fluttering your lashes like ashes and embers

Alastor's shadow wriggled gently under Lotte's touch, a ripple coursing through it that made it almost shimmer. Beneath it, Alastor shivered and rolled his shoulders, the touch sliding through the shadow and down into him. He felt tired now, a little, the longer he sat. Still, too much adrenaline, or whatever passed for it in a creature like him, ran in his blood without dissipating. When it did, he would be dead to the world, he knew that much.

But for now, limbs heavy and eyes bright with curiosity, he leaned towards Lotte. "Anything?" he asked her. "Even me? Say, how would you go about that? If I crossed you, and you had to burn me all up to ashes, how do you imagine you'd get the job done?"

It was worth her consideration, just as the deal itself had been worth both their consideration, Alastor's careful use of words. For all she knew, he could become dangerous to her. He certainly was, to most everyone else. He'd never promised her some unending safety, only that he would get her to New Orleans and into her new home, unharmed.

He settled back again, nestling against the pillows with a look of smug satisfaction written on his face for having brought it up. "Now I, myself, think maybe you could if you put your head to it. But I wonder if you really believe that."