Celia had never trained as a warrior. Gray Rock had made that decision long before she was born. Women cooked, cleaned, tended the sick, and kept their heads down. The men fought. She used to tell herself that maybe she would have trained if the rules had been different. Standing here now, watching Landon fight for his life, she was no longer so sure. The brutality of it turned her stomach. Every sound scraped at her nerves.
The earlier clash of fists and bone had felt awful enough. The sick thud of impact. The guttural grunts. The metallic tang of blood in the air mixing with the sour scent of sweat and fear. It was more violence than she had ever witnessed up close. But when both men shifted, that violence became something else entirely.
Something primal. Something meant to kill.
Howe
