He turns his smile back to me, but all I see are teeth. It’s what I’m meant to see. With him, I don’t understand how people could see anything else.
“One of these days,” he says, leaning in, “your brother’s going to decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth. When that day comes, I want you to promise me something.”
“Yeah?” I reply, and smirk. “What’s that?”
“Just this: Run.”
There was a time I found him terrifying. Okay, who am I kidding? I still do. But even a real threat loses its edge with overuse.
And it never pays to look afraid.
“Whatever,” I reply, laughing. Then, as derisively as I can manage: “I assume you didn’t come here just to spout your impotent little threats at me, so what do you want?”
His eyes blaze at the word “impotent”, and I mark down a point for me. But I know that he’s keeping score, too.
“Get up,” he spits as he pushes up and out of his chair. His smile has vanished. “We’re leaving.”
For a second I wonder if maybe I’ve pushed him too far; but no . . . as much as he wants to rip my throat out, he fears Faolan ten times more. He’ll bide his time. He knows he won’t have to wait forever. He’s right: Faolan and I are oil and water, and it’s only a matter of time before he gives up on me.
I get up and Cormac follows me out. Predator after prey. As it should be.