It’s worse than the abyss, even worse than the trash bins behind Fisherman’s Wharf—and that’s saying a lot. At first my eyes won’t open, like they’re glued shut. Maybe I should be grateful for that. If the smell is this bad, I can only imagine what it looks like—and I’d rather not. Instead, I try to move. My chest explodes with a white hot pain. I collapse back down, struggling to keep my breathing even and to maintain consciousness. The last thing I want is to hyperventilate and pass out here, wherever here is. “Is this really her?” a young female voice whispers. An older woman says, “Couldn’t be.” “Looks like her,” another says. This one sounds as old as great-grandmother Morgenthal. Something slimy pokes at my foot. “She has the mark.” “And the fangs.” I trace my tongue over my teeth and discover that, yes, my fangs are showing. Maybe they’re reacting to the stench. “Sorry,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper. Shrieks pierce my eardrums and I force my eyes open to see what terror is approaching.
What do You think about Sweet Legacy (Sweet Venom)?
