Page 31 of Palingenesis

I jolt as the word crosses my psyche like a sear, slamming me back to the present. To the room where a red-eyed man is staring back at me as if I summoned him with my thoughts alone.

“Jesus fuck!” The words rip off my tongue with a shake and I clutch the blanket to my chest. Not that it would provide any protection against those claws. I’m certain they would rip through flesh and bone in a way that would make the cotton bedspread cower in fear.

Narrowed eyes assess me, nostrils flaring with his inhale and sniffling the air before dropping a wad of things on the foot of the bed.

I expect him to leave again—to not bother trying to communicate with me until he can find a way to dump me off. Instead, he steps closer. Eyes locked on mine, he reaches for me and I flinch away, smacking his hand.

His nostrils flare again and his eyes flash a vibrant crimson.

Snatching my face between his dark fingers and thumb, I feel the sting of his talon tips dig into my cheeks.

There is no tenderness in the gesture or in the way he seems to stare through me.

I swallow hard.

He must feel it, because his heady gaze flicks down the column of my neck, and the whites of his eyes flood black.

That scent that seems to follow him everywhere intensifies, tickling my nose with its richness.

It’s all so much. He’s so much.

It’s terrifying all over again.

My earlier bravado is missing in action, leaving behind nothing but a trembling mess of a human.

Fuck this nightmare.

A cold sweat breaks out on my skin, pebbling beneath his heavy stare and sharp grasp, and fuck I think this might be it.

This is where it all goes sideways and he snaps my neck.

His touch grows hotter, lighting me up, and something about it just feels so real.

Like real real.

Tangible.

Not an illusion.

I can feel the blood drain from my face, the beat of my heart focused in on the exact two points where I can clearly feel him so intently I could count the ridges of his fingerprints.

There are none.

His full lips tip up a fraction, that scar pulling across his cheek.

“Hello, beloved,” he practically purrs.

And yet his mouth doesn’t form a single syllable of either word.

That’s not possible.

“Isn’t it?”

My eyes stretch open wide enough that I feel the chill of them drying.

A sudden flare of pain rips across my forehead, and I cry out.

Still, he watches me. Waiting. Leaning close enough that I feel the tickle of his breath on my lips.