“Come on, Tenth Black,” Kylee told her. “It’s a little after midnight. It’ll take five hours for the airtruck to charge. Tomorrow might be a long day. Let’s go get some sleep, load up, and we’ll be gone by sunup.”

“And where are we going to do this?”

“My house.” Kylee started off, glanced back. “You coming?”

“I don’t believe this,” Falise whispered under her breath as she stumbled along in the darkness. Kylee relented enough to pull her flashlight from her pouch, handing it to the woman.

Falise immediately flicked the beam onto Flute, who expanded his collar frill to shield his eyes.

“It’s . . . huge!”

“Oh, yeah,” Kylee told her. “And just wait until we get to the house. Flute’s going to want to get to know you.” She figured that Falise would just have to endure the whole “French kiss” thing. Call it one of her first lessons in Donovanian protocol.

Chapter 48

  48  

Falise had no more than stepped into Kylee Simonov’s dwelling than she turned in the half-blinding room lights and froze at the sight of the mind-numbing horror stepping through the wide door behind her. She gaped at the half-meter-wide triangular skull, the flaring collar that expanded in a billowing sheet behind the monster’s head. Like living rainbows of translucence, the colors bent into prismatic patterns, out of order, and so laser-bright as to stun the eyes.

Falise’s heart stopped in her chest, panic like lightning in her nerves.

And it was so big! Two meters at the shoulder. Maybe six in length with the whip-like tail. It strode into the shabby room on oversized, muscular back legs that sported clawed feet. Smaller forearms ended in deadlier-looking curved talons. And it walked right up to her, three gleaming black eyes the size of midnight peaches fixing on hers. Then the thing had jammed its head into her face and opened its mouth to expose rows of serrated triangular teeth.

Falise opened her mouth to scream.

That tongue—like a striking snake—shot right past her lips and into the back of her mouth clear to the uvula. Tripped her gag reflex. She’d have stumbled backward, but one of the arms snapped out, the talons curling around her back to keep her upright.

Yelping cries died in her throat. Dumbfounded, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Could only endure that probing tongue.

Next came a rush of bitter peppermint; the astringent taste flooded her mouth. Saliva running wet, full, trickled down her chin. And that hideous tongue, whipping around like a rude finger, probing her teeth and cheeks. Depressing her tongue. Invasive, violating.

It finally built down in her gut, broke the knot in her throat, and as that wicked tongue snapped back, Falise screamed.

Long. Loud. Like she’d never screamed before.

Kylee said, “Told you” as she threw out some bedding. “You can sleep there.”