"Sean! Stop!" I hear mingled voices call frantically.
Simultaneously, Dorian is jerked hard, backwards and away from me. He twists to free himself and regain his footing. Trying to lock onto his attacker, he staggers upright, but all it does is align him exactly right for the left hook that my infuriated mate throws. There's a sickening crunch of a breaking nose, then the nauseating odor of spilled blood fills the air.
Dorian dodges the follow-up swing easily, stepping out of range of the punch. As he and Sean square off, he wipes a hand beneath his bleeding nose, his gaze flicking to it. It's not until the next second that I—and unfortunately Sean—realize that gesture was a distraction.
In the instant that our eyes move to the collected blood smeared on his gigantic hand, Dorian kicks my mate hard in the stomach. Pressing his advantage rapidly, he moves in. With a smooth turn, he dodges Sean's reflexive punch towards his abdomen.
