Page 1 of Feral Possession

One

Dove Laurent was moments away from becoming the esteemed Chosen of Lord Marcus Steele—a position every faerie in the eastern realm envied—and yet this great honor bestowed upon her was the worst kind of betrayal.

“I can’t believe Vivian is doing this to me.” Dove slapped a deck of cards into her suitcase, right on top of her unicorn pajamas.

Vivian’s progeny, Armond, leaned against the bedroom doorframe, brows furrowed as he observed Dove’s stellar packing skills. “Now, honey, you know Vivian wouldn’t transfer your Chosen bond to another vampire on a whim.”

For close to seven years, Dove had been Vivian’s honored Chosen. The bond gave vampires exclusive feeding rights while providing their wards with security. Except what Vivian and Dove shared went beyond a traditional benefactor and ward relationship. The two of them, along with Armond, were a family, or so Dove had believed.

She dumped a handful of glow-in-the-dark Mardi Gras beads into her suitcase, along with her rainbow flashlight. Dark days lay ahead of her. It was smart to be prepared.

That done, she turned back to Armond, daring him to comment on the pile of treasures she’d loaded into her case. Instead of lecturing her, he shook his perfectly coiffed head. Looking at the Mediterranean hunk in his tailored shirt, no one would guess he was the same vampire who stayed up late with her gorging on cheese puffs.

She stuffed a silver-blond tendril into her ragged bun. “Deny it all you want, but Vivian wouldn’t be sending me away if I hadn’t failed to stop those undead monsters from attacking you both yesterday.” Proving once again Dove couldn’t be relied on—ever. This time, Dove’s failure had almost cost Vivian and Armond their lives. Once again, Dove had disappointed the people who meant the most to her and was being abandoned. The experience all too familiar.

Armond entered the room and sat on the only clean spot of her cluttered bed, careful not to disturb the sling he wore on his arm. At the sight of his injury, images of the attack flashed in Dove’s mind. The screams, snarling teeth, and Armond’s torn flesh. She shuddered, returning to her dresser.

“You know this has nothing to do with your necromancy skills and everything to do with your safety,” Armond offered in a sad attempt to reassure her.

Faeries were blessed with a variety of casts. Some were empaths. Others could control animals. Dove’s was necromancy.

She riffled through her drawer. “I mean, it’s been years since I’ve attempted to control a corpse. I’m not some goth wannabe, hanging out in graveyards, raising zombies.” ’Cause ew, gross. She liked to think of herself as an earthy spirit whisperer, not the dominatrix of the dead.

Into her suitcase, she chucked a crocheted bralette along with a half-eaten Snickers. Before she could storm away again, Armond captured her hand in his manicured fingers.

“You’re not listening. Vivian needs to take this threat seriously.” Vivian became Armond’s sire long before Dove joined their little family and, therefore, knew more of her abusive history. “Vivian’s ex is an uber-powerful mage who held her captive for decades. The mage is a complete psycho. Case in point, the pack of zombie hellhounds he raised just to ruin her ground-breaking ceremony.”

They’d so looked forward to that ceremony, too. After years of planning, Vivian had turned her dream of building a women’s shelter into a reality. What should have been a celebration had turned into a nightmare. Apparently, Vivian’s ex had taken offence at the shelter being built on the ashes of their former mansion.

Dove huffed an irritated sigh. “At least you get a vacation. Me, I get stuck with an egotistical billionaire who thinks his gold-plated poo doesn’t stink.”

Armond and his partner were heading somewhere off-grid. Likely some place lush and tropical, where clothing was optional. Dove would have given both of her pinky toes to go with him. Unfortunately, Armond wasn’t in a position to take her with him, seeing as they were both potential targets.

He squeezed her hand, his firm grip more of a reprimand than comfort. “Becoming Steele’s Chosen is no small matter. Neither is the fact that he owes Vivian a favor. One she is calling in for your benefit.”

Eye roll. Dove couldn’t care less if Steele sat on a diamond-encrusted toilet and wiped his aristocratic buttocks with hundred-dollar bills. It was how you treated people that mattered. In this, Lord Marcus Steele was a pauper.

Dove toyed with the colorful beading on the skirt of her maxi dress. “Have you seen him? Vivian said he’s still terribly injured.” This was why Vivian thought they could help each other. Faerie blood was known to have incredible healing powers. That part, Dove didn’t mind so much. Sharing a vein with your benefactor was par for the course. If she had the cure to cancer in her veins, she certainly wouldn’t keep it to herself. It was Steele himself who had her concerned.

“No, and believe me, I tried,” Armond said, sounding annoyed. “They were already ensconced in Vivian’s sitting room when I—oh so casually—passed through. Knowing Steele, though, the scars have left him even more ruggedly handsome than before.” Armond gave her the side-eye. “You know, most women would give their right tit to be in your shoes.”

“You forget I’ve met him,” Dove said, tone flat. “Though I doubt he’d remember.”

Unfortunately, Chosen didn’t share the same rights as vampires. When it came to the underworld food chain, she and plankton were tied for last place. Dove was only invited to the grand opening of Steele’s casino because she’d created the artwork his designer had place in the entrance.

That night was still emblazoned on her mind. Perhaps because of its tragic end, or due to her humiliation. Regardless, she remembered every detail. Beneath the twinkling lights of the crystal chandeliers, Marcus Steele had been flawless. Dove was the proverbial moth to his flame. One look and she’d been riveted. Lost. Enraptured. In her mind, she’d pictured him on her canvas. Swathed in shades of midnight, cerulean, and azure.

To her delight, she’d caught him staring at her as well. For half a minute, she’d believed her admiration was returned.

Then they’d met.

While Dove was enamored by the sheer energy he exuded, Marcus had looked at her like she was a shiny dime-store bauble he could purchase. When Vivian introduced them, he’d compliment her painting, then made an off-handed comment about purchasing the artist to add to his collection.

Like she was Vivian’s property instead of her treasured companion.

Entitled jerk.

Armond grew somber. “I’ve heard since Steele’s accident, he rarely leaves his penthouse. Yet he came here in person for you.”

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