The rebuke instantly quiets me, and I frown at my odd acquiescence. My mouth opens and closes, but I can't find any reply—not when he might be my only chance of survival.

The stranger maneuvers his sword to the side, the white catching some of the light and reflecting it directly at the demon. There is a flash of foreign symbols on the sword that seem to be pulsating with life. The demon gives another loud yelp of pain before he disappears.

Just like before in the auditorium, he simply vanishes.

I stare at the empty spot, shocked that the demon would leave like that. Yet my shock only mounts when a hissing sound directs my attention to the severed arm currently lying by my side. Bubbles erupt to the surface, and like a corrosive acid, the arm dissolves until there's nothing left behind.

What the hell...

"Why are you not getting up?" the same harsh voice demands.

I whip my head up, my gaze instantly becoming belligerent at his tone and word choice.

He has cropped dark hair, a strong jaw and cheekbones, and the darkest irises I've ever seen. His eyes are big and round, framed by thick, black lashes that would make any woman envious. His expression is neutral as he stares down at me. With slow, deliberate movements, he stashes his sword away in the scabbard secured at his waist.

"And who are you?" I ask curiously.

He continues to stare at me. From this angle, there's something familiar about him.

"Do you know Cer and Thea, by any chance?" I inquire. Once more, I'm struck by an odd familiarity. His features are reminiscent of Cer's. Although their coloring might be different, the bone structure, eye shape, and even the nose are almost identical.

He regales me with a grunt, his eyes scanning my bloody neck and bodice with assured disinterest.

"Get up," he orders, and something about his tone irks me.

"You should say please," I shoot back in annoyance.

His expression doesn't change.

He merely blinks in a bored manner.

Pushing my palms to the ground, I attempt to stand up, only to fall back on my ass again, a low whimper of pain slipping past my lips.

I look up at him, expecting to see at least some compassion, maybe even offer a helping hand. Instead, he's sporting the same uninterested expression. No muscle in his body has moved. He's just staring at me.

"It's good manners to help a lady in need," I grumble when he makes no attempt to move.

I wonder if I sprained my ankle when I fell. It's a little tender to the touch and I can't put my weight on it. I might need to ice it up later...

"You're not a lady," he simply states, taking a step to move past me.

"W-what?" I sputter, my eyes widening in incredulity at his words.