"Eli."

Elliot slammed the book closed. "You don't get to call me that." Rising from his chair, with a hard look. "You have thirty seconds before I start dialing."

Skoll snorted, dismissing the threat. Elliot wasn't going to call the cops on him. The two played chicken, as Skoll entered the room challenging Elliot. 

The only reaction Elliot got out of Skoll as he pulled his cell phone out and started dialing was a slight twitch of his dark brow. It wasn't till the women on the other end asking if he needed fire, rescue, or police that Skoll actually flinched. In one swift motion, he yanked the phone from Elliot’s hand, muttering that it was a misdial, that everything was fine, before hanging up. He knew better than to remain silent—if he didn’t speak up, they’d call back or send all three services just to be sure.

Elliot went for his phone but Skoll caught him by the wrist with his free hand. The two of them fought for dominance, Skoll getting the upper hand when he finally pinned Elliot down on top of his desk. The two facing, legs separated by one another as Skoll leaned in closer. A pleased smirk on his face, as his tongue licked at the blood coming from Elliot's own lip now. The both of them getting a few good hits in before he pinned him. 

Before Skoll could savor the moment, Elliot headbutted him. The impact stunned Skoll, causing him to stagger back. His foot caught on the edge of the area rug, sending him crashing into the chair behind him. He barely had a second to recover before Elliot grabbed the letter opener from the desk and pressed it to Skoll’s neck.

Skoll hissed through his teeth, blood staining his lips, and winced at the cool metal against his throat. It was just a letter opener, but it felt far sharper than it had any right to be as Elliot drove the tip into his skin.

"I told you to leave." The anger boiling out over the top. Skoll could feel it pulsing off of him as he breathed. He wanted to cut him. Maybe if he did he would feel better. Ignoring the fact that he knows Skoll would only love it more if he did. "You're smoking . . . " Elliot spoke confusedly. The sharp metal now pressed along the front of his throat unaware his hand had shifted. Skoll groaned at the pain, hell his eyes closed for a moment before the word 'smoking' jerked them open.

Elliot stunned, looking at him with frowned brows. His mind had yet to put two and two together. Skoll knocked his hand away. The letter opener shot across the room skidding on the floor. 

"Why . . .? Why are you smoking?" Elliot's mind was really racing now. The wheels were turning so fast Skoll thought he just might spin out of control this time. His hand rubbed his temple. Great, now he was getting a migraine. 

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." Cursed Skoll and he bolted for the office door. Too quick for Elliot to grab him. Even quicker as he moved down the narrow hall. 

He heard Elliot call his name. More than once even but he didn't stop, yanking on his cut. The piece of clothing Skoll was sure Elliot felt was the true reason for him leaving and saying away for so long. Skoll hurried out the door. Not looking back. 

* * * * *

How was he supposed to know Elliot kept a silver relic as a letter opener? His flesh no longer burned from its touch, throwing his leg over his bike, kicking her to life as he wiped at his throat with his hand. There was barely any blood. The touch produced only smoke. And normal people didn't smoke when you touched them with silver.  

"Fuck." He cursed again as he sped off. So much for having a low profile. A few porch lights flicked on and he tore down the street. 

How was he going to explain this? Was there any explanation for this? Would Elliot let it go? It got him out of the house which was what he wanted. Hell, maybe it was enough to keep Skoll away for good.