Page 39 of Feral Possession

“Again?” taunted the demon.

Marcus gritted his teeth and tensed his insides, pushing the creature down. The beast withdrew with a frustrated growl, the shadows fading with him.

“Hey,” Dove said, her soft jasmine fragrance a soothing balm for his jagged nerves. “Sorry I’m late.” She hitched up her skirt, revealing slim ankles wrapped in glittering straps. “I forgot my sandals and had to circle back. I figured this was a no shirt, no shoes no service kind of dinner. Although, after meeting Xavier, I’m not sure that’s entirely true.” Gold rings glinted on her toes. For some reason, he found this incredibly attractive.

He cleared his throat. “Forgiven.”

“You look nice.” She beamed at him, eyes warming as they slid the width of his shoulders, taking in his lightweight hooded tunic and linen slacks. The way she looked at him, he almost believed she meant it. His face warmed under his cowl. The praise was her attempt at kindness, nothing more. He was a scarred monster hiding beneath a hood. Did she want something from him? Was that the reason for the compliment?

“How about me?” She offered a teasing smile, holding her arms out and twirling for him. “After spending several hours at the spa, I’m certain every inch of my body has been massaged, buffed, and moisturized.”

She was stunning, but not in a manner in which he was accustomed. Nothing about the way she looked could be purchased or faked. No matter the amount of polishing. Dove had a natural beauty about her, one that radiated from the inside out. It made him yearn for just a sip of what she offered.

As she turned, the glyph along her spine was revealed. For faeries, he’d heard it was an erogenous zone, the delicate nerves highly sensitive. His fingertips tingled with the need to stroke her there. His blood warmed, heading south. At his body’s response, he winced. Where did that thought come from?

Rather than give her the compliment she sought, and—if he were honest—deserved, he took her elbow, propelling her in the direction of the dining room. “Come. Xavier is waiting.”

If she was disappointed with his reaction, she didn’t show it. Instead, she kept pace at his side. In this, she earned more than a crumb of his respect. His Chosen wasn’t a female who needed his approval to know her own worth.

“I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” she confessed, practically bouncing. “Who do you think Xavier invited to join us? I bet he knows a ton of fascinating people.”

She was eager for the company and the mundane small talk? He studied his ward from beneath his hood. Why wouldn’t she? She had no reason to plot, scheme, or worry about politics. For a breath of a moment, he wondered what it would be like to walk in her shoes—or bare feet, as she seemed to prefer.

Before he could explore the idea further, they stood before a pair of massive wooden doors, heavily inlayed with gold and sparkling gems. Two guards waited on either side, bare-chested, hips swathed in linen, heavy swords at their sides. As Dove and Marcus approached, they bowed their heads and opened the doors.

One of them announced in a booming voice, “Lord Marcus Steele and his Chosen, Dove Laurent.”

Anticipation bubbled out of his effervescing Chosen. She practically quivered at his side. He imagined she’d be quite disappointed by the end of this evening. For some strange reason, the thought didn’t sit well.

Dove’s gasp drew his focus to the situation at hand. Before them stretched a fifty-foot table, heavily laden with trays teeming with tropical fruit, exotic flower arrangements, and gilded china. Decadence at its finest and most obnoxious. At the head of the table was none other than Xavier, the space wide enough, two buxom females sat on either side of him, or on him, more or less. One nibbled his earlobe, her enormous breasts pressed into his side.

Along the length were four couples of differing races and origins, all of them chatting and smiling. The chatter dimmed but didn’t stop as they entered. There was nobody he recognized. Nobody of importance, at least. None to carry the tale of his evening here back to his House.

“Marcus!” Xavier bellowed, waving him over like he summoned a taxi. “Come, I’ve saved the best seat for you.” Sure enough, two chairs on his right were open. Marcus settled Dove into her place, then accept the spot closest to Xavier. Strangely, the chairs across from them remained vacant.

“Beautiful, Dove,” Xavier exclaimed, wine sloshing over the rim of his goblet, onto the ivory toga he wore. “Tell me, how was your day?”

“Wonderful,” she gushed, bracing her forearms on the table. “In fact, I can’t recall when I’ve had a better one.”

“Wonderful, wonderful.” Xavier burped into his fist, gold rings glittering on his plump fingers. “Allow me to introduce two of my favorite concubines, Persephone and Seraphina.”

They were fictitious names, of course, all part of the false grandeur Xavier exuded, though Dove didn’t seem bothered. She exchanged pleasantries, complimenting the women’s hair and accessories while Marcus endeavored not to inhale the male’s addictive pheromones. For each person, the incubus’s fragrance became what they most desired. Tonight, Xavier smelled like moonlight, with a touch of jasmine.

“And you, Lord Steele, tell me, how do you find Adara Island? Is it everything you’ve heard?”

It was exactly as he’d heard. Loud, gaudy, too bright, surrounded by miles of salty ocean on all sides and ruled by an egotistical narcissist with aspirations of grandeur. “I fear the rumors are true,” he responded in a tight tone, failing to hide his disgust.

Xavier’s jovial smile waned, and he canted his head, taking Marcus’s measure.

“True, so true,” Dove said, covering his blunder. “It’s all true. What isn’t to love about this place? The sun, the ocean, the accommodations, the hospitality.” At Dove’s glowing review, Xavier’s smile returned. She was clever, using flattery to bolster Xavier’s ego. Perhaps Marcus hadn’t given his Chosen enough credit. Still, he couldn’t have her believing it was okay to undermine him.

“And that spa,” she added. “I mean, come on. The seaweed wrap is out of this world. My skin has never felt this smooth. What do you think, Lord Steele?” She thrust her forearm under his nose.

Delicate veins ran beneath her golden flesh. Her light floral scent filled his senses. Warmth flooded his system, and his fangs ached. More than once she’d offered him her vein, disappointed when he declined. Did she think to entice him here in front of witnesses, where she believed she was safe?

Below the table, he pulled the glove off his uninjured hand. She gasped as his bare fingers closed over her wrist. With her focus riveted on him, he drew her arm beneath his hood, pressed a heated kiss to her wrist, and tongued her pulse.

“Smoother than silk,” he murmured, lowering her arm, pressing her hand against his thigh. When she remained frozen, he leaned in, whispering, “Breathe.”

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