Blackbird Broken (The Witch King's Crown #2) - Keri Arthur Page 0,27

I frowned down at my hands, but the sound of a door slamming had me quickly looking up again.

The Aranea had left the car and now strode toward the house. He didn’t ring the bell. He simply grabbed the handle, threw his weight against the door, and forced it open.

Voices followed. Raised voices. Angry voices.

Then the screaming began.

I didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. I pushed away from the tree and bolted across the road, leaping over the small wooden fence then racing for the still-open front door.

The screaming was coming from upstairs … but I was barely inside when it stopped. The silence that followed was ominous.

I grabbed the banister and ran up. Saw, at the last minute, a shadow move. Ducked low and felt the brush of metal across the top of my head. The bar that would have smashed my head open destroyed several balusters instead, sending thick splinters spinning thorough the air.

I thrust up and launched at the shadowy figure, hit him hard and sent him sprawling backwards. He wrapped long, scrawny hands around my throat, his fingernails cutting into my skin as he squeezed tight. The bastard was strong—really strong. I swore—a sound that came out a wheeze—pushed partially up, and thrust a knee into his groin. He grunted, and pain flashed across his thin features, but he didn’t let go.

Blood flowed freely down my neck now, and his grip was like a vise. If I didn’t get free soon, I wouldn’t.

I clenched my fist and hit him hard, again and again and again. Blood and snot flew as his nose shattered and his thin lips split, but he simply chuckled. Even worse, he was getting off on killing me.

Panic surged, and with it came something else. Something fierce, electric, and born of storms. It burned through me, down my arms and into my hands, and then split into multiple forks of lightning that crackled across the Aranea’s body. The force was such that he was ashed in an instant and the treads underneath were left smoking.

For several seconds, I didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Every bit of me burned and twitched, the inner heat so fierce that the sweat breaking out across my skin dried in a heartbeat. All I wanted to do was collapse and sleep for a hundred years, but I was in a stranger’s house, and there was a woman and a little girl here somewhere. They could be alive, they could be dead, but either way, I had to find out.

I could worry about what had just happened afterward.

I pushed upright, then gripped the broken handrail as everything spun around me. Moisture dribbled down my neck and over my eyelashes, the latter briefly blurring my vision. Breathing remained difficult, though I had a feeling it had nothing to do with almost having my windpipe crushed and was more a result of the thunderstorm that had swept through me.

I stomped on a still-smoldering bit of stair tread, then dragged myself up the rest of them. My heart beat so heavily that by the time I reached the landing, I had to stop again and suck in great gulps of air. Everything—absolutely everything—continued to shake. Whatever that storm was—wherever it had come from—it had absolutely drained me.

I forced myself to move on. Two of the three doors off the central landing were open—one was a bathroom, the other a kid’s room. The third door no doubt led into the master bedroom. Dreading the possible horror I was about to walk into, I pushed away from the handrail and continued on. I paused again at the door, drawing in a deep breath, trying to fortify myself against whatever lay beyond.

One thing was certain—death waited beyond this door. I could smell it—smell the blood. The only question that needed answering was—was there one body or two?

I turned the handle and pushed the door open. It revealed a freestanding wardrobe and a double bed, but there was no immediate sign of the death and blood that permeated the air. The body—or bodies—had to lie to my right, behind the door.

I stepped in and turned that way.

A woman lay in a crumpled heap near the top end of the bed, her body battered and bruised. Her face … Dear god, it didn’t even resemble something that belonged to a human anymore. It was just a mess of pulped skin, bone, and hair. The Aranea had obviously used the metal bar he’d attacked me with on her; if