The two men moved like war had been given flesh.
The first thing Aya noticed was the hair. A wild mane of deep, long copper-red that caught the morning sun like burnished flame, Even though his hair was tied back, some strands still plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. He was tall, taller than Dorian, and built like someone who had been sculpted by a god who took the assignment very, very personally.
Broad shoulders, a muscular frame, and arms corded with muscle that flexed with every grapple and twist. His chest was bare and glistening, and thin trails of sweat rolled down the hard ridges of his stomach and disappeared below the waistband of his loose training trousers that clung to powerful legs.
