But not Kyllian.
He caught her ankle with one hand, twisting at the waist and flipping her neatly onto the ground. She rolled with the momentum and came back up with the grace of a predator, already throwing her elbow toward his ribs. He blocked her with his forearm, smirking at the sting.
"Still slow," he taunted.
"You're still an ass," she shot back, spinning low and sweeping for his legs.
They collided, parted, and collided again; quick, sharp strikes and elegant footwork that kicked up dust under the moonlight. Neither was holding back. They fought like fire and lightning, beautiful and deadly in their own right. His raw strength met her fierce agility in a brutal dance, their bodies clashing and brushing far too often, far too close.
Every strike was personal.
Every block was a challenge.
And every glance held too much tension, too much heat, to be anything close to innocent.
