Warlord was a panther? Or the panther was Warlord?Huge, black, sleek, threatening . . . but not threatening her.Two years ago in Nepal, she had witnessed the supernatural when she touched the long-dead child, the villagers’ sacrifice to the devil . . . and the little girl had opened her eyes. Those unforgettable aquamarine eyes that had so completely matched Karen’s.Karen had hoped never again to see anything so eerie, hoped never again to be so close to that other world where fantasy took life and evil held reign for a thousand years.But Warlord had returned, and now . . . from beneath Karen’s bed, a king cobra lifted itself from its hiding place. Its skin was shiny and glorious with color: black and red and gold. The evil thing was ten feet long, as round as her thigh, its hood spread wide-open, its segments glinting like jewels of death, its intelligent black eyes tracking the movements of the panther. Of Warlord.Yet she knew with terrifying certainty that the snake was aware of her, and anticipated murdering her with keen relish.How did this thing get in here?Why was it so big?How could it have such an intelligent and malevolent intent?Only one answer was possible: This snake was like Warlord, a man who became a creature from hell to stalk, hide, take life with intelligent efficiency.Warlord said he had fallen into the heart of evil.She flattened herself against the wall.
