Paul snarled soundlessly, and stepped back to the edge of the ring, raising both arms to a high block position, his feet perpendicular to each other, hands loosely fisted, deliberately inviting a strike to the torso.
Trouble with baiting a trap like that was that if Mary Jo handled it right, she might be able to turn it into a very big mistake.
I grabbed hold of Adam's arm and tried not to dig in my fingernails.
He was tense beside me, muttering, "Watch out, watch out.
He's faster than he looks." Mary Jo went slowly left, then right, and Paul turned easily to face her.
She shifted her weight to the right--but with a blur of speed, she broke left and moved to the attack, dropping into a long, low lunge that looked almost like something a fencer might use, her fist blurring as hip and shoulder rotated into line, driving it forward like a lance.
It was a perfect strike, delivered with superhuman speed.
Paul rotated smoothly as her fist flashed through empty air, just grazing his stomach.
He brought both fists down like hammers on her unprotected back, driving her flat to the ground with a sound like distant thunder.
Next to me Adam grunted, as if he felt the impact of Paul's fists himself.
Mary Jo was obviously dazed.
She lay on her stomach, blinking myopically.
Her mouth and throat worked like a fish's out of water.
Then she drew in a long, shuddering breath and her eyes focused.
If her ribs had been hurt before, she must be in agony after the blow she'd just taken.
Any sane person would know the fight was over, and beg to yield, but she was slowly struggling to get her elbows under her and lift her body from the mat.
Paul's mouth twisted in a mirthless smile as he watched her efforts.
"Stay down," he told her.
"Stay down.
Yield, damn it.
I don't want to hurt you anymore." She'd gotten to her elbows and was pulling her knees up when he did a flashy skip-step and brought the edge of his foot down on the back of her thigh, driving her flat to the mats again.
A short scream tore from her throat, but she jerked her knees underneath her and popped to her feet.
Her guard was too low, her right elbow pressed tightly against her injured ribs.
Below her elbow, a small stain of bright red blood was slowly spreading.
Every wolf in the room could smell it, and so could I.
I was afraid that one of those damaged ribs had punctured a lung.
Her left leg wasn't working quite right, and she took a simple stance with most of her weight on the ball of her right foot.
She stood at the very edge of the ring, which eliminated her ability to retreat but also meant Paul couldn't circle behind her.
Paul advanced slowly, carefully, a predator stalking wounded prey.
But I saw him frowning at Mary Jo's ribs.