Chapter 8 The Monster
Abolt of lightning strikes, connecting my heart to my head.
She’s back.
And I’ve been waiting—impatiently, for sure, pissed off and alone.
They all leave me alone when I’m in this mood.
Nobody wants to feel the spitting heat of my temper, which is probably for the best in this particular circumstance.
Because it’s not just my temper that’s been burning down my spine over the last twenty-four hours—it’s her voice, too.
That colorful wave that travels through my body, and the soft pitch that she accentuates with.
I couldn’t get it out of my head, even after she wrenched herself away from me with hardly any warning whatsoever.
Back so soon, my little nightmare? I ask, though it’s felt like a fucking lifetime of wondering if she’d be back at all.
She says nothing in return—except the flooding thoughts of someone desperately trying not to think.
I chuckle, trying to coax a reaction out of her. Curiosity is a strong emotion, isn’t it?
Still nothing comes, and for a second, I simmer on the vile possibility that she actually has turned over the necklace to a Guardian before I catch a fleeting thought through the crisscrossing pattern of electricity between us.
Unmistakably her.
But her next gift comes as a surprise—one that ignites my veins and makes me want to bottle up her voice to examine the change in tone.
It’s not timid or bewildered like it was last night, but demanding, almost as angry as I am.
Like a sting to my senses that makes every last one of my hairs perk up on command.
Who are you?
Little nightmare has bite.