He tastes metal, bright and bitter on his tongue, and it burns. The feral beast that lives behind his breast bone howls with rage, those memories stirring others, of the hunt, of blood, bright and hot, spilling down his jaws.

But he keeps that monster under the reign of his will, bound and muzzled. He can give her what she needs without succumbing to mindless bloodlust.

His body remembers the drills, bone and muscle responding with their own memories. The takedown becomes a rolling surge, the feint countered with his own reaching grasp. They flow together, fire and mist, warrior and mage, and it feels like they've done this a thousand times before.

When they separate and he dances away, he pauses to grin at her, tossing his hair back over his shoulder. He wishes he'd had the sense to braid it first.

'Again,' he growls, and there is joy in the word.