His head snapped in the direction the butter knife had collided with the floor. Blake took a deep breath before moving the pistol held tightly in his grip. It seemed like he wasn't alone, "you just had to play the damn hero." He muttered to himself. Moving though the house toward the sound his back against the wall he peeked out of cover to see no one.

His brows creased in confusion, though he kept the gun in his grip. Moving forward into the kitchen. Looking around picking up anything that would help. His boots making a slight sound against the wood. "Your going to get yourself killed one of these days." Once he finished making sure the kitchen was empty he moved toward one of the rooms. Opening the door, eyes widening at the runner that seemed to come at him once he opened it.

He didn't have time to grab his short sword. Falling to the floor with a thud his gun slipping from his grasp as he tried to keep the thing from biting him. His hand already searching for the pistol on the floor, luck seemed to be on his side today as his hand grasped his pistol he shot the runner in the head. Letting out a breath of relief, as he rolled the dead thing off of him.