She didn't move in front of him again. He had enough to deal with, with the witch before them; she didn't want his attention diverted with concerns for her safety, which she somehow knew he would have done.
Still, even with that, the way she called him pet made her angry, and her eyes flashed with that anger in the apartment's dim light. Every fiber of her being screamed he isn't yours, and it was something that went past whatever was happening in the apartment at that moment, even if she couldn't explain it.
Her hand did not move from his spine, even when he moved forward, and though she remained quiet, her chin tipped defiantly and her eyes said, very clearly, that she would not be meek in this.
The fact that there was something familiar about the witch played at the edges of her consciousness, however. "Do we know one another?" she finally asked.