[Feanor of the Peredhil]

She woke up, her mind miraculously clear and her head no longer pounding. Werdil crept toward her. She grinned recklessly, daring him to do his worst:

"Do your worst."

She reached stealthily for the silver dagger normally sheathed to her attractively long leg. Her fingers met with air and then fabric. Her sheath was missing, the blade with it! When had she lost it?

The werewolf was nearly upon her.

Ugh! She'd had it when Mariò attacked her, though she'd been unable to use it against him. He must have disarmed her before Aimè's spectacular and short-lived defeat of him.

Mardil was there... he licked his lips, sharp teeth protruding in a gorgeously vampiric sort of way. Alli cursed herself for thinking about how attractive he was just now. She dared him to do his worst once more, reaching fruitlessly for a can of mace that had quite inconveniently disappeared at the same approximate time that the bag it was in did.

"I say it again, fiend, do your worst!"

He reached for her, grasping her face by the chin and pulling her upward toward him. She hit him hard with the side of her fist, loosening her hand to rake her fingernails across his face with the same motion. He growled angrily, his breath hot against her cheeks. Against all odds, she had a sudden strong desire to press her soft lips against his own.

"Alli, try to duck!" Aimè's desperate voice yelled over Alli's pounding heartbeat. Her chest rose and fell as she gasped for breath, now afraid. The werewolf's attention wavered for a moment, perhaps at Aimè's voice or perhaps for another reason. For a moment, Alli thought she saw a spark of humanity within his feral eyes.

The werewolf, seeing Aimè's repaired bow, stood fully, pulling Alli with him. He pulled her tight against him, a claw positioned across her throat, breathing dark threats into her ear as he used her as a shield. The blood Alli's nails had left behind on Mardil's face felt hot and wet against her own rose petal cheeks. She could smell Mardil's expensive cologne and cursed the designer of it for predicting so well what it would do to poor helpless girls, most especially when coupled with the soft fresh scent of fabric softener, the just-showered smell of soap, and that certain aroma that is apparently bequeathed to good-looking guys by some sort of mojo-god. Her knees felt weak.

If the vicious monster hadn't been using her as a human shield, she would have swooned at how incredibly mmmm he smelled. She was suddenly extremely angry at Mardil for being so attractive, even in werewolf form. She cried out to Aimè:

"Deeayemen it, I'm a damsel and I'm in distress. Somebody save me!!!"