Читать книгу Nightmare Army - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

Tentatively he sniffed the air.

It was redolent of decaying plants, fresh bark, a hint of blood—and sweat, coming from the corner to his right.

Bolan took his hand away from his face to find it clenched into a fist, just like the one at his side. What the hell is happening to me? he thought. Every sense was preternaturally aware. Every inch of his body overflowed with energy, as if he could run a dozen marathons back-to-back.

But above all, his mind was filled with the overwhelming basic instinct of fight-or-flight. But it was difficult to consider flight as a viable option anymore. Instead, there was only the burning need for combat, to dominate his opponent—any opponent—and leave the person bleeding and defeated in the dirt.

Almost unaware that his lips had peeled back from his teeth in a feral grin, Bolan stepped farther into the room, his eyes wide and searching.

Hunting for his prey.