Since ancient days, cremation had been their preferred form of burial, and Hawk knew that win or lose, someone was going to be on that funeral pyre tomorrow morning.
Because the gauntlet he’d thrown down was a winner-takes-all proposition.
The challenge of a sananu was to the death. “Sunset,” said Hawk. Then he turned and strode out of the room.
Jack awoke with a hangover so colossal it felt as if her brain was using jackhammers and dynamite to make a break from her skull.
There was pounding, copious pounding, accompanied by dizziness, the urge to vomit, and a violent twitching of the skin beneath her left eye. She sat up—bed? Why was she in bed? Whose bed was it?—and looked around the room she found herself in.
It appeared to be some kind of tree house. Large and open and beautiful
