Common

The genuine interest that had sparked in her eyes only moments ago had died to mere embers, having been quickly overtaken by disgust. She, like her mother before her, was a creature born of quick-firing temper and no shortage of passion. Had the beast not - in her eyes - attempted to intimidate her, she might have gone on blissfully oblivious the ego that she could now so plainly see. It was a wonder he was able to lift his massive head at all with the sense of self-importance he seemed to wield.

Her teeth bared of their own free will and for a moment she seemed about to match him, to make him work for the pleasure of laying ownership to her. Suddenly, the nimble half-Paso Fino whirled away from him, a flash of black and white as she spun on her rump and booked it as if the very hounds of hell were nipping at her heels.

Because they were, in a way.

In his statement - devoid of any passion - she read what she believed to be the future: a life devoid of charm or adoration or softly whispered words beneath a beautiful Atlantean sky. This would not be the life she had imagined for herself - however briefly - with Azrael at her side. It wouldn't even be the sort of hot-and-cold, on-and-off again sort of thing that her mother endured. Rather, it would be a loveless imprisonment by a creature that had, thus far, shown no interest in her and every bit of interest in himself.

She would not willingly demean herself by putting up with it.

But while Catalina is many things, she has little practice running away from anyone, much less someone with far more experience in battle techniques than she can ever hope to have and it is not long before he succeeds - forcing her to Paradise whether she likes it or not.

And she, most certainly, does not.