Unaware of the stake, she planned ahead only for the revulsion the cross would impress within her. She winced inwardly recalling it from earlier and swept her rage about it underneath the rug of her psyche, barely flinching when he'd advanced, subtle but obvious. Oh? So he was going to agree? Her spine writhed with delight. "An honest man." She'd repeated, for no apparent reason than merely to.
She was not as clever at plotting and scheming as Van Velsing. Lucy was after all, a girl. An angry, sad little girl who was terribly hungry and not thinking straight. She almost trusted he'd go along with what she said, merely because she hoped he was intimidated by her. Another neighborhood of her less addled mind knew better.
"Your hand then." Her index curled in a 'come here' fashion; surprise, she wasn't going to go for the neck. And if he offered, ever, his neck, she would rip it apart without warning. But where was the fun in that? She wanted the hunter to be her plaything. Toying just made the blood sweeter.
"You must come closer too." Her whispery voice suggested.