Venom (La Douleur Folle #2)

PROLOGUE

I rub my eyes tiredly as I drive home from La Douleur Folle, hoping that I don’t smell like smoke or kindling of any kind.

Of course, when one spends time in the haven of the damned, the scent of the dearly departed tends to stick to the soul. But it’s not a scent that I can take home with me.

I wouldn’t want to kiss my little girl’s forehead with the stench of death on my lips. I wouldn’t want to shatter her dreams of being the best mommy in the world because of what I choose to do in my off time.

No, I like to live in my fantasy of having a normal life when I’m at home with her, and I refuse to demolish the little world that I created for my daughter.

The one where monsters really do hide in closets, lurk under beds, have long, drooling fangs, eyes that are as black as pitch, and breath that smells of sulfur.

The ones that all little children are afraid of.

The ones that don’t look like me.

No matter how hard she makes it.

I cast a quick glance into the rear-view mirror as I continue to drive.

My tired, stark-blue eyes smiling back at me, the way they smile at each and every willing victim that walks into one of my rooms, are mocking me.

You’re no mother of the year, they tell me–and while it may be true tonight, it’s never true when I’m home with Shiloh.

I roll my left shoulder painfully as I finally turn onto my street and then into the driveway.

I know most women will fear coming home in the middle of the night alone, wondering if there’s a monster of some kind lurking around the corner, ready to pounce.

However, in this story, I am the monster, and there’s not a goddamn thing living or dead that strikes fear in me.

Not even the feral bitch who stares back at me from the distorted reflection of the frosted glass door to my home.