This was something different. It wasn’t just low-lying trepidation. It was something more, and as that thought resonated, the answer came to me in an instant.
Fear.
This was primal fear.
“I know everything.” The voice corrected me, and somehow, the black mass shifted closer to where I crouched. “I see your dreams, Penny. I know the things that keep you awake at night.”
“What do you want from me?” I peered up at its looming form, scarcely able to take another breath. Its appearance seemed to have sucked the oxygen out of the room, and as my head fell forward, my mind raced.
What could produce a voice that physically affected me, though I couldn’t see its owner? What could change the temperature around me? What had the power to manifest from thin air?
“I want everything, Penny Lomax.” The creepy tone rang out over me, and for a second, my heart stopped beating altogether. “I want it all.”
It knew my name.
How the fuck did it know my name?
“But first, I will take that which you offer me now.”
“What?”
I tried to lift my chin and look at the thing, but my head was so heavy, I couldn’t bear the weight anymore. It was close, whatever it was, the bottom of its opaque form visible from where I huddled.
“Fear, Penny!” The words danced around my head as though they were taunting me. “I’ll take your sweet, intoxicating fear.”
“You b-bastard!” I spluttered.
“Yes!” It sounded pleased. “Give me more of it. You exude it so beautifully. Let me bathe in your torrid and terrible distress.”
“Jesus.” The word slipped from my mouth, though I had no idea why. I’d never really believed in God, or any of the saints, and now was a pretty redundant time to resurrect them. “What are you?”
“You know what I am.” The sound of its voice was softer, closer, although the dark looking mass hadn’t moved. “You’re a smart girl.”
“I don’t.” Finally, I could lift my head, and it snapped up to meet the space where its face should be, but instead of an expression, there was nothing but blackness—just one horrifying black shadow man.
“I don’t know, but whatever you are, I didn’t give you permission to come into my home. Get out!” I shouted as loud as I could muster, but somehow, it seemed all the energy was being sucked out of me, as though the shadow man was draining my life force with its fiendish, mocking tone. “Get out of my house—you have no right!”
“I have every right!” Its response was immediate. “You drew me here.”
“What?” I shook my head, though it pounded with the gesture. “No. That’s not right. That can’t be right.”
Laughter again, the kind that made my blood run cold and my breath catch in my throat.
“Of course, it is right.” It let out some kind of sigh, the sound washing over me like a cold breeze. “I never begin it. My presence must be invited, and you did that, Penny. You lured me with your self-doubt and your despair, your crisis of confidence becoming a staircase I used to climb into your house, into your life, into your head, and now, here I am. I have enough power to take physical form, though it’s not the one I truly desire.”
In the pit of my belly, a well of nausea rose.
Its words didn’t make sense to my brain, yet on some level, my intuition understood. It was as they said—energy attracts energy. I’d spent the best part of the last year in mourning for my lost love, the books I could have published, and every moment of that failure burgeoned negativity. Doubt, anxiety, and fear had encircled me, and in my grief, I’d allowed them to fester. To fester and grow, apparently, into this manifestation, which now loomed above me.
“Not quite, Penny.” The voice was louder, its tone unearthly, making my heart rate increase again. “It is not your emotions that have created me, for I am an old and unceasing being. All that is, all that was, and all that will be, resides in me—in my kind—but you are on the right track. Those emotions attracted me and made you of interest. Watching you, your despair called to me. You want to write, don’t you? You crave it with all your soul, yet you punish yourself, denying that which was once second nature to you. As easy as drawing breath.”
My head spun. Everything the creature said was true, but how—how could it know of my misery unless it wasn’t fabricating tales, unless it truly had been here with me, hiding in the darkness, biding its time?
I drew in a breath, an unsettling sense of resolution falling over me.
“So, what are you then?” There was venom in my tone, despite my fear and reservations. Whatever this was, it understood. It knew what I had been through, and that thought embarrassed and angered me. Whatever it was, it had no right—no right to come here and frighten me, to terrorize. Its analysis had stripped me bare, as though the thing had somehow seen into my very soul.
“You are stripped, Jenny.” There was no mocking tone now, but a statement of fact, somehow, all the more chilling. “You’re stripped of all but your pride, which is just the way I like it. Hang on to that pride, little human. Pride is all mortals have. Your egos are built on nothing but pure fantasy, but that is okay. You hang on to it. In the end, it will be all you have left.”
Chapter Four
Lucien
I’d pictured this moment in my head a thousand times, played it out with others a thousand more, yet it never lost its appeal. The moment of revelation, when the human finally started to realize their fate, was always a delightful one—even if they didn’t understand, couldn’t conceptualize, even if they didn’t believe. In fact, those were often the sweetest souls to capture.
“What do you want?”
There was discomfort in the question. I sensed the nausea rising in her and the panicky, short breaths making it difficult for Penny to breathe.
My lips curled, but she was oblivious to the gesture, masked as it was by the black mists of my physical manifestation, though I grew stronger with each of her gasps, with every moment of frantic concern, with every attempt to rationalize away my presence.
Her fear was beautiful, and it was making me strong. Soon, Penny would see me for what I was. Or, at least, for the appearance I chose to show her.
“You.” I ensured my tone was soft. “I want you, Penny. Your time, your attention—your soul.”
Clasping her hand to her forehead, she rubbed at her flesh. “What is this?” she asked out loud. “I must be dreaming. This can’t be real. This isn’t real.”
I chuckled, the sound vibrating the nearby furniture until she curled into a ball like a tiny, terrified child. Which, of course, was exactly what she was.
“Oh, it is real,” I assured her. “It is so fucking real, Penny, you are going to wonder how you ever lived without it.”
“Please.”
She buried her face in her hands, falling back on her ass as she tried to resist—just like they always did. It was pathetic.
For months, or years, they called out to me, begging for my focus. Pleading to be taken over, then when they finally had that which they sought—even if they didn’t even realize they wanted it—they always pushed back. To be mortal was to be a contradiction, and Penny Lomax was to be no exception.