365 words
The other mentioned a companion named Bayard, but Levent made no comment on it; she had proven his point for him, and he wasn’t going to be too annoying toward the woman, even if he might border on being so. This Ember seemed to be able to hold her own on that account, however; she matched each of his remarks with a wry one of her own.
Her comment about him not being lonesome had him grinning. “Now that’s just unrealistic,” he said, overplaying his modesty even if it was true. He didn’t like to think of himself as a manwhore, but the man never said no—but other than one potentially sociopathic individual, not many in Nova Scotia had thrown themselves at him. Even if they wanted to, he was sure his little feline guardian would have something unpleasant to say about it—and he wanted to stay on the tom’s good side ever since the last incident with the merchant woman. For now, at least. Until the next pretty got in line.
The dark woman justified her wariness, and he nodded in understanding. “My father was a trader,” he said quietly, his voice less colorful and embellished as he slipped in this serious remark. “He was killed by brigands on the road, so I understand.” His lips split in a grin, and he was back to himself as he finished: “But when I’m encountered by murderers and thieves, I usually just talk them to death.” It wasn’t really too far from the truth (minus the “to death” part), seeing as he found it easier to babble to get out of a hot spot than spill blood. He simply wasn’t that good of a fighter.
He shook his head as she explained the origin of the sword, only muttering, “You’re lucky, tatlım,” but her sudden attention toward the white cat had his ears pricking. Her remark about eating them made the male’s smile vanish, his claws tightening on his crossed arms. His pleasantness returned a second later—albeit a bit forced. “That’s the fate I saved Wilson from, actually.” His blue eyes narrowed. “Everyone underestimates how intelligent cats are. Equal to luperci, I’d guess.”
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