She knocked him backward with her headlong assault, and in a confused, writhing mass, they fought. They battled in a jumbled mess of multilegged wrestling, and somehow, the two of them ended up jammed down and half-trapped among the nettle barbs. She couldn't get the lethal grip she wanted, the crushing bite that would have finished him off; she had his bad leg in her huge jaws, but her wing-case had gone askew in the struggle and the tender veil of her wing was crumpled and stuck into place. They were stalemated.

"Okay," he gasped. "Now you're going to tell me what this is about! Who are you? What are you?"

"I'm a Photuris," she muttered around the shaft of his leg. "So I'm eating you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you're a Photinus. Or you taste like one. And I'm a Photuris, so I prey on you."

"Would you stop chewing, please? Can't we discuss this matter like adults?"

"'Adults?'" She pulled her fanged mandibles from the badly dented chitin of his leg. Her mouth looked somewhat like his own, but much larger and highly suited to ripping men apart. "Do I look like a pupa to you, shorty?"

Vinnie heaved himself vigorously, struggling to find his feet in the gummy footing of the nettle leaf. She wasn't really three times his size—more like double it—and now that her sudden ambush had failed, she had a fight on her hands with him. Vinnie knew that she could kill him, and it was clear she intended to eat him. But he'd been in some fights of his own in younger days, and he knew how to handle himself. She could lose an antenna, maybe a leg.

"Look, back off, lady—or whatever you are."

"I just told you what I am: I'm a female Photuris. We lure and eat Photinus males. That's our niche; it's what we live for. I was luring you—practically perfectly—so I should be eating you right now. Stand still, and I'll make this quick."