Page 60 of The Witch Queen of Halloween (Immortals After Dark 20)

Ican’t lose him.Butshe couldn’t fight for him.Heronly seeming ability was to mute curses.Couldshe use it against ghouls?Theyhadn’t been cursed, at least not magically; their contagion was biological, spread outward from that primordial in a line of tragedy and terror. “Yousaid we were in our very own horror movie.Nowyou’re about to draw the monster.”

“Yeah.”Rökgazed down at her like he’d never see her again. “Whenyou love something, you protect it.”

Exactlywhat he’d said on their date—what should have been their beginning.Now. . . the end of them.

Butshe loved him too.Whycouldn’tsheprotecthim?

“It’salmost time.I’mgoing to face the door and focus.Stayat my back and follow close.”Hepressed a kiss to her trembling lips, catching another sob. “Poppy, nothing has ever made me prouder than being your mate.”Heturned from her and readied his sword with his shoulders squared.

Cryingfreely, she raised her palm to his back.Hetensed, but then leaned into her touch.

Connection.

Can’tlose him.Shedashed her tears away.Tearshad never helped her, but sometimes rage had.Whenshe picturedRökclawed, bitten, and afflicted, rage boiled up until she choked on it.No.No.NO.

Boiling, boiling, her veins burning with it.Powerboiling?

Shadesof her visitors appeared, half-visible and soundless around the perimeter of the large foyer.Theworst ones had collected.

Ofall the timing.Howdare you, youvile monsters.

Rökhadn’t sensed them yet, had his gaze fixed on the door, all too ready to sacrifice himself.

Shetried to access her power and defeat the curse once more, but the visitors didn’t budge.Herlips drew back from her teeth as she swept her gaze over them.I’mgoing to murder you all.Somehow.Someway.

Hadthe razor-gloved maniac winced?Whywouldn’t the slasher meet her eyes?Heusually loved to cast her killing looks.Thedolls craned their heads from her.EventheHorseman’ssilent steed averted its gaze.

They. . . cowered.

Fromme?

Morethan that, they appeared to await something from her.

Willingto try anything, she crooked her finger atAnnelise’sshadowy form.Comehere.I’llrip your swiveling head right off.

Theblank-eyed doll appeared on her shoulder, hanging out like a ventriloquist’s dummy, posing zero threat.

Poppy’sjaw dropped.

Thedoll’s telekinesis grew palpable.Insteadof struggling against it,Poppyopened herself up to the power.Shesensed it entering her own magic arsenal, exponentially more potent than before—as if it werePoppy’sinborn gift.

Which, she now supposed, it was.

Inthe end, when all is lost, clarity is found.

Poppy’sability wasn’t to mute curses.Norwas she a source that fueled someone else’s hex.Shewas a conduit between the nightmares of humans and reality.Shecould conjure their fears, corporealize them, and control them.

Manifestinghorror.Whata dark, sinister power.

Herlips curved.Perfectfor a witch.

Sheturned her smile to the visitors, who all flinched again—as if she was the horror villain.I’mtheirnightmare.

Theirqueen.

They’dbeen goading her, testing her boundaries to make her act and take control.I’dstill had more to learn.Butwasn’t that always the way?

Whenshe curled her fingers and beckoned them, the visitors solidified around her.Theywere monstrous.Ominous.Nowthey’re mine.

---