Page 9 of Feral Possession

“What did you say?” Dove asked.

“I’m a fan of the silent game.”

Three

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

Dove lifted her head, pealing her cheek off the woven purse she’d set against the car’s window frame. She rubbed her bumpy skin. “Great, now I have waffle face.”

Bishop stopped the sedan along a concrete wall. Dove frowned, glancing at the elevator doors outside. “Where are we?”

“Parking garage beneath Steele Tower.” He pressed his hand to his earpiece. “Team two, are we clear?”

Dove sighed. “Darn it. I wanted to see the skyline as we drove into the city. I missed the whole thing.”

“Copy that,” Bishop responded.

“Copy what?” By the time she had her seat belt unbuckled, Bishop was out of the car and had her door open.

Dove exited, smoothing wrinkles from her long skirt. Behind her, Marcus levered out of the back seat, his movements awkward as though he’d grown stiff during the trip. She noted no one dared offer him assistance as he limped toward the elevator doors, leaning heavily on his cane. On either side of the entrance were two guards. Like Bishop, both were huge, wearing dark suits that stretched across their brutish frames.

Sheesh. No wondered Vivian believed she’d be safer staying with Marcus. The guy had more security than a dragon guarding its hoard. All this, just to enter the building.

Bishop swiped a badge at the panel on the wall, and the elevator door slid open. The three of them piled in while the guards remained behind. The doors swished closed and there she was, trapped in a little box with two men who believed silence was a virtue. Goddess save her. There wasn’t even any mind-numbing music to break the monotony. Before Dove could open her mouth, gears whirled, the low hum startling in the quiet. Up they shot. Her stomach pitched and the metal walls fell away, thrusting them into outer space.

“Ground Control to Major Tom,” she sang.

The private elevator was on the outside of the building instead of the interior. Dove stumbled to the wall and pressed her palms to the cool glass. Below them lay the city. Sparkling lights dotted the landscape. Soaring skyscrapers lined the tight grid of streets, Steele Tower one of the tallest. They rocketed to the top. Her head spun, and she twisted, turning her back on the dizzying height, pressing her hand to her mouth.

“Breathe through your nose.” Marcus’s smoky voice captured her attention. She sucked in a breath. When did he get so close? Beneath his hood, she could just make out his square-cut jaw. At least this part of him seemed undamaged. His lips firm and masculine.

Curse the man, but even now, she didn’t find him unattractive, his commanding presence sending pleasant sparks down her spine. Before she could analyze the sensation further, he hummed a low sound of annoyance and stepped back, widening the distance between them. Too late, she realized she was staring again. Oopsies.

She glanced at Bishop, who stared straight ahead at the door as all elevator travelers tended to do. Despite his stoic façade, there was a slight curl to his lip and a twinkle in his pale blue eyes. Oh, he was trying to hide it. But she knew the jerk was totally laughing at her. And here she’d thought they’d bonded on that long drive.

Bishop was a big dude, even bigger than Marcus. Which made sense. If you were going to have a bodyguard, he sure as heck needed to be larger than the guy he was protecting. She’d sensed he was a werewolf when he’d helped her into the car. The moment they’d connected, his aura spoke to her, his colors a deep forest green with swirls of mahogany and sunset orange. Marcus could tuck his bodyguard into any boring suit he wanted, but there was no hiding the rugged wildness in his energy. Dove had a crazy urge to paint his chiseled visage, along with that little smirk he was currently sporting. Perhaps she’d ask Gilbert to send some of her supplies to Steele Tower.

It was strange that Marcus, a high-ranking vampire lord, would have a lycan bodyguard. The two races hadn’t been on the best of terms. She’d love to know the story there. Maybe if she was patient. Not that patience was one of her stronger virtues.

The elevator dinged, coming to an abrupt stop. Caught off guard, she stumbled back, right into Marcus. Her shoulder collided with his chest, and he wrapped his arm around her stomach, his grip strong despite his injuries. She drew in a breath, limbs frozen. Where they touched, she read nothing of his aura. As far as her mystical senses were concerned, Marcus Steele was a colorless wasteland. Her mind reeled. She’d never met anyone living who didn’t have an aura.

He dipped his hooded face near her ear. “Watch yourself, Chosen.”

Watch herself indeed. She already felt as though she was tiptoeing across glass around him. She straightened, stepping free of his embrace. The elevator dinged, admitting them to an entrance hall. Inside, two guards stood on either side of a door. She fought a snicker. Apparently, these rare creatures traveled in pairs.

Bishop touched his ear before tipping his head to Marcus. “Penthouse is clear. I’ll check in with you later after meeting with my team.”

“Very well,” Marcus said, opening the door, leading the way.

“Good luck.” Bishop winked at her, stepping back into the elevator. Again, she got the impression she’d amused the werewolf.

As the elevator swished closed, cutting off any chance of retreat, Dove followed Marcus into his lair. And that’s what it was, a freaking lair, not a home. Inside, the lighting was dull and dim. While the different textures were pleasing, every surface appeared hard and uninviting, a mix of wood, metal, and stone. Even the black leather sofa with its tightly wrapped cushions seemed unwelcoming. Sadly, there wasn’t a toss pillow or chenille throw in sight. No pictures of friends or vacations. The entire space was void of anything personal. Void of anything that would help her better understand what made Marcus Steele tick.

Finally, she locked eyes on the only item of interest in the vast room. Black and gleaming, the grand piano called to her, urging her to touch its pristine keys. Over the years, Vivian had catered to Dove’s every whim, and she’d had a lot of them. As a result, Dove had learned to play the guitar, ukulele, cowbell, and piano. Though she’d failed to master any of the instruments before something shinier came along to pique her curiosity.

Before she registered the urge, she stood before the beautiful instrument. Like any pianist did when standing before a gleaming keyboard, she set her fingers to the ivory and pounded out an enthusiastic version of “Heart and Soul”.

Marcus slammed the lid over the keyboard, darn near closing her fingers inside. “Enough,” he grated in her ear.

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