"I'd rather you didn't kill me," he said amiably enough, but there was still no fear in his eyes when he regarded her. She was a fellow predator, a scavenger of bodies the way he was a scavenger of flesh. He moved a little closer, tilting his head. His hand came out, chipped black nail polish, too many little scars to count, and caught her wrist. Slow, not a 'gotcha'.
His thumbnail traced the hollow of her wrist. "Here."