"Wolfe, no!"
I lunge toward Alfie and Wolfe, rolling to one knee and holding my wooden sword protectively over Alfie.
Of course, wood versus metal is no contest. Wolfe's blade barely hisses as it slices my sword in half. I close my eyes tight, thinking I'm about to witness the gruesome death of a good man.
When no screaming or death gurgles, no breaking bones or splashing blood, occurs, I open my eyes and look down. The top of Wolfe's blade taps against the base of Alfie's throat. The man stares up at Wolfe with a combination of terror and defiance.
I quickly look up at my Ôsaviour.' "They weren't hurting me. We were only playing."
"I know."
Pleasure sizzles through me at the sound of Wolfe's deep rusty voice. It never ceases to send a physical thrill through me.
"Then why are you a
