the definition of murderous. Blood was still dripping off his chin, even though his nose showed no sign of damage. His hair was disheveled ever-so-slightly from his fall and his eyebrows were scrunched low over his eyes. 

The dangerous tilt to his mouth, and perhaps the previous knowledge that he was a homicidal maniac, should have made me weary, scared, even; but I just sat there, eating my pancake as he walked up to me. I was unconcerned by the agitation in his walk, or the purpose in his eye.

"I have a few complaints about the costumer service here. I don't know what gave you the idea that you could attack one of my guards. Let alone kill him. They're my guards, and it's my job to put them in the hospital. Not yours. Mine. Oh, and who doesn't leave out syrup for pancakes? What is this, some kind of prison?"

Jambres ignored my complaint as he grabbed me by the shirt and threw me to the ground behind him. 

Still, I couldn't find it in me to be frightened. Maybe it was the fact that I'd dealt with werewolves since I was six and none of them had ever really hurt me, or maybe I just didn't really process his intent. Whatever the reason, I stood up slowly and brushed my clothes off.

My pancakes skidded across the floor and came to a stop at the far wall. For the most part they were still on the plate, and for that I was glad. It meant I was going to be able to eat them after this whole business with Mr. Butt sore. 

I turned my gaze from the mostly intact plate. "Temper, temper," I said looking at Jambres with mocking in my eyes, "what would your father think of you hurting an innocent girl?"

"Innocent my ass," he said before drawing his arm back. 

Telegraphing, I believe was the word. Drawing back like that was like painting a neon sign above your head that said, "guess what? I'm going to punch you!" Telegraphing wasn't the smartest thing to do in a knock-down-drag-out fight and if he was nearly as mad as he looked, this was going to be worse than a knock-down-drag-out fight. It was going to be more like a, kill or be killed kind of fight. 

I stepped to the side as he swung. 

"Tisk, tisk," I said looking at him with disappointment, "No wonder your father gave his throne to your brother. He obviously thought you wouldn't be able to protect the castle, considering the fact that you fight like a girl. Oh wait, I fight like a girl, and I'm winning."

The anger in his eyes flashed brighter, and I could see him battling with his wolf. Of course at this point I wasn't sure which was trying to keep me alive, or if either of them were trying to hold back. For all I knew, they were fighting over who got to rip my head off. 

It looked like Jambres won his internal war, but that didn't mean he was calm by any stretch of the imagination. 

He threw a series of punches. 

I laughed as I dodged them, "Really mixing it up there, aren't you? I'm proud, maybe soon you will advance to being able to hit me."

Probably not the smartest thing I've said in my life.