Her laughter would sweep through the rain drenched forest, sweet hips cocking to the side as she eased from  studying her long wicked looking nails to gazing at Flame as he circled her. “ Passion? Rage is passionate? How droll...” Indeed she could taste his so called rage on her tongue, and it enticed her. His obvious need for blood to be spilled roused her own desires. Yet unlike him, she stood casual, bringing  a lone nail of razor sharpness to her chest, wear slowly, enticingly, she would tear into her own flesh. A delightful trail of crimson would soon stain her white flesh, blending with the droplets of rain, washing down to disappear against the darkness of the leather halter barely holding bountiful breasts within. And she too would begin to take steps, beginning a slow, sensual circle of her own, booted leggings silent on the forest floor. “ Rage is need. Rage is desire. Rage is the want of battle my lovely male. If it is rage you seek...” her lips so full and lush would curl into a delighted snarl, teeth bared, the smell of her blood surely sweeping through his senses... “ ..then come for me, and stop teasing.”