Sarah rubbed lightly at the bracelet on her wrist. She was almost hoping it would give her that quick flash of insight that often got her out of bad situations. Nothing came. It sat docile, a simple piece of jewelry on her wrist.
For fifteen minutes she had been standing warily across what could only be described as a giant teacup, across from a large man who appeared to be sleeping. He was dressed completely in black, with a pair of bug-like goggles covering his eyes.
He hadn’t moved in fifteen minutes, but for some reason something about him seemed untrustworthy. It could have been the two curved blades stashed in his belt, or the way the muscles in his forearms would twitch occasionally. But most likely it was the large, rather anachronistic manacles that hung, useless, from his wrist and ankles. They had obviously been snapped. She fingered the cuffs on her belt and decided immediately they would be useless.
“I know you aren’t asleep, so playing dead won’t work,” she gripped the pommel of her police-issue revolver behind her back.
“And I know you have a gun behind your back, so hiding it won’t help,” a deep gravelly voice rumbled up out of the man as he gracefully unfolded himself to an impressive height.
“Just don’t reach for those knives at your belt and I won’t have to run a bullet through that shiny bald head of yours.”
“These?” he grinned, running the cold steel over the thighs of his black pants. “These are just personal grooming utensils.”
“Whatever you say sparky, now drop’em.”
“I don’t like guns pointed at me, lady,” he said calmly, his deep voice rumbling with concealed amusement. Sarah’s paranormal reflexes were just quick enough to get her hand out of the way as one of his curved daggers sent her revolver careening across the cup.
She fell into a defensive crouch and felt the metal cover her hand as the witchblade slid out.
He cocked his head at her, and let out a low whistle, “That’s one hell of a shiv you got there. You a bounty hunter, lady?”
“No, I’m a cop.”
He laughed, a low rumble that sent her eyebrow shooting up, “Even better.”
In an instant he was within inches of her, but he came to an abrupt stop when he felt the witchblade against his ribs.
“I always did love a woman who could most likely kill me.”
“How bout you go back to your side of this…cell, and contemplate celibacy?” she snarled at him, pressing the blade into him slightly.
“It’s a teacup. Ya’ know, I killed a man with a teacup once.”
“I’m sure your mother is very proud. Now, convict, you got a bright idea to get out of here?”
“Yeah, I do,” Sarah found herself more than unsettled by his smile.
Thirty-seven seconds later, Sarah was cussing profusely. They had vaulted the walls of the cup, run across barren white landscape, only to become trapped in the cup again. Only this time, they were under the cup, in the dark.
Somehow in the commotion, she found herself pinned beneath his solid bulk. She couldn’t see his face, but she had the distinct impression that he was smirking at her again.
“Well, that was a fine plan you came up with.”
“I didn’t get the results I planned on, but I can’t complain about where I ended up.” His hand brushed an errant strand of hair from her face and she frowned into the dark, wishing that the witchblade hadn’t already transformed back into a harmless bracelet.
“You know,” he whispered, close to her ear, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had an angry woman beneath me. They seem to be my favorite kind.”
“Not this one.” With an angry snarl she aimed her knee at his crotch and when he rolled to avoid it, she deftly flipped herself so that she straddled his hips.
She ran her hand across his chiseled stomach and saw his eyes shining an unnatural iridescent white.
“Ok, convict, you wanna play cops and robbers, I get to be on top.”