She blinked at his comment, lost for words. She could not be jealous, yet briefly she felt that spark. But it was petty of her and she brushed it aside. She smiled and made a face, "mortals are fragile. Self likes them, but self does not have my claws, and my unwillingness to keep them dull."
She rose, plate in hand and rinsed it off. "And it appears even I can be bested." Briefly she set her fingers to where the bullet had bit her before shrugging it aside. It was in the past.
Yet when she turned to him she felt awkward again. "Now what?" She did not feel like her confident self, wishing there was some sort of guideline she could follow.