Dark side of the Moon [antikvár]

WALES, 1673 THE AIR WHISPERED WITH PSYCHIC ELECTRICITY. IT WAS A sensation that could only be felt by a particular nonhuman sect or by humans with highly developed senses. Ravyn Kontis was most definitely not humán. He'd been born into the world of nocturnal predators who commanded the hidden magicks of the earth—who ruled its darker arts—and he had died as one of their toughest warriors By the hand of his own brother. Now Ravyn walked the earth as something else. Some-thing soulless. Something ferocious and even deadlier than what he'd been before. There was no heart left inside him. No pity or compassion. Nothing but a pain so deep, so pro-found, that it lacerated what little humanity he had until there was nothing left but a beast so feral that he knew it would never be tamed again. Leaning his head back, he roared the cry of the angry beast that snarled inside him. The stench of death encircled him just as the blood of his enemies coated every inch of his human flesh. It dripped from his hair and his fingertips in slick rivulets that dappled the battle-trampled earth at his feet. Still it wasn't enough to appease the rage that lived inside him.