I’ve got you now, you red-bearded bastard!” Rhys Macaulay grunted as he adjusted his grip on the hilt of his long sword. His lip pulled back to bare his teeth as his fingers slipped a fraction of an inch, but his sparring partner didn’t miss a beat. Gabriel circled left, his sneakers shrilling against the rubber floor of the Manor’s gymnasium with every movement. Rhys adjusted his grip, but to little avail; he and Gabriel had been practicing for almost two hours, and Rhys’s hands were damp with perspiration. “You’re keeping your hands dry with magic, ye English prick,” Rhys accused, anger thickening his Scottish brogue to the point that it made him self-conscious. “I thought you said there were no rules to fighting,” Gabriel shot back, his high-bred London accent grating on Rhys’s nerves. “‘Throw duuurt in their eyes’, you said. ‘Eef the chance comes, kick a maaaan when he’s doon’.”
What do You think about Dirty Angel (Sainted Sinners #1)?
