Most of the men—what Carolyn called the wolf pack, a pack that now included all the men who had been on the Defiant's lifeboat—had gone off on a hunting trip. The men craved red meat as much as the sight of the merry streets of London. Only two men had remained and they remained solely because they had one precious bottle of rum left and they had not wanted to share this treasure. After a drunkenly boisterous night, the two men had finally fallen asleep and she had simply slipped quietly by their sides to steal one of their daggers. A knife she would use to demonstrate that she was perfectly capable of defending herself. After all, she had killed for far less reason and while she'd prefer the gentler, easier means of poison, the situation called for far more drastic means. So, when the pack returned and they forced her to pick one of them, she'd charmingly, sweetly oblige. She knew which one too; it would be their leader; she'd pick the man named John to die. She supposed they could kill her in turn and probably would but she would infinitely prefer death than to ever, ever condescend to choosing one of them.
