Rhyannon Byrd - Edge of Hunger

“Come on, Merrick,” it whispered huskily in his ear, the rank, meaty stench of its breath filling his nose, sliding down his throat, gagging him. “Give me a run for my money.”

And in the next instant, Ian awakened.

CHAPTER SIX

WITH A STRANGLED GASP, Ian opened his eyes, blinking against the shifting shadows of his living room, the low buzz from the TV drowned out by the hammering beat of his heart, the colors from the screen painting the room in a hazy, psychedelic glow. “Christ,” he hissed, scrubbing his hands down his face, struggling to get his breathing under control, his body slick with sweat, chest so tight that for a moment he almost believed he was having a heart attack.

But then a strange, fertile scent hit his nose, and he pulled his hands away from his face, squinting at the dark smear of dirt on his palms.

What the hell?

Suspicions mounting, he started to roll up into a sitting position when a cramp hit his gut, vicious and sharp, doubling him over. His lips pulled back over his teeth, body curling into a fetal position there on the sweat-damp sofa, muscles tensing as spasm after torturous spasm coiled through him, contorting him like a seizure. It felt like something inside of him was trying to force its way out, punching against his insides.

A raw, graveled cry of pain ripped out of his chest, and he struggled to hold himself together, afraid to let go and surrender to the thing inside that was doing everything it could to tear its way through, struggling to take control of his body. It scared the shit out of him, the possibility of what he might become, the things he might do, if the darkness battled its way to the surface.

Cursing, Ian twisted as another violent spasm shot through him, fiery and hot and painful, and the silver casing of his cell phone lying on the coffee table flashed at the corner of his eye. Riley! That was it. He needed to call his brother. Needed him there. God only knew what would happen if he couldn’t hold it in, couldn’t keep it together. Horrific images from the scene of Kendra’s murder flashed through his mind, ripping through the landscape of his terror like a scythe, thrashing and destructive. Gritting his teeth, he lunged for the phone, reaching out with his right hand, shouting when he saw that the tips of his fingers were bleeding. Razor-sharp talons slowly pierced through his callused fingertips, the bones in his hand expanding, musculature thickening, exactly the way it had in his nightmares. With horrified eyes, he watched as the blood ran down the back of his hand, over the heavy veins pumping beneath his skin, down his thick wrist, matting in the hairs on his arm.

Christ, he was turning into a goddamn, son of a bitching monster!

No. Not monster. Merrick .

No sooner had Ian thought the word, than his last dream came rushing back at him, and he remembered what the creature had said. Remembered its threat against Molly. And if he’d been able to slip into a dream with her again, fucking her, feeding from her, then she was probably still in Henning. Still close. And in a shit-load of danger.

“He’s going after her,” he gasped, panting, seething…knowing only that he had to get to her first.

He lifted his head, his lip curling as a low, aggressive snarl broke from his throat. The next thing Ian knew, he was rushing from the apartment, out into the unusually humid night, the air close and damp against his skin, a faint scent of electricity in the air. Thunder rumbled in the distance as a violent summer storm rolled its way in, eerily reminiscent of the dream with Molly. Vaulting over the banister of the second-story walkway, he landed in a low crouch on the warm asphalt of the apartment parking lot, knees bent, one hand flat against the ground between his legs for balance. The gritty tarmac was damp against the bare soles of his feet, the thick shadows of the night mysteriously brightened with a faint, luminous glow. The rational part of his brain knew that he shouldn’t be able to see so clearly, just as it knew that the leap from the second story should have injured him, but he sprang into motion. His body felt more alive, more powerful than ever before, the adrenaline pumping through his system as addictive as it was empowering.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.