Michelle was brutally attacked in her locked hotel room. The police didn't believe her and thought she had invited a man to her room for a little sexual encounter, which went dangerously out of control. She decides an affaire with the devilishly handsome man who moved into her building might cure her of the panic attacks. How can she know she picked the wrong man. A man known as the Necromancer...
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Omar Satinov, the Necromancer, has become a secret, whispered legend across several continents. The lure is a mystical religion based upon Witchcraft; his hook, the 'natural' herbal products that addict his followers. But does he really have supernatural powers, as many of his disciples believe?
Michelle perceived a kind of magic when she met Omar, dazzled by the handsome, charismatic, wealthy older man. Older men seem safer, less likely to become ardently aggressive in a bout of excess testosterone. Michelle was brutally attacked while on a business trip in Las Vegas. The police didn't believe her and thought she must have lured a man into her locked hotel room for a little sexual adventure, which went dangerously out of control.
Michelle sustained visible scars from the terrifying and almost lethal attack, but pure fear motivated the move from her home in California to Hawaii. She was afraid her attacker would come back. Now she has a successful career and she figures abstinence is an acceptable, if lonely, way to live. Michelle decides that an affair with Omar might cure her of the humiliating, embarrassing, and uncontrollable anxiety attacks which plague her whenever she finds herself alone with a man.
How is she to know that she picked the exact wrong man?
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She was alone in her apartment, so she almost discounted the movement in her peripheral vision. An anomaly of tired eyes. A tiny blip, an eye mote. It had been a long day. But her gaze slid sideways, away from the book she was reading.
Michelle was suddenly afraid she was going through delirium tremens again when she actually focused on the hideous thing moving on the wall. But her eyes were open. The terrifying hallucinations that accompanied alcohol withdrawal had only happened when she closed her eyes to sleep.
This wasn’t an illusion, but she blinked a few times to make sure. It was a large beast, probably a lizard because it was long and thick. It had a tail. Lizards were ordinary in Hawaii.
On closer inspection she noted the thing was coal black. It had numerous ugly, hairy legs sticking out of its sides, which were moving it rapidly and in a disturbingly awkward manner sideways down the wall toward her bed. Toward her. The tail swished in opposition to myriad legs.
Michelle threw off the covers, and her book landed somewhere on the opposite side of the bed, as she made a panicked rush to the kitchen for insect spray.
She ran back to the bedroom doorway, holding the can in front of her for protection, skidded to a stop, and peeked around the corner into the bedroom. There it was. Creepy, ugly thing. Still climbing. The head was detached from the body on a stick-like neck and she shuddered.
Her heart was racing and she held her breath as she slowly tiptoed toward the wall where it was adhered on sticky toes. Finally, she raised the can and blasted it.
The black monster stopped with a jerk. The head swiveled toward her. It hissed, a definite zzzt sound. Then it seemed to hunch, and started a panicked scuttle across the wall, hopped around the corner and ran behind her bookcase. She followed it all the way, using the can like a machine gun. The bug fell on the floor and contorted a few times. She peered at it from between the book shelves, suddenly motionless.
She sat on the bed panting, glad it was out of sight for a minute. Never had she wanted a drink so badly.