Pride pushed herself up onto her elbows, her long dark hair hanging in her eyes. She could feel the blood starting to dry under her nails, and the finger-shaped bruises forming on her hips. He gave as good as he got, she had to say that about him.
She blew a few pieces of hair out of her eyes and lowered herself back down. "You sound unbearably smug, Avarice," she drawled. "Those teeth marks on your neck are a particularly flattering shade of purplish red." She poked her own hip. "As I imagine these will be."