I have my fingers around the vase before I can even think and it hurtles for his head with frightening speed. He knocks it out of the way but the next one--a plate plucked off the set dinner table--is flying for his throat. "You put me in chains!"
He ducks and it shatters against the wall. "Ah, yes. Preventive measures. Did you enjoy the time alone? An old friend once said to me that solitude is the path to self-actualization."
This time, I grab at something larger. The bowl of soup. "I'm going to kill you."
He grins, licks his fangs. "And I'm going to eat you."
It was clear he didn't see me as a threat, and it isn't until he moves in the blink of an eye, plucking me right off my feet that I realize that even rage cannot fuel me for long enough to commit murder with him.
