I'm Waiting For You, Vizzini

Enrico calmly sidestepped Basileus' pathetic attempt to attack him, and perhaps it was a hint of stubborn contrariness that made the decision for him in that moment. No, Basileus was not willing to accept his house. Yes, he would be willing to make the effort to save Basileus, if only to assuage his own conscience and to grab hold of the opportunity to prove to himself that he was not the coward he'd been all these years running from the phantom of Basileus' presence. He was no coward. If he died by Bas' fangs once he was well enough to try again, so be it.

"Very well, Scarlatti," he said coolly, dispensing with the pleasantry. He was still speaking Italian this whole time even though I'm too lazy to translate it on the phone. "You may kill me one day, this is true. But you will be killing no one scrabbling about bleeding out in the snow. You cannot even walk. What will you do to me now? I could disappear and leave you here. Even if you survived, you still would never find me." He shook his head sharply, circling the prone fighter to prove his point. He returned to Basileus' head and sat, carefully out of range. "If I save you, you will kill me. My soul is already stained with the blood of my brothers, what is one more body along the way, hmm? I am already damned. What would saving you do to relieve that burden? It would do nothing." It was a reasonable argument, even though he had already made the decision to save Basileus whether the male liked it or not. If he had to, he would drag him by the tail all the way up north to the Antiox.