Demon's Kiss Read Online Free PDF

exhaled on a desperate moan.
    The door splintered with an ugly crunching sound, and Clea spun, her back pressed against the cool metal of the filing cabinet, her heart beating so hard that she could feel it banging against her ribs.
    A clawed hand reached through the hole in the door, long, pointed nails scratching at the knob, thick gray fingers closing around it, twisting slowly, slowly, to the right.
    Her heart hammered. The taste of vomit burned the back of her tongue.
    The door swung open.
    OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod—
    The thing before her was a monster. Its skin was rough, cracked, and gray as death, like asphalt pavement that could have used replacing years past. And its face—Oh, God—its face was twisted and cruel, and all she could see was a huge gaping maw and row after row of sharp, jagged teeth. It reached for her, hands like reptilian claws coming toward her, the nails curved and blackened, and she could smell sulfur and the stink of rotting meat.
    Terror sifted through her body, so sharp and stark she weaved dizzily from the force of it. Every breath a harsh, desperate rasp as she battled her fear, she sank to the floor, her legs giving way from under her.
    Reaching behind her, she frantically traced her hand across the linoleum tiles, looking for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Her fingers contacted cold floor, and dust, the leg of a chair, and—yes— something sharp. She snatched at it, dragged her hand up, glanced down. A thumbtack.
    Useful.
    Not.
    She was breathing so fast and hard, she felt light-headed. Not good. Not good. Slow it down, Clea. Breathe nice and slow. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Stay in control . In control.
    The thing took a step forward, moving leisurely, as though it enjoyed her terror.
    And that pissed her off.
    Focusing every thought, every fear, she pushed outward, trying to channel the power inside her. Now would be a very good time for it to make an appearance.
    Because whatever this terrifying . . . terrible . . . thing was, it wasn’t getting her without a fight.
    Gliding through her veins with a surge of pain, the power rippled and stirred, a sharp heat, but she couldn’t make it gather, couldn’t guide it the way she so desperately needed to. She’d never tried to summon it before. It had always just come, without effort, without thought. Maybe that was the problem.
    The gray beast took another step closer, and the smell pummeled her, stronger than before, fetid and dank.
    “Don’t fail me now,” she muttered to herself, closing her eyes, focusing her energy, fists curled, nails digging into her palms, hoping that sheer will and determination would bring forth the power. “Come on!”
    Closer. She could feel the thing stalking her, feel its cruel intent and the heat of its breath, smell the stink of decay.
    She kicked out at it, and it laughed, an ugly, wet sound. Her blood roared in her ears. Scuttling back a bit farther, she wedged herself behind the dubious barrier of the filing cabinet.
    The sound of a masculine voice, low and smooth, drifted from the lobby, making her head jerk up and her pulse catch. “Demon. Where is your keeper?”
    The monster turned away from Clea, toward the speaker.
    She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to hold back a panicked cry, not wanting to do anything to call the monster’s attention back to her. As it moved away, she flung herself to her feet and ripped open the desk drawer, her fingers closing around a gold-leaf letter opener that bore the crest of the Blue Bay Motel.
    “Where is your keeper, demon?” Again that voice, so calm, so confident. “Have you been left to your own devices?”
    With the demon focused elsewhere, Clea spun toward the sound of that voice, brandishing the letter opener, breathing heavily as she peered through the open office door into the lobby.
    She saw a man, broad-shouldered and sleekly muscled, clothed in faded denim and well-worn black leather. He was