Page 3 of Feral Possession

“Dove?” Armond called out. “Did you forget something?”

“What?” She spun to find her sandals dangling off the tip of Gilbert’s finger.

She peeked down at her bare feet, then beamed up at them, her smile wavering. “What would I do without the two of you?”

Unfortunately, she feared she was about to find out.

After heading downstairs, Dove knocked on the sitting room door before twisting the knob. Once inside, she blinked to adjust her vision to the dark and dreary space. It wasn’t a terribly bright room to begin with due to its deeply hued color scheme. For some reason, the tiffany lamps were off and the heavy velvet drapes closed.

“Vivian?”

Across the room, a fire blazed in the hearth. Twin wingback chairs flanked the flames.

Vivian’s curvy silhouette rose from a camel-backed settee. “Here, mon coeur.”

Dove reached out, using her hands to find her way. “Why is it so dark in here?”

Slim fingers clasped her hand and Vivian’s familiar visage came into focus. Her ebony locks gleamed in the firelight. Worry darkened her honeyed eyes, her crimson smile forced. “To make our guest comfortable,” she said with a note of censure.

“Right.” Dove registered the warning. Steele was present and listening.

Vivian guided her across the room. The swish of Vivian’s figure-hugging dress and crackling flames were the only sounds. At the sinister setting, prickles of unease spiked Dove’s glyph. The last time she’d met Lord Steele, bright lights and extravagance surrounded him. That sparkling evening, Steele had been a powerful force at the top of his game. Women were drawn to him—Dove no exception—while the men wanted to be him. He’d exuded power and something mysteriously irresistible.

This was nothing like that night.

This time, Steele seemed a wounded predator backed into a corner. Even more dangerous injured than when he was whole. The energy he exuded felt dark and oily, the oppressive weight of it warning one to keep their distance.

“Dove, ma chérie, you remember Lord Marcus Steele.”

“Yes, of course.” How could she forget? It wasn’t every day someone offered to purchase you as though you were little more than a shiny sportscar they wanted to take for a spin.

Dove narrowed her eyes, peering through the darkness. Steele sat in the wing-backed chair, his shape a grotesque lump. Flickering firelight made the shadows surrounding him writhe as though alive. It took a moment to discern his uneven head was because of the thick hood he’d pulled low over his face.

Dark fabric shrouded his features down to his nose, leaving his clenched jaw and tightly pressed lips the only parts visible. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed he wore a charcoal blazer over a dark hoody. Beneath the sleeves, leather gloves covered his hands. One rested atop a black cane, an ornate silver handle held tight in his grip. Perhaps he’d dressed this way to hide his burns?

The thought that he’d attempted to mask his vulnerability made him appear almost human. Her heart softened in those blissful seconds of disillusionment where he seemed a mere victim of a vicious crime. A creature who deserved empathy and not fear. Who would she be to deny this injured man the relief her powerful blood could provide? This wounded soul needed her.

She exhaled her relief. In that last sweet second of naivety, the air grew cold. An artic gust brushed her exposed skin. The ‘wounded’ creature rose to his full height, casting ominous shadows across the floor. He loomed over her, a dark specter. Powerful despite his wounds.

Furious words punched from his throat. “Have you looked your fill?”

She forgot all about her next breath. Spots floated in her vision. Standing in his frigid presence, she quaked. Goddess, the ‘poor wretch’ was menacing. What was she thinking? This man didn’t need her. He didn’t need anybody. She had zero business becoming this vampire’s Chosen. Vivian was not in her right mind, putting Dove in the care of this creature.

Vivian stroked her arm, whispering in her ear, “Breathe, darling.”

Breathe? Oh, right. Dove sucked oxygen into her aching lungs, gasping, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“The contract is on the table,” Steele snapped, his smokey voice thick with anger. “You’ll need to sign it before we proceed.”

Dove blinked, shaking her head. “Huh, what?”

“This way.” Vivian directed her to an ornate side table. On the document rested a feathered pen. Two names were scrawled at the bottom.

“What is this?” Dove frowned.

“Since your stay with Lord Steele will be temporary, he thought it would be best to have something in writing, detailing our arrangement.”

“How…” Dove’s mind went blank, a proper response for the situation failing her. Chosen were rarely allowed to enter any kind of official contracts. Their vampire protectors were responsible for them in all things. When a Chosen entered a contract, their benefactor became liable, so this was generally discouraged.

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