Still, he was winning.
When he finally released her and pushed her away, she had nothing to show for all of her effort. He was whole and gloating, his wretched, troglodyte face grinning back at her. Blood poured from her wounds, and her throat ached with whines she was holding back with nothing more than her will power.
She couldn't continue this; it would be suicide to launch another strike, she knew that. But dammit, it wasn't over.
Her posture became defensive, chin tucking as she began to back away. Her eyes glared dangerously, irises encircled with white as they remained wide with her rage.
"I'm going to kill you," she promised, chest heaving with steady but deep breaths. "Mark my fucking words."