Page 112 of Spar of Hearts

Anya found the buttons of his vest and shirt, working them with eager fingers.

“This has to come off anyway,” she murmured against his lips. He didn’t protest. Flutters filled her belly as she spread the clothing apart, toying through the bristles of fiery hair on his chest. She pushed harder against him. Her dress was torture. A damn prison. Why did people wear clothes? Why? She couldn’t remember. Or why they were here. Or where here was. Her cheeks flushed hot with desire, the throb between her legs growing unbearable. She guided his strong fingers to the threads of her dress, practically begging for release, eyes around them be damned, but the bell rang, and he pulled away with a husky chuckle, leaving her reeling in a lust-drenched daze.

“I’ll finish you later,” he teased, stroking a finger under her chin. “Root for me, my furry little Princess.”

With that, he vaulted over the partition into the ring. Appreciative whistles rang out as he stepped to the center, exchanging a sportsmanlike nod with the other fighter, Hans. Anya had appreciated Roderick’s body in the cave, but the mage lights down here practically drenched every contour of his muscles in shadows.

Hans was a pup compared to him. Roderick cracked his knuckles and cast a devilish grin at Anya while the announcer rattled off the same rules.

“Ready?”

Roderick turned his attention to Hans.

“Set?”

“Fight!”

He let Hans make the first rush, sidestepping him as swiftly as he did when they sparred on the Lupus Star. Hans growled and whirled around, met by a fist across his jaw.

Anya gasped, clutching Roderick’s balled-up shirt to her face as Hans socked him in the gut.

Roderick stumbled back a step, held his stomach for a moment…

Then smiled.

“I’ve missed this!” he roared, trading blows with Hans.

“YES!!!” Anya howled, pumping her fist in the air. “YES!!!”

Roderick stopped a punch with his hand, then the other until they were in a full-blown grapple. Roderick’s broad shoulders dwarfed his opponent, whose arms began to shake with effort. A weak growl escaped his throat. Hans almost seemed to bend back in half, then abandoned his grip against Roderick and rolled to the side. Roderick lost his balance and slammed to the ground.

“Get up! Get up!” Anya shouted. Every second felt like a minute of stillness.

Hans approached him, fingers tightened into fists. When he bent a knee to pin Roderick down, Roderick seized Hans’s wrists and slammed him down behind him, then shot to his feet…

…and winked at her.

Hans struggled to get up, one wrist contorted in an unnatural direction. Roderick towered over him, then shoved him back down with a single foot. Hans exhaled, expelling any remaining resistance from his lungs.

“One!”

“Two!”

“Three!”

“THAT’S MATCH!”

The bell rang.

A relentless grin stretched to the heights of her cheekbones. Round after round, Roderick fought his way to the final match with the grace of a dancer and the lethal intent of a viper.

That was her mate up there.

Her.

Mate.

Roderick Bryson