Page 23 of Feral Possession

“Take what you want. I’ll compensate the proprietor.”

“Really?” Once again, her brain reeled from his whiplash shift in attitude.

“You need clothing to replace what you lost, yes?”

“Yes, yes.” Before he could change his mind, she zipped around Celeste’s overflowing racks, making her selections. Luckily, there’d be little need to try things on since everything in Celeste’s shop was comfortable, beautiful, feminine. Love. Love. Love.

Marcus leaned his shoulder into the wall, taking his weight off his weakened leg. She sensed his eyes following her while she shopped.

“How was your meeting?” she asked while diving into a rack of sarongs.

Marcus studied the infuriating creature he’d claimed as his Chosen. Her slim fingers glided over the fabrics with reverence. Joy sparked in her eyes. The necromancer practically glowed as she made her selections. Strangely, he found himself both attracted and repelled, a moth to a flame. To draw closer would see him burned.

When her guards interrupted his meeting and confessed to losing her, he’d experienced a surge of rage he hadn’t even felt when faced with his second’s treachery. The emotion was strange and unexpected. Likely, another symptom of his condition. Still, he’d used it to his advantage, letting the anger fuel his damaged body while he decapitated his second.

Now that Dove was accounted for, it was time he returned to his office. There were a great many things he needed to do to prepare for his trip tomorrow. Bishop had discovered another lead on Helen. Instead of leaving, Marcus found himself leaning against the wall, watching the strange faerie. It was a novel experience, accompanying a female while she shopped.

She peeked over at him. “So… how was it?”

He frowned. “How was what?”

“Your meeting.” She moved to yet another rack of clothing.

There was something so domestic about the situation, it took a moment to answer. “You’re asking me about my day?”

“How was it?” she asked again, content in her shopping euphoria.

“I executed my second.” This time, he answered without hesitation. No doubt this would stop her prodding. If she expected a civilized response like—traffic was terrible—from the leader of House Othonos, she was mistaken.

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She slung a hanger around her neck, allowing the garment to hang down her front, pulling the material tight against her chest. Her rounded breast plumped between her hands.

His mouth went dry. Before his injuries, women flaunted themselves at him, all of them practiced in their manipulations. Dove was none of those things, and yet she had his full attention.

“Had he committed some crime?”

“He was disloyal. Now he’s dead.”

“Just like that, huh? Sounds kind of permanent.” At this point, clothing filled her arms. She eyed the path to the counter and the corpse that blocked her way. Rather than walk around as the shop owner had, she planted her foot on the male’s back and hopped over. Again, her euphoric shopping bubble remained intact. Apparently, talk of murder and hopping over corpses had little effect on her.

He narrowed his eyes. Was it possible he’d misjudged his Chosen? If so, Dove could be of use to him yet.

She meandered to a display of trinkets and plucked one from the tray. Bells tingled.

“Someone betrays me, they only do it once,” he grumbled. “My officers needed the reminder. It’s important to set boundaries and clear expectations for those under my rule.” Why was he defending his actions to her?

“I see,” she said absently, propping her foot on a chair and hiking her long skirt up over her knee. Bells tingled, and she fastened a chain around her slim ankle. Her legs were shapely, her pale thighs soft, perfect for hugging a male’s hips. He knew of several ways to make those bells jingle.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. The shop owner kept it far too warm in here.

His Chosen jiggled her leg, sending the tiny bells into motion. Her thigh shimmied enticingly.

“Problem is, strict rules inhabit spontaneity and creativity,” she said, ripping the tag off the anklet and flicking her skirt down. “Without the two, nobody advances. New discoveries are built on the road less taken. In my experience, people typically erect boundaries out of fear. Those boundaries inevitably keep out the good with the bad.”

“Fear?” He shook his head. What was he? A prepubescent youth, drooling at the sight of her bare legs? He gritted his teeth. “It’s the members of my House who should fear me. Boundaries prevent accidents. Keep disobedient Chosen from being stabbed to death.”

She strode away from him, hips swinging. “Welp. Guess you’ve got me there.” At the counter, she ripped tags off the clothing, stacking them in a neat pile. That done, she helped herself to the shopping bags she found and piled in her treasures.

Her cavalier attitude grated. He’d never had less of a female’s attention while she claimed so much of his. There were few who’d challenged him. None dared to give him their backs. Then again, none had been flighty necromancers with no sense of self-preservation.

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