Andrea Sharkey
Power is a magnet, as bees are drawn to nectar so are we drawn to power. It is what makes us so desirous of that sensual star on the big screen or makes us blindly follow the golden voice at the podium. Escape into a world where you can share the most intimate moments with such people whose passion erupts in spite of the many gods they worship; two people who must have met while the Gods turned their heads. Read on as these people take their world down a path only they could envision. This is the experience you will have as you read Legends of Power.
Andrea Sharkey was born and raised in New York City and then transplanted to Northern Virginia a bit more than two decades ago.
At 45, she is a widowed mother of 3 almost grown children. She'll tell you that while raising her family and working full time plus, she wrote this book to save her sanity.
With self-taught care he approached, the unknown, sorting possibilities with each noiseless footstep. It was not a beast, hunting experience and instinct told him that. Yet no servant or town dweller would roam this land. So, what was left, a wild nomad? Perhaps. Though most young teens would have moved forward with both fear, and courage born of pride, Atan did neither. This was his land, he would clear it of all trespassers, by force if necessary, and that was all.
And yet, when he reached his goal the intruder who crouched at his feet was only a boy dressed in servant's clothes. Atan, hand still on his dagger, waited until the boy turned from his preoccupation and saw the brown leather boots of a lord. He stood in silence and faced Atan, head up, eyes forward, not staring, but not cowering.
Atan studied the boy, whom he now recognized as a servant child of the castle. Built like a soldier Atan thought, and as his eyes moved down. Something gleamed in the grass. At the boy's feet lay a sharp, bloody blade and beside it, well. . .
Atan, with cold curiosity pushed the creature with his toe. Its smooth, shiny skin flapped away from the fibrous inner organs that glistened in the sun. Atan's eyes widened. The creature's heart still beat. Its muscles twitched, in what must have been agony yet its movement was paralyzed. The deft hand that skinned the animal alive had cut muscles at its joints leaving it helpless. Atan allowed himself an unseen shiver.
A sadistic glint flashed into the boy's eyes but disappeared when Atan met his gaze. The only movement from the boy was the nervous twitching of his blade hand.
