Before the Clock Strikes Twelve [Book I of the Anti-Tales]

Chapter 3: Deadly Invitations

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LYNX'S first instinct was to protect the children.

Her head jerked towards the sound of the intruders voice, and her hands dropped the note to the floor in surprise. It was a good thing she was sitting down too, because her left hand went straight to the top of her left boot. Her fingers brushed against the hilt of the dagger concealed within the inner lip of the leather, just below her knee. Whoever he was, couldn't see from this angle.

"Who are you?" She demanded angrily, a hot flash of nerves searing through her as she realised the door had been locked. "How did you get in?"

The large form of a man entered into the consultancy room. He brushed the curtains aside and stooped a little to get under the doorway. She withheld her shock at the sheer size of the man invading the space and making the room seem suddenly small. This was someone who could enact a terrifying amount of physical pain, should he mean harm, on three very small people. The twins of which only counted as one person really, since they were both a half each.

"Past that splinter you call a door." Came the baritone reply.

Lynx narrowed her eyes. "It just has a lot of character." She defended the splinter.

"Anymore character and it could become a protagonist in its own right." He chuckled without missing a beat, as he moved with a stealth that was surprising for a man of his size. A stealth that suggested he was used to moving silently, in the shadows, without being seen. Not wanting to be seen.

Which is why she initially hadn't heard him. That or because of the impromptu duet the twins were giving me. He stepped into the dim light and came into her line of vision, Lynx finally made out some features. Dark eyes assessed her beneath strong brows, set in a face of unreadable stone, and much like a sphinx, she couldn't read him, but she glared right back anyway. Wild raven locks tumbled down the back of his head, slicked back at the front and tumultuously waved down his spine. It was long, really long actually, and it made him look like one of those eleven fair folk from the myths and legends. Only they usually had silver-white hair, straight too. But his was spiky waves and layered ebony.

"Speaking of characters," she ran her eyes purposefully over his hair. "You're certainly not one of the elven folk, so what are you supposed to be?" She smirked. "The anti-hero?" Lynx sniggered.

The man smiled at her words, not a warm, tummy flipping gesture, but a cold, calculating and predatory one. The way a hunting lion would look at a cornered gazelle and her fawn. Confidently amused.

"This is private property, and the shop is closed today." She said, "so get out." Her voice boomed like thunder with authority.

He continued over the threshold into the room, unswayed, and she stood to meet him. Her body was tensed and coiled for action, the dagger now securely palmed in her left hand, and concealed behind billowy skirts and her shawl.