Rejected by My Mate, Desired by His Enemy
"HAVEN!"
My scream rips through the choking smoke, raw and useless. No answer comes back, only the hungry roar of flames and the distant, brutal clash of combat somewhere deeper in the haze.
The smoke isn't normal. It's thick, oily, purple-black instead of honest grey. It tastes like sulfur and rot on my tongue. Dark magic. The kind that burns hotter, meaner, and clings to skin like poison.
Donovan's hand clamps around my forearm, iron-hard.