Demon's Kiss Read Online Free PDF Page A

thighs, she pushed herself upright and headed to the back office to check the thermostat. It felt like a morgue locker in here.
    As she cranked the heat a few degrees, the sound of a heavy footfall drifted to the back office, making the fine hairs at her nape stiffen and rise. A doorknob rattled; then something scraped across the floor with an eerie rasp. Clea’s heart flipped over in her chest. There was someone out front. Oh, man, she hoped it wasn’t the wired guy.
    Forcing her feet to take one step and another, she walked slowly through the office door, back to the reception area. With a gasp, she froze, pressing the flat of one hand against the base of her throat.
    “Gram?” The word escaped her on a whisper.
    Gram . There she stood, at the far side of the lobby, staring out the window, her ash blond hair streaked with gray, tied in a loose bun at her nape, her slim body clothed in black pants and her favorite green sweater, looking tall and strong as she had before the cancer had done its worst, eating away at her from the inside out. Only . . . it wasn’t possible. Gram was dead.
    And buried. Buried just that morning, beneath an overcast October sky and a damp blanket of light rain. And the dull thud of wet earth.
    Clea made a soft noise, low in her throat, half groan, half sob. It was enough to grab Gram’s attention, and she turned, smiled.
    Smiled. A straight smile. Even. The sides of her mouth curving in perfect symmetry.
    The smile wasn’t right. Not Gram’s smile.
    Gram’s mouth had sagged a little on the left thanks to one of the tumors, the one on the facial nerve. Cranial nerve VII, Clea thought absently. She’d looked it up in her neurology text when Gram’s face had first started to change.
    She studied the woman by the window. Not Gram’s eyes . . . Gram’s eyes had always been warm and loving, even at the end, even after the cancer had done its worst.
    “You’re not Gram,” Clea whispered. “You aren’t real. I know that.”
    “Right. And wrong.” The voice was terrifying, not quite human, and Clea felt it sink into her and grab hold, like a barbed hook snagging a fish. “Not your Gram. But definitely real.”
    The air shimmered and twisted, like cool breeze hitting sun-baked pavement; and then the illusion of Gram was gone, gone, her image replaced by—
    Oh, God, the thing that stood in her place—
    Clea stumbled back, one step and then another, a scream locked in her throat, adrenaline pumping through her system. Her foot caught the swivel chair, knocking it back, nearly sending her to her knees. She recovered, clawing at the wall as she backed up, faster now, her fingers scrabbling for balance, the hideous thing before her filling her vision, stalking her.
    “Think of me as the Big Bad Wolf.” Its voice was like ground glass. “You should have believed the vision. Things would have been easier that way. Easier for me.”
    Her breath coming in sharp, harsh gasps, Clea spun and barreled into the back office, slamming the door shut behind her and shoving the bolt home. Where to go? Where to go?
    There was no other door. Heart pounding, she leaped for the small window at the back of the office, her hands shaking as she yanked on the lock. Come on. Come on. It released, and she curled her fingers under the handle, jerking up with all her might.
    Come on!
    The window didn’t budge. Her nails tore as she clawed at the old paint that formed heavy blobs on the window frame. Sealed tight.
    A strangled sob escaped her. She was trapped, and it was there, right behind her. She could hear the dull thud of its steps.
    The familiar heat that heralded her strange power uncoiled in her belly, and she hitched in her breath, waiting, waiting. The burst of light that had saved her from harm more than once was there, just beneath the surface. It shimmered and writhed, and she felt the tips of her fingers tingle, like she could shoot sparks, and then . . . nothing. It did nothing.
    “Nooooo.” She