Page 21 of A Delicate Conquest

Mavrel struck again, harder this time.

Rykal blocked.

Encouraged, Mavrel rained down a flurry of blows; his movements made faster and more vicious by the fury of the Mating Fever.

Rykal was right about one thing. The Mating Fever increased aggression, and this little exercise was perfect for releasing his pent-up frustration.

He was faster than ever.

Stronger.

More alert.

His reaction time had increased.

Incredible.

Mavrel was relentless, forcing Rykal backward. The warrior was still able to block him with ease, though, right until…

Thud.

Mavrel dealt two blows in quick succession. One, right at Rykal’s face. The other went low—into his gut.

Rykal twisted his body, but not fast enough.

Mavrel’s hit connected.

“Oof,” Rykal hissed. Still with his guard up, he stepped back.

Mavrel stopped, partially shocked.

He’d actually hit him.

A First Division warrior.

“Fair hit,” Rykal said, offering a slight bow. “You got me.”

Chest heaving from exertion, Mavrel shook his head in disbelief. “You sure you didn’t let me have that one?”

“Nope. That was a legitimate hit. I was too distracted by your full-on frontal assault. Good job, brother. It isn’t easy to land a hit on me, but you did it. Feel better now?”

Mavrel blinked. He took a moment to inhale deeply and clear his thoughts. The Mating Fever was still there, a dark undercurrent beneath the surface of his thoughts, but it was more manageable now. His anger had dissipated. All that remained was an insistent feeling, a primal drive, an obsession.

Her.

Her.

Her.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her.

But he could control it now.

“Why is this so much more effective than Zharek’s suppressants?” he growled.

“Nothing tempers aggression better than a fight,” Rykal answered sagely.

Since when hadRykal,of all people, been the fount of wisdom?

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