Page 78 of Primal

My legs don’t listen. I lurch sideways, shoulder crashing into a vanity.

Little bottles of Sinful Cherry and Virgin’s Bite lip balm scatter everywhere.

Virgin’s Bite. Perfect.

Except she’s not a virgin, is she? She’s yours.

“Damn right.” That crooked laughter rattles the vanity.

Come on, move. You’re not this weak.

The mirror shudders. This time, I see it clearly—a figure lurking behind me. Porcine snout. Glossy black eyes.

Not real. Not real. Not—

The door.

I reach for the handle twice before I realize my hand’s already on it.

Locked. Of course it’s locked.

“Hilarious,” I slur, kicking it.

My leg moves too slow—as if I’m underwater, dreaming with my eyes open.

My head snaps to the vents.

Small. Discreet. Whatever’s drifting out of them now … it’s not bergamot.

I throw my weight against the damn door. Once. Twice. The frame shudders but holds.

Behind me, a wet snuffling sound.

“Nope.” A giggle leaks out—high, manic, giddy. “Nope, nope, nope …”

Glass fractures. The snout grins wider in every jagged piece.

YOUR REFLECTION LIES.

YOUR GONNA SCREAM.

YOUR GONNA DIE.

I blink. Shake my head.

YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD.

I laugh. Maybe I am.

The walls are pulsing. A faint buzzing in my ears—mosquitoes? No, giggling. Not mine. It’s coming from above. Inside the vents.

Think.

Move.

Don’t fucking die here.

I scrabble at the handle. Useless. Pepper burn on my tongue. Every breath sawing glass down my throat.