Page 104 of Feral Possession

Its maniacal grin sent a shiver of dread down her spine Also, she may have peed, just a bit.

Gulp. And this is how I die. Dove opened her mouth, using the one weapon she still had in her proverbial bottomless purse.

“Marcus!”

The monster reached down, heaved Bishop off the ground. Lifted him over his head.

“No. No. No,” Dove shouted. “Let him go.” Like the lingering crowd, she didn’t want to watch but couldn’t look away.

“For my brother,” the grotesque creature snarled.

“Don’t hurt my Bishop!” Celeste launched herself at the beast, hands glowing. She slapped her palms against his chest. Red energy shot down her arms and blasted into the monster. He roared and jolted like he’d been electrocuted. Bishop tumbled from his grip. His battered body hit the ground, his skull cracking on the concrete. There he lay, unmoving.

“Stupid witch.” The beast backhanded Celeste. She cried out, flying several feet, and collapsed.

“No! Celeste!” Dove shouted, but her friend didn’t respond.

The monster advanced. His soulless eyes leveled on her, hatred burning in their depths. “You.”

“Me?” she squeaked, scrambling backward.

“You interfere.”

“What?”

“No more.” The creature drew back his powerful arm. Black claws gleamed like sickles in the overhead lights.

Marcus wasn’t coming. He’d never give up his pursuit of Helen. Not when he was so close. Vengeance ruled him. Same as her father. She threw her hands up in a sad attempt to block what would be a killing blow.

The monster struck.

Shadows blurred.

Marcus materialized before her. He caught the creature’s arm in both hands. For a breathless moment, the two men were locked together, both straining. Dove gaped, frozen in place.

He came.

“Dove, run,” Marcus grunted.

“Oh, right.” Dove scrambled to her feet. Instead of bolting, she darted to her fallen friend. “Celeste?” She checked her pulse. Nice and strong. Thank goodness. A few feet away, Bishop lay in an unconscious heap, but his chest rose and fell at steady intervals. It would have to do.

Her ears registered cheering and gasps. While the lower level had cleared out, the middle and upper levels were teeming with people. More flooded in by the minute. She glanced up to find Marcus had lured the monster back into the cage. Both men grappled in the center of the ring.

Shadows licked Marcus’s body like flames. His suit coat and tie were gone, his shirt buttons torn open. Molten red glowed between the fissures of his charred flesh. Half his visage was demonic, his eye crimson.

He rammed his shoulder into the feral creature’s gut, flung him over his head, and slammed him onto his back. Shadows thickened over Damien’s hands and feet, pinning him to the mat while Marcus hammered blows to his snarling face. The creature’s head lolled, his body flailing.

With the monster subdued, Marcus stabbed his clawed fingertips deep into its chest. The wounded beast roared, bellowing in pain. Lights flickered overhead. Around the ring, shadows thickened, swirling like black clouds in a storm. Marcus sucked a deep breath, his broad shoulders heaving. Beneath him, the creature’s eyes sank into his skull, his lips shriveling. Wisps of midnight blue energy wafted up Marcus’s arms, rising from his opponent. Shadow-Steele pulled them in, feasting on the fallen man’s soul.

“No! Marcus, no!” Dove cried, but it was too late. Marcus loomed over his kill. Power crackled over his flesh. He spread his clawed fingertips, threw back his head, and roared his victory.

Instead of cheering, the crowd watched in silent horror. Lord Marcus Steele stood before them in the spotlights. On display was the dark secret he’d hidden from them all. His demon revealed.

Twenty-Five

Marcus paced the length of the balcony, having just returned to his penthouse. Over the roof of Steele Tower, the sun reared its head, clawing a path across the horizon. His shadow stretched out before him. Taller, longer, stronger. His skin pulled tight over his frame. Rage thrummed in his veins. Not since his accident had he felt this level of fury.

Once he’d made sure Bishop was okay, Marcus and his men had spent hours tracking Helen, to no avail. Her little distraction had accomplished everything she’d wanted. Again, he’d danced for her, a puppet enslaved by her strings.

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