The force of his leap was powerful. He struck Cabal on the torso. They both tumbled to the floor in a heap, and Lyle snapped at Cabal’s face with a vengeful, furious bite. Lyle found only air between his teeth, but Cabal reacted as if Lyle had managed to clamp on with his full jaw.
Cabal grabbed both sides of Lyle’s face, clawing, grappling to try to get a hold on blood-slickened fur. When he caught Lyle, Cabal roared, exposing fangs and tongue and gaping mouth. Lyle pawed the ground to get enough traction to flip them both. Once, twice, they rolled over the ivory carpet that now bloomed red, yellow, and pink from the remnants of Lyle’s shed blood and skin. Hands so strong that Lyle couldn’t shake them free—even with his neck muscles standing out in thick cords underneath the fur and his paws digging deep trenches in Cabal’s skin—wrapped around Lyle’s throat and squeezed.