Free The Darkest Embrace by Megan Hart

it was enough.
    His bare feet found every rock and thorn, but those pains were nothing compared to the thought that Jessie might be in danger. Max pushed through tangled branches, fighting the slap of pine needles. From the clearing up ahead, he heard the sounds of struggle.
    When he burst through the final, entangling embrace of the underbrush, Max was in full-on battle mode. Fists raised, heart pumping, he staggered toward Jessie who was on the ground, the thing ready to pounce her. It wore his clothes, the son of a bitch. His hair. Fuck, it probably wore his face, and the idea that it could have used it to try and seduce her vanquished any last trace of fuzzy head or weak limbs.
    Max grabbed it by the back of the shirt and yanked. It stumbled back, gangly arms flailing. Crimson arced, spattering the ground and Max when the thing turned.
    It didn’t look like him anymore. It didn’t even look human. Blood gushed from the slash in its throat, and even though the thing scrabbled helplessly at the wound, there was no stanching it.
    Jessie sprang up, a carving knife in her hand, but she didn’t use it to slash again. “Max!”
    Together, they watched the thing go to its knees. Every part of it had distorted now, bulging and shuddering as it shifted rapidly through face after face. Hair in a rainbow of shades grew and shrank. It sprouted breasts that just as quickly disappeared. Its mouth contorted, the shriek coming from it like the sound of tires screeching, kettles whistling.
    Incredibly, it looked at them. It saw them and it knew them. It wasn’t human, but whatever it was, knowledge gleamed in its narrow-eyed gaze. Intelligence and something like hatred. It lurched upward, slashing at Jessie with fingertips suddenly transformed into claws.
    Max didn’t think, he moved. He pushed himself between the talons and Jessie, catching the brunt of the blow. Pain ripped up his side and across his chest. Behind him, Jessie cried out.
    Then she was at his side, gripping the rake like a baseball bat. “Down!”
    Again, no thought, just action. Max ducked as Jessie swung like a pro. The rake’s tines connected with the thing’s jaw, the sound thick and meaty as the blow rocked the monster’s head back. Its wounded throat gaped and tore, more blood gushing.
    Jessie swung again. This time, the thing’s head completely came away, leaving a jutting, gore-spattered stump from which sudden writhing tendrils sprouted. Its entire body heaved and shuddered before slumping forward, finally still.
    “Not so greedy now, are you?” Jessie said and spit on it.
    That’s when the monster started to change again.
    * * *
    The monster never dies the first time.
    Jessie knew that from the movies, but this was no movie. This was real life, and apparently when you cut off something’s head, it really did stay dead. The thing in front of them shook and shifted, melting. Flesh oozed and bubbled like it had been dunked in acid. The stench was horrific.
    In moments only a puddle of Max’s clothes remained. The dirt had soaked up whatever remained of the Greedy One. What had been green was now dead and brown. Jessie wondered if anything would ever grow there again.
    “Jessie?”
    She turned and gathered Max into her arms, not caring that he was covered in muck and blood. She kissed him hungrily. She breathed in deep, taking in his smell. Then she burst into exhausted, exhilarated tears.
    * * *
    Cleaned and bandaged, Max’s wounds were far from superficial, but he’d live. Dressed in clean, dry clothes, the only indication that he wasn’t his usual self was the stiff way he moved. Jessie had tried to get him to stay on the couch while Freddy changed all four of their tires with replacements he’d brought from the garage, but Max had insisted on overseeing the installation. He didn’t trust Freddy, and Jessie didn’t blame him.
    “It was too early,” Freddy said miserably. “I thought youse would be okay.”
    “How could you rent this place