Page 13 of Bad Blood Bear

And the demon was waking up.

She’d known better than to think the money would keep coming. She’d been hoarding it—no more visits to the diner; no more steak or fresh vegetables or upscale mac and cheese. She was back to noodles and crackers, and some tuna when she couldn’t stand the meat cravings.

The demon tapeworm was pissed off, though. She’d thought maybe she could starve it out if she didn’t give it meat, but she could feel it stretching and scratching at her soul, wanting.

It was surprisingly warm out, a beautiful Tennessee Indian summer day, the kind of weather where you could go outside without a jacket, even if it was November.

But Lissa couldn’t enjoy it. She started to feel lightheaded and feverish, and after a while a headache started pounding her and she went into the coolness of the dark, boarded-up building and lay down on her couch bed, dropping into a restless sleep.

She awoke to clawing hunger and a red haze of anger. Blood. Hunt. Kill. Devour. Lissa tumbled out of bed onto all fours, shaking.

Blood. Kill.

She stumbled through the empty convenience store, blundering into metal shelves, feeling sick and shaky, the need for blood driving her.

Shoving the window boards aside, she scrambled out into the night. Her foot caught on the windowsill and she fell again, landing on the hard-packed earth. Her muscles cramped, and she fought off the coming seizure.

No!

Something inside her knew she had to contain the hunger, but it took over her body once more. She lifted her head, scenting the night.

It was dark, the only light coming from the stars twinkling high overhead, but somehow she could see perfectly. Tiny scents floated toward her on the breeze—rabbits heading for their burrows; an owl ghosting overhead.

Squirrels and possums…her mouth filled with saliva, and she growled.

The scents were coming from the woods across the road. Tiny furry creatures, hot blood pulsing through their veins.

Hunt. Kill. Devour.

Lissa climbed to her feet and started running. She crossed the blacktop and thrust herself in among the trees, disregarding the underbrush grasping at her clothes. Fur and meat, blood and death. She followed the scents, picking them up and losing them again as fresher ones caught her attention.

The hunger rose in her, stronger than before, red before her eyes. She pounced, nearly catching a rabbit, but it darted out of her grasp.

She growled again and gave chase.

Her body obeyed her now, fleet and sure-footed, but she couldn’t catch up to her prey. She growled again, scratching at a tree, but her nails were short and blunt and she had no fur. She was supposed to have fur. Something was wrong, and she was hungry, so hungry, and that red rage surged through her…

The breeze shifted and she raised her head.

Meat. Not alive, not heated with running from the hunter, tenderized by fear. But fresh, bloody, beginning to char.

She followed the scent, running faster now, the growl burning in her chest. She burst out of the woods and stopped, disoriented.

Bright lights and people, and the smell of beer, and meat, meat in the shiny metal box, watch out for the hot, it was hot but it was meat and she craved it. She bolted for the shiny box, oblivious to the people who scattered away from her.

“What the fuck?”

“It’s some crazy chick.”

“Somebody grab her!”

“She’s going for the grill…”

It was all gibberish to her ears. She reached into the metal box and grabbed meat, hot and red, the flames teasing her flesh. She tore into it, holding it in both hands, and the juice dripped down her chin onto her chest.

It felt good going down. It hit her stomach, and she wanted more, more more more, but the people were staring and they wanted to take her meat away. She growled at them, still chewing.

“Holy shit. Is she growling?”