Mission Gamma Book Two: This Gray Spirit: Book Two of Four

"qablIj Hi'ang!" Ngara snarled the traditional challenge at the approaching Son of T'Mokh. She crafted a dance of fast precise spins to the tempo of her anger. Sweat dripped off the glistening ridges of her forehead, beading on her eyelashes. "I will toast my father's honor over your corpse, you sniveling p'takh!"

A master of the spear, Lughor did not fear her. Blow for blow, he would match her dazzling display of warrior-craft."qabwIj vIso'be!"he growled, revealing himself as one well schooled in the ways of battle. In one deft motion, he rent in twain her sleeve from shoulder to wrist. She roared in anger.

Weapons clashed. Lughor pushed against her. Ngara deflected each blow. Grunting, she gained ground on him. She raised her spear over her shoulder, heaving the point into Lughor's thigh. In pain, he staggered backward. Calling upon Kahless, he found the strength with which he could combat her fiery fury.

The struggle began in earnest: thrust, parry, spin away. Weapons locked as the combatants matched rippling muscle against rippling muscle.

Her pulse, pounding through her ears, deafened her to Lughor's mocking provocations. She cried, "On this night, I will stand in hot black pools of your blood, spilled when I slit your throat!" Ngara flew through the air, her spear before her, aiming for his throat.

Lughor's eyes narrowed. In a feline crouch, he leaped up to intercept her chonnaQ with his own. Ngara's weapon snapped in two. Roping his arm around her waist, Lughor wrested her to the ground. In one swift movement, he stripped her of the knife strapped to her thigh.

A battle cry rang from her throat. Ngara broke free of Lughor's grip. Flipping him onto his back, she straddled his waist, curling her sharp fingernails into his skin. Lughor bucked, but Ngara bored him down, pressing his shoulders to the ground. The sticky sweat-slick cohesion of their bare limbs fused their bodies together as they wrestled on the forest floor. Pungent air, heady and thick with their mingling musks fed their desire.

The smell of Lughor's blood on her hands suffused Ngara's senses; she longed to flick her tongue in his wound, greedily lapping the droplets from his skin. Hunger for her burned in his dark eyes. Pinning her arms above her head, Lughor slid his d'k tahg beneath the lacings of her leather corset, blade against breast. "I will have you!" he growled. And with a swift up-thrust --