Page 5 of Feral Possession

“Just remember that under that gruff exterior, Marcus Steele is a good, trustworthy man. He’ll take excellent care of you.”

Dove stepped back, peering up at her. “And who will take care of you?”

Vivian wiped her tears. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Dove cast a look at the front door and shivered. “He’s different than he was before.” Though she’d mostly watched him from a distance, at his party he’d been confident and charismatic. The man she met this evening was dark, withdrawn, and surly.

“Marcus has been through a lot since the accident. Be patient with him. He needs you in more ways than one. Share your light with him the way you did with me.” Vivian was the reason Dove even had a light to share. Without her patience and understanding, Dove’s life would have turned out much different.

“Promise me.” Dove grasped her hands, desperation leaking into her wavering tone. “When all this is over, you’ll contact me immediately. Surely by then Marcus will be on the mend and eager to send me on my way.” Besides Vivian and Armond, there were few with strong enough constitutions to tolerate her for any length of time.

“Promise,” Vivian swore.

Sniffling sounded behind her and Dove turned. Armond. She threw her arms around his neck. With her meeting over, there was no need to keep herself together. She didn’t bother to hold back the sob that rattled her frame. “Promise you’ll call when you can and send me pictures of your trip.”

“A pack of wild hellhounds couldn’t stop me.” He hugged her back with his uninjured arm. “Go on now,” Armond urged, withdrawing. “Don’t want to keep the man waiting.”

Dove hiccupped a sigh and crammed her lips into something that might pass as a smile. Despite her fracturing heart, she’d present a positive front for her family. “On to a new adventure, right?”

Vivian returned her strained smile. “That’s right, ma chérie.”

One last peck to Vivian’s cheek, then Dove squared her shoulders and headed out the door.

Two

Marcus sank into the back seat of the sedan’s plush interior. His temples throbbed, and he reached beneath his cursed hood, massaging his damaged flesh. Meeting with Vivian had proven more challenging than expected. Though the former burlesque dancer was one of his oldest friends, he’d had little patience with small talk since his accident. Even less with nosy females staring at him like he was a circus attraction.

Not long ago, he’d walked into a room and commanded the attention of everyone present. Their stares had been envious, respectful. Now, he couldn’t stand their eyes on him, sensing their pity. His grotesque body subject to their morbid curiosity.

“You forget someone?” His bodyguard peered back at him in the rearview mirror.

Bishop sat in the driver’s seat, hand resting on the steering wheel. Tattoos marked each of his knuckles. Light from the dashboard blazed against the Rolex Marcus had gifted him for his years of service. Thick muscles bulged beneath the lycan’s dark suit. He’d forgone his tie, leaving his white dress shirt unbuttoned at the throat, revealing the medallion he wore.

Long ago, the Council mandated all lycan males wear the enchanted pendant, preventing them from fully shifting into their most powerful forms. Bishop, like the rest of his race, didn’t have the option of refusing. Shame, because without the restriction, the male would have been a powerhouse. Not that he wasn’t still a force to be reckoned with.

Marcus slanted a dark look at the back of his bodyguard’s head. “She’ll be along shortly.” May the gods help her if she wasn’t.

“You think she’s got what it takes to be of any use to you?”

“First impression? No,” Marcus said, not masking his disappointment.

When Vivian contacted him about his blood debt, asking him to claim her Chosen, he’d hoped it was a sign his luck was changing. That Dove would be the solution he’d sought, yet feared he’d never find. After speaking with the necromancer, that brief glimmer of hope was circling the shitter. The female didn’t seem capable of handling the everyday machinations of her own life, much less his.

Becoming the Lord of House Othonos at an early age, he’d quickly learned to read people. To determine who would be a help or hindrance to his rule. With Dove, it was blindingly clear the girl skipped through life with her head in the clouds. No goals, no drive, no ambitions.

Useless.

After a stretch of silence, Bishop prodded, “Tell me. What’s she like?” His head of security was the only male Marcus employed who dared tread into his personal business. Sometimes, if he was in the mood, Marcus even answered.

“Annoying, naïve, unrefined.” Vibrant. Tantalizing. Her blood could easily become addictive. It was a shame he’d already decided to feed from her as little as possible. No sense in deepening the bond between them when he planned to ship her back to Vivian the second his old friend was safe.

“Sounds like the two of you hit it off,” Bishop snorted. “She attractive?”

Beautiful. In an earthy sort of way. Marcus didn’t do earthy. Sure, there was a time he’d seen the colorful artist as a curiosity, a new flavor to sample. That time had passed.

“Does it matter?”

“She’s attractive,” Bishop answered sagely, drawing his own conclusions.

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