Before she could respond or caution him or even explain, he was gone, up the stairs and swallowed by the darkness. Snarling under her breath, she got up and snatched up a walking stick from beside the door. Then she jerked it open.
“It is three in the morning,” she snarled, before flipping the overhead light on full in their faces. “You woke me up after an incredibly crappy day, and there had better be a damn good reason for it. One you can express in about five words.” She stood feet apart, both hands gripping the staff and clearly ready to strike.
The men tried to play the innocent card, shaking their heads “Ma’am, you don’t understand. There’s a missing person, he’s believed to be very dangerous: he’s a killer.” The man took a step forward, “and he’s hiding in your house. Let us keep you safe—he’ll hurt you.” Without asking for a reply, they barged through the open door. One man held a gun to her head. “Drop the weapon,” he warned, glaring at her as the larger man made his way up the stairs.
As she was shoved, Summer screamed — not with pain or fear, but rage. It sounded like it was shredding her throat, so vicious was it. “Too many words,” she shouted, and half a second later the man with the gun gaped at her, eyes widening, before he dropped the weapon and bolted out the door, whimpering.
The utter fear she was projecting swept through the house, and she made no effort whatsoever to control it, slamming into every other mind within the walls. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and she stalked up the stairs after the larger man, her hair billowing behind her in a hot wind.