And there it was, her question delivered with a dollop of vulnerability. This wasn’t a topic he wanted to discuss at the best of times, let alone now. Still, she studied him, waiting, and those earlier recollections of them in the bathroom swamped him.
Chase had once called him broken, and maybe he’d been right. And Cyra wasn’t a woman he’d enjoy for a single night, but someone he’d want to take his time with.
“You’re too good for me,” he admitted and he meant every word.
She tilted her head, studying him. “Bullshit!”
Okay, he hadn’t expected that. He ran a hand across his mouth, ready to change the topic. This wasn’t the place or time to talk about feelings or anything that reminded him of his failures, his mistakes, his regrets.
“Listen, I—”
But a deathly hiss screeched through the house, stealing his words. Every muscle stiffened as he turned toward the hallway. A goose emerged from within the shadows, easily reaching his thighs. It stood erect, wings spread, hissing like a goddamn cobra.
Gunn rubbed his eyes. Was he seeing right? Had it gotten into the house when the door had been open? Except something was wrong with the animal. Its cloudy, dark eyes locked on Gunn, and its neck had a kink the size of his fist. But how was it alive when half its feathers were plucked, revealing prickly yellow skin? Was this a joke?
“It’s the dead goose,” Cyra declared, recoiling, and her reaction raised the hairs on his nape.
“What dead goose?” He reached for the lasso on his belt just as the bird charged him.
Gunn retreated deeper into the kitchen as he clicked open his weapon.
He flung an arm over his head for protection at the same second the goose slammed into his chest. Air emptied from his lungs and he crashed into a chair, bringing it down with him. No bird could be that powerful. The fucker definitely had supernatural strength.
The bird pecked across his arm and brow, pinching his skin as it fluttered in his face.
With a backhand, he shoved it aside and scrambled to his feet.
It honked and struck again.
This time Gunn tossed the loop of his weapon, catching it on an outstretched wing midflight, and tugged it backward.
The bird twisted around and rushed toward him.
Talons tore at his forearm. The lasso’s handle slipped out of his grasp and fell off the bird. He backed away, shoving against the wings flapping him in the face. He was going to barbecue this thing.
As it flew at him once more, he ducked. It landed on the floor behind him, and he whirled around.
Cyra darted past him, holding an oversized metal spoon over her head. She swung at the goose, but it hissed and scrambled out between her legs. He threw himself after it, his fingers touching the feathers as it slipped away and across the room.
“What does it want?” Cyra blurted.
“My blood!”
Footfalls sounded down the corridor, and he yelled out, “Henry, Nora, whatever you do, don’t come in the kitchen!”
The goose lowered its long neck and charged him once again. This time, Cyra sprung up onto the counter, and Gunn threw himself across the table, bringing down two chairs as he landed.
“Hold it still,” Cyra called out, crouching on the counter.
“Easier said than done.”
A dark shadow buzzed over him, and a razor-sharp beak pinched his neck. “Shit!” He whacked it in the head. As it dropped, he seized its scrawny neck. Writhing in his hand, the possessed animal bucked and hissed, loosening from his hold.
He scanned the room, needing a holding spot. The pantry or under the sink?
A blade-like stab pierced the flesh between his thumb and index finger, the pain was torture, hitting his nerves. He bellowed and darted to the closest thing—the fridge. Cyra was there, opening the door, and he tossed the bird inside. He slammed it shut and jammed his back against the door. “Fucking son of a bitch.” His breaths raced and every inch of him ached, but nothing compared to the bite between his thumb and finger. Utter hell!
The refrigerator thumped behind him, shaking on its feet.
Cyra’s breaths labored. “Should have shoved it in the freezer.”
“Get my lasso.” He gasped for air because this was a first for him. He’d fought a hellhound and barely survived, even a possessed marionette doll, but never a goose. Now that he had two seconds to think, he was convinced whatever had flown out of the attic after he’d rescued Cyra now possessed the bird. On the bright side, a speck demon couldn’t leave the goose and attach itself to anything else, as those leeches tended to get trapped inside the object they took over.
She swiped the weapon off the floor and handed it over. “So what’s the plan?”
“Now, we destroy it. On the count of three, open the door, and I’ll strangle the demon out of it.”
He grasped his loop in two hands, his muscles taut. Blood dotted his arms. All because of a goose. His friends would never let him live that down. “It’s getting vanquished, now.”
“One. Two. Three.” Cyra flung open the fridge.
He lunged forward. But the goose fluttered to the ground between them. Before he could hook his lasso around the head, the animal swept out of the kitchen.
“No, you don’t.” He chased after it, but it vanished into the hall and swung left toward the living room. His fear spiked, and he careened into the corridor, having lost sight of the bird.
Skidding into the living room, he found Henry and his wife on the couch, their eyes huge. Nora gasped.
“Son, what happened to you?” Henry asked as Cyra came in and stood alongside Gunn, still gripping the spoon.
“Goose attack,” he replied. “Did you see it going this way?”
Both shook their heads. “How did a goose get in the house?” Henry asked.
“It’s the dead one,” Cyra piped in. “From the laundry room.”
“The laundry room?” Gunn asked, still confused how Cyra knew about the bird. Was it part of her misfired spell?
Nora
