The blood spurts and streaks sharply across Cole’s face, landing on his tongue, salty and sweet and coppery, before it pools and spreads, steaming, shimmering, a stark slash of red staining the once bright whiteness of the snow. With each stuttering throb of an increasingly desperate heart, Cole’s own heart beats faster, white-hot heat pooling low in his stomach, the ache stealing his breath.

"Mikoshiba hadn't realized why his mouth had gone dry the first time he’d seen Mayu flip and pin an opponent to the mat in a single motion, but he'd gotten there eventually. The only thing better than watching Mayu fight was when Mayu spared some of that energy on him, pushing him flat against some surface with a sudden gleam in his eye."