"How, do you like, Mr right, now?"
Clay asked between deep hot laboured breaths, his words washing over her skin. His hand was fishing for her bra strap, his shirt had fallen back and only hung by his elbows exposing all his chest, abs and wide shoulders. His belt hung loosely parted and his denim jeans barely balanced on his hips. 
Suddenly the scent and sound of another reached his keen senses.
Clay smelt the familiar sweet scent of fear.  

A pearl white grin spreads across his lips.

At first he ignored it, a part of him didn't want to notice it, a part of him didn't care. But it interrupted the mood and played on his mind. 

His jaw clenches as he backs of from Valyna as the silent steps sneak near, Clay takes out his frustration of the interruption with a sharp fast blow of his bare knuckles against the tavern wall. Again the thud echoes within the building acting as a reminder to a certain someone that he was out there. 
It also covers the the war cry of the young naive attacker.


Clay spins to face his wild attacker, surprised that she summoned enough courage to smother her fear. 
He went to intercept the attack and throw up his arms in defence but instead they were caught up in his shirt and had to snap down to catch his falling pants. 
In what was not his finest moment, Clay had done nothing but step right into the attack. 

The dagger dug into his chest and blood soon came trickling out and ran down his body. His face was growing as red as the blood fuelled with embarrassment, frustration and anger. He stood silently staring at the hooded figure. Eyes wide. Nostrils flared. 


Time seemed to come to a halt as everything went suddenly still. Clay's arms bound by his shirt holding up his pants while a dagger sat in his chest, breathing deep and heavily, trying to remain calm while balancing on a fine line of undecided relentless retaliation.

"[b]What...[/b]" He growled in confused disbelief.