The Fire Mage was levitating like a wraith a few feet above the ground, shrouded in a blaze of roaring scarlet flames. From his position, Jake watched helplessly as his friend pointed her fiery hands hatefully at Asfrid on the brink of death.
Gritting his teeth, he tried to teleport to intercept the attack, but his consciousness flickered for a split second, followed by a searing pang of pain in his throat. When he opened his eyes again, his mental sense found only a sea of flames instead of Asfrid. Even her ashes were nowhere to be found.
He could have cared about where Enya had gone, but a flowery scent of vanilla mingled with the smell of his own blood assaulted his nostrils. Looking down, his chin bumped against a mass of silky brown hair. Two delicate pale hands with red-painted nails were clawing tightly at his shoulders to hold him in place, while the lips of the woman they belonged to were sucking his blood as if they hadn't drunk in days.
