Death crept down shimmering rays of sunlight.
The shadows of the Sonora desert marked Robert's soul. Always had. Always would. The desert shaped his magic as it had his entire life.
Which was a good thing when a dark young mage drove up the gravel lane to his farm in a fancy wool suit with chancy promises written in blood on his tongue.
The magic you did marked you forever. What mattered was the price and whose soul was stronger.
Death walked the Sonora and Robert had never stopped walking with Death, decades after he left.
Gør som tusindvis af andre bogelskere
Tilmeld dig nyhedsbrevet og få gode tilbud og inspiration til din næste læsning.
Ved tilmelding accepterer du vores persondatapolitik.Du kan altid afmelde dig igen.
