No Fear of Death

THE WINGLEADER WAS GONE. The man in him. His soul had been corrupted, subdued, imprisoned in his own body while that of a rogue dark rover took control. At the reins of his psyche, there was nothing this Bodywalker could not do in the form of the wingleader. And perhaps, if Rafel had not naively pushed it to reveal his form, the injured sentinels on the floor would be body bags.

For this Bolta was eternally grateful. She had no doubts that she took would be crimson and gore in the tunnels if Rafel hadn't acted when he did. And now, as interim commandant she had to make the tough call.