Storms of Vengeance: Book I of The Lorradda Stone

The "fight" lasted only moments before the combination of the elf's attacks and its own panicked clawing had reduced the ogre's face to a pile of mush. The rain poured on the form of the great, defeated beast that lie, motionless in a pile of mud, water and its own blood. Neredl crouched upon its chest, breathing heavily. Lightning flashed across the sky, rain poured upon him, and Neredl felt alive. He licked blood from his lips and tasted sweet flesh. He ripped and clawed at the corpse of the ogre, savoring every juicy chunk of meat he could find. He longed for it: for a return to the woods, the thrill of a kill, and the taste of fresh prey. He wanted it, he needed it, and at long last, he had it.

She had deep, ebony skin, darker even than Commander Faren's, and her long black hair hung down nearly to her knees. Calton had never seen stunning purple eyes like hers before, but something about them...about the whole, beautiful image scared him. The impression that this woman had never smiled a day in her life suddenly struck him; he felt certain that her heart could not experience joy of any kind. He did not know where he had gotten that idea...it might have been her face, which looked like a master craftsman had chiseled it from stone, working from a painting rather than from a real, living person.