“No tricks, Linsora,” he said with a cheeky grin, and her eyes lit up with rage. “Just skill and patience.”
She scoffed, giving him enough time to pull her forward and take ahold of her arms—his lean, tan frame rising before her. “Maybe now we can talk in a civilized manner.”
“The only way you’ll ever be civilized is when you’ve gone to whatever serves as hell in your afterworld!”
He sidestepped a kick intended for his shin.
“Do you expect me to believe you wanted me to turn you in?”
“Yes!” he snarled back at her. “You were supposed to turn me in. Anyone else would have!” He looked down at this short but powerful woman. At six feet tall, he stood at least a head taller than her, and over the past year, he had honed his Tokorellan frame into a sleek, muscular shape that he was proud of.
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