Odette scrambled closer, the two men seemed preoccupied with eachother and not the stumbling swan maiden behind them. “Ples!! Casimiro!!” she tried to force her aching limbs to move faster but they wouldn’t and she continued to panic “Stop!! STOP!!” She was finally close and grabbed for the back of Tiben’s shirt, hoping that perhaps she could pull him away.
There was so much pain—it was almost blinding. The power of the shot knocked him off his feet and made his shoulder feel as though it were on fire, the throbbing and heat originating from underneath his skin. But no matter how bad it hurt, Casimiro didn’t have time to dig out the bullet. Odette’s voice made his head snap up, training on her. No no no no she shouldn’t be close to him. Why had she gotten up? “Odette! Get away from him!” Casimiro forced himself to his feet, teetering slightly. He held his shoulder as he shouted. “Odette!”
The other man didn’t even notice that his shirt had been gripped. He pulled away and came forward.
I only wish I had taped my hands!
Tiben pulled his fist back and threw a punch at Casimiro’s right eye.
The shirt slipped from Odette’s grip as Ples darted forward back into his fight with Casimiro. “NO!” Odette shrieked loudly, a shrill tone that would be difficult for any human to muster. She grabbed for Ples’ collar this time and yanked as hard as she could.
The punch sent him reeling for a second, the world an explosion of light and pain as Casimiro tried to settle back on the groud and stop wobbling. As soon as that happened, it was on. The rage had boiled over, all of his humanity gone as he swiped out for Ples. Grabbing him by the throat, Casimiro made sure that Tiben saw him before he swung down and slashed a clawed hand across his face. “Eye for an eye, bitch.”
Odette had got his attention, but did little to stop him from going forward.
Stand down, Odette.
"I’m doing this for you." He didn’t say it, but there would be plenty of time to explain to her later. He gulped at the air when Casimiro grabbed his throat. Tiben gave an irritated grunt at the strike across his face; blood now running down and slightly obscuring his vision. He managed to shake off the vampire, though he hunched over and was coughing profusely.
He needed more silver. If he could hold off until sunrise…
The other man brought a leg up, almost balletic in motion, and aimed for Casimiro’s mouth. There was something raspy in his voice this time.
And a tooth for a tooth.
He didn’t assess the damage, but ran to the dining room, where the good cutlery was kept.