Page 91 of Feral Possession

“Not that I see here. Though it’s possible some of the information was lost in my translation. After all, I’m a witch, not a linguist.”

“That’s okay. You’ve been more than helpful.”

“Dove,” Celeste said, her voice soft with concern. “What’s really going on here? I mean, with the warding you needed, both here and on the island. Now this. Have you seen one of these things? Is this the spirit who’s been harassing you?”

Dove flitted a hand. “It’s just a project I’m working on for a friend.” Not a lie. More or less.

“Honey, you know I’m here for you, regardless.” Celeste grasped her hands, her expression earnest. “I realize you’re a skilled necromancer, but taking on something like this is beyond even your abilities. You’d be better off if you reported it to the Council and got the officials involved. We’re talking demon possession and soul ravaging. If you’re caught up in this, there could be big time repercussions. Not to mention how dangerous it would be to you personally.”

Images of Shadow-Steele with the spirit in the security room flashed in her mind. The darkness that appeared to swallow the apparition. Then again in Doc’s medical facility. It seemed he’d drawn Adam’s essence right out of his body. Dread curdled her stomach, and she fought to keep her spaghetti dinner down.

Not wanting to betray Marcus, she summoned every crumb of that ever-so-valuable improv class she’d taken. “It’s nothing so dire as all that.” She fluttered a hand. “Just morbid curiosity.”

Celeste stared at her, seeming unconvinced. “If you say so.” She smoothed a dark curl beneath her headscarf, eyes gleaming. “Now that’s done, tell me more about this fight.”

“I don’t know all the details yet, but Bishop intends to compete at the casino next weekend. It’s also sort of a milestone for Marcus, him returning to the casino, making a public appearance.” With so much at stake, this was the absolute worst time to tell him he may be host to a soul reaper.

“Wow, that is a big deal.” Celeste’s face took on a dreamy expression. “Mmm, Bishop in the ring, bare-chested and sweaty, showing off all that powerful lycan muscle.” She straightened, grabbing Dove’s arms. “Please take me with you to the fight. Please. Please. Please.”

Dove couldn’t help but snicker. Apparently, this infatuation with Bishop went beyond a simple crush. “Look who’s a fangirl. You’ve got it bad.”

“In the worst way,” Celeste whined, shimmying like a potty-training toddler.

How was Dove to say no to that? “I’ll speak to Marcus.”

Celeste squealed and wrapped her in a hug, bouncing. “You’re my favorite faerie person of all time.” She released her, beaming. “I can’t wait. I’ll need a new outfit. Something fabulous, but maybe not too fabulous. I don’t want to distract Bishop from his opponent.”

“Yes, that would be bad. I can’t wait either.” If everything went according to plan, that would be the night they finally captured Helen. There was so much riding on them pulling this off. If they failed, she shuddered to think how it would affect Marcus. Already he seemed to walk the line between man and monster. Losing Helen again may push him over the edge. No way Dove could let that happen.

Shade discussions would have to wait.

Marcus closed the lid over the grand piano’s harp to muffle the sound and sat on the bench. Sleep eluded him. Though both Bishop and Celeste had left hours ago, Dove hadn’t sought him out, instead retreating to her own bedroom. There was a time he enjoyed the solitude of his penthouse. Tonight, the silence was deafening.

He set his fingers on the gleaming keys. It had been far too long since he’d played. Long before his accident, even. The familiar melody rolled out beneath his fingers. His hands took over, detached from his mind. Mournful notes took shape, found a rhythm, and the music swelled. Troubled thoughts evaporated, and he became one with the song.

Clothing rustled, bare feet padding along the hardwood floor, moving to his side. Dove’s sweet fragrance teased his senses. He brought the piece to an end and scanned her silk-clad body. Like him, she was dressed for bed, wearing a flowered turquoise chemise with an angular hem. One thin strap secured the bodice around her neck. The effect like she was wrapped in a hankie. The colorful fabric clung to her curves in all the right places.

“You play beautifully,” she said, voice soft.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t. I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should have come to me.” Censure slipped into his voice. He cursed the needy quality of his tone. In his life, he’d wanted a great number of things. What he’d wanted, he’d taken. He’d never needed anything. This unquenchable thirst he had for her was unsettling.

“I was unsure of what my place was. Now we’re back at your penthouse.”

He thought he’d made it clear at his ancestral home. Was she having second thoughts? Was that the reason for her distance this evening? “Well, then, allow me to clear up any confusion.”

He slid back on the bench, drew her in, and sat her down between his thighs. “This is where you belong. With me.” To his delight, she leaned against him, exhaling a soft sigh.

“I believe this was one of your favorites.” He reached around her, set his fingers to the keys, and played the intro to “Heart and Soul.” Dove’s laughter filled his senses. She placed her hand on the keyboard, adding the melody.

When they played the final notes, he nuzzled his nose to her ear, whispering, “Play for me.”

“I only know a couple of intermediate pieces,” she murmured. “What do you want to hear?”

“Something slow.”

---