Stavanger Bay rather have been killed by that beast than be saved by a half-breed

He judged her to be weak right off the bat, which did not bode well for her; it was her sympathy that Tetsubo found to be out of place, though, and not her skill. She was swift and practiced with her movement, precise in her assaults, but for each touch of her teeth upon his fur or bash of his shoulder upon her body, there was something lacking. It was right for them not to kill one another during this dance — it was a game of experimentation and learning, not a real battle, no matter how desperate Tetsubo was to spill her blood. Gradually his own attacks lessened in their voracity, until he stood by her flank with the rhythm of his heavy breathing to punctuate the quiet.

Then, having decided he had seen enough of her abilities, he commented in his empty way, You are strong, but I can make you stronger, the beat of his heart was maddening in his ears; Tetsubo licked the salt from his lips and swallowed the odd metallic taste at the back of his throat, and with it went the ache of his longing for blood, for the most part. Skellige is wise, and must have seen the power in you. It was a justified observation, and probably the closest thing he'd ever get to a heartwarming compliment, dry as he sounded.