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PROLOGUE In the distant, unrecorded past It wasn’t fun being the gatekeeper to hell. The only thing worse was being evil’s bit h, and Makah’Alay Omawaya had been that, too.
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(пусто)
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Willingly. A ti beat in his s ulpted jaw as the harsh winds whipped his long bla k hair, flogging him while he stood on top of a high pre ipi e, his mus led
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(пусто)
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body and sheathed weapons silhouetted by the Hunter’s Moon. Soul-si k and weary, he surveyed the red anyon that was awash with moonlight and dan ing shadows that reminded him of his past.
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(пусто)
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