Letting the door swing shut, she kicked off her shoes and hauled her grocery bags down the hall to the kitchen. Fresh veggies, tofu, and red wine—it wasn’t exciting, but they were the healthiest things she could find at the small shop down the street. That had to count for something when it felt like any control she had over her life was disappearing with every terrifying new dream or hallucination. Not to mention her manuscript deadline and her upcoming—please, God—promotion.

A sudden clap of thunder rocked the house, making her jump. She fumbled to find the kitchen light, but her hand stilled when she heard the front door creak open.

Damned wind. She must have forgotten to lock the door. She never used to forget things.

Footsteps thudded down the hall and her stomach dropped to the floor. Who is that?

The footsteps thudded slowly but inexorably closer. She heard the intruder turn into the small library at the front of the house, but he’d be in the kitchen next. No time to call the police.

She clamped a hand over her mouth and her eyes darted around the kitchen in search of a weapon. Dim light from the porch lamp streamed through the window, its faint yellow glow illuminating the neatly modern space.

Damn, nothing on the counter, not even a stray knife. Why did she have to be so organized?

The back door. Maybe it was unlocked.

She tripped in her haste to reach the door to the porch, a crash of thunder seeming to propel her forward. The handle was slick beneath her sweaty palms. The door wouldn’t budge. Swollen from the rain, damn it.

Turning around, she pressed herself against the panes, her skin cold and the hair on the back of her neck standing upright. There had to be a weapon in here. A knife, a meat hammer—anything was better than nothing.

She spied her enormous skillet sitting by the sink and snatched it, wincing as the heavy cast iron dragged her arms down. God, this thing is heavy.

She cursed herself for not taking self-defense classes. With research and teaching, it was another thing she had no time for. And now, she really wished she’d made time. Thank God for skillet corn bread, she thought, as her fear bubbled into panicked hysteria.

An enormous figure stepped into the kitchen and she bit her lip to stifle a gasp. Over six feet tall, its freakishly slender form was draped in a long coat that looked to be made of raw leather. Long black hair streamed from its head. When she finally caught sight of the face, a scream was strangled in her throat. It couldn’t be human. The dim light glinted off dark, burnished crimson skin and eerily feminine features. Beady eyes, a nose that was almost beaklike, and thin lips all gave the appearance of a bird.

She was not a she, she was an it.

Monsters aren’t real. They aren’t real!

But this was no Halloween costume. It was far too realistic.

Diana cringed back against the wall. No, no, no. This couldn’t be happening to her. She shook her head, but it didn’t disappear. Her heart thudded in her chest, beating in a painfully frantic rhythm against her ribs while her breath was strangled in her lungs.

“You’re Diana,” it said, as if expecting her to confirm.

She heard a squeak of fear and realized it had come from her own throat.

It nodded, clearly taking her squeak as confirmation. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Two heavy steps and it was almost upon her. Her feet were glued to the floor. She couldn’t even move, not even to curl up into a ball like her brain screamed at her to do. She tasted something metallic in her mouth. She’d bitten straight through her lip.

A claw-tipped hand reached for her. Fear clogged her lungs and she jerked the skillet out from behind her back and swung haphazardly at its head. Luck alone landed the wild blow.

Its roar of rage drowned ou

t the sickening sound of the iron connecting with its skull. The impact made her arms vibrate and she nearly dropped the pan.

Eyes on fire and mouth gaping, the beast shook itself, then backhanded her across the cheek. Pain exploded in her head as she whirled from the force of the blow. As agony seared her skull, a rage like she’d never known engulfed her, so strong it felt like a living thing. Gasping, and as terrified of the unfamiliar anger as she was of her attacker, she felt it wash over her.

The rational part of her mind faded to the background as instinct and something otherworldly took over her body. The pain in her head forgotten, Diana lithely jumped to her feet.

Hurt it. Kill it. She turned on her attacker and leapt on it, throwing its spindly form to the ground with her weight. She raised the skillet. Its weight felt natural in her palm, as though she was meant to do some damage with it. Somehow she knew exactly how to kill this creature, but she wanted to hurt it first. How dare it try to beat her? No one did that to her. Never again.

Through her rage, she barely recognized the thoughts. She’d never been beaten before, and she rarely got angry, but now she was inflamed. She swung the frying pan hard at its head, beating it as if to drive her own demons away. The thud of the metal against its skull was a joy to hear and fueled the raging beast within her.

Though an otherworldly power sang through her veins, the creature was stronger. With a great heave, it threw her off and the pan flew from her hand. She was on her feet in seconds.

“Come on,” she said, beckoning it to her. She barely recognized her voice. She should be running, but some part of her wanted it to try something. So she could kill it.

Tags: Linsey Hall The Mythean Arcana Paranormal
Source: readsnovelonline.net