He blocked my second strike. His lip was bleeding. I kicked for his knee, and he countered, tangling our legs, and brought us down into the undergrowth with enough force to wind us both. We wrestled, our techniques matched after centuries of practise together, but his greater strength won out, and he pinned me beneath him panting.
For a moment, we glared at each other, and then I fisted his hair, dragging his mouth down to mine, crushing our lips together. The kiss was savage, full of anger and hunger and need. We devoured each other, without tenderness or mercy. I could taste his blood from his split lip.