Moving toward the sink, he pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the counter as he turned on the tap, then splashed his face with cold water. Lifting his head, Razl stared in the mirror, no longer recognizing the face staring back at him. It was hard, etched with need, his eyes glowing with the primitive hunger of the wolf, an unusual rim of amber around the brighter silver that he’d never seen before. He didn’t know what it meant—but whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Craving, dark and inhuman, battered against his conscience like a hammer, fighting to break him down…shatter his control.
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