By S. M. Stirling
First within the new Shadowspan sequence from the recent York occasions bestselling "master of speculative fiction" (Library Journal). Eons in the past, Homo Lupens governed the earth. owning impressive powers, they have been the resource of the entire myths and legends of the uncanny. And even though their numbers were enormously decreased, they exist nonetheless- notwithstanding no longer as purebreds. Adrian Breze is one such being. filthy rich and reclusive, he's extra Shadowspawn than human. yet he rebelled opposed to his personal style, determining to dwell as a normal guy. Now, to avoid wasting humanity, he needs to conflict the darkish forces of the world-including these in his personal blood...
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This is my memory palace. We're inside . . ummm, my mind. " Ellen put a hand to her forehead and clenched it until the fingers dug painfully into the skin. " she said, keeping her voice from rising dangerously. "We were sleeping together for six months and it just never seemed the right fucking time? " He crossed and knelt before her, taking her hands. "Ellie, I wanted to tell you. " "Keeping me ignorant is not protective! From now on, you will tell me things or I will not . . " "I feel guilty as hell that I let us get involved at all, but it had been years, I was supposed to be left alone--Ellie, we don't have time for me to tell you two hundred years of history.
What's that thought there? Without my ass bare to the breeze? " She smiled and linked her hands behind her head. " CHAPTER SIX Where am I? Ellen Tarnowski looked around. She was sitting in . . It's Adrian's living-room! The great windows showing an endless tumbled stretch of moonlit high desert and mountain, the lights dim, a fire of pinon logs crackling on the fieldstone hearth and scenting the air. Even the faint smell of tobacco she'd found so irritating was comforting enough to make her almost sob with gratitude.
If you knew how many times I had to actually go through those pseudo-medieval rituals, as if I was some legend-besotted Victorian secret-society occultist like our ancestors . " "You haven't had to deal with the Demon Daimyo of the West Coast as long as I have, Dmitri. " "Yes," he said. "Progress that can be laid before the Council. " He made another gesture, one that seemed natural; forefinger to thumb, like the sign for OK, and a finger tapped to the neck. Then he reached for the tray, dipping a strip of the dark toast into the caviar, and taking one of the small glasses.
A Taint in the Blood: A Novel of the Shadowspawn by S. M. Stirling