Page 6 of Feral Possession

Marcus’s grip tightened on the silver handle of his cane. Most lycans would find Marcus’s Chosen desirable since they preferred their females natural and unpolished. The thought that Bishop may feel the same didn’t sit well. His fingers cramped, and he forced them to uncurl, wincing at his reaction. The damn Chosen bond was already at work, stabbing at his possessive instincts. An instinct Marcus intended to ignore.

His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, and he extracted the device, glancing at the screen. “Tiberius. Again,” he grated, flicking the reject button.

“Could be he has news this time,” Bishop offered.

“Could be he’s calling me with another of his worn-out excuses.” As Council magister, Marcus’s uncle had an entire task force at his disposal. And still, his team had yet to turn up anything useful in their hunt for the backstabbing coward who’d planted a bomb in Marcus’s car. When he got his hands on his former CFO, he’d make sure she paid for her deception a hundredfold.

Never again would he put that kind of faith in another.

Helen had known what her betrayal would cost when she’d plotted his death. No one broke Marcus Steele’s trust. Allowing her to live would make the leader of House Othonos appear weak. If his enemies believed him vulnerable, Helen wouldn’t be the last one who attempted to dethrone him. Appearances had to be upheld. To appear vulnerable was to be a target. A lesson he’d learned at a tender age when his father was murdered.

Like father, like son.

Over the years, there were but a handful of people Marcus had allowed into his inner circle. Since the explosion, he was tightening that circle, setting clearer boundaries. Subjects performed better when they knew their place. Maintaining the balance was important. The male he’d hung up on five times today had taught him that, along with many other valuable lessons.

Somewhere, his relationship with Helen had tilted, her believing she was entitled to take. Marcus would be the one to return the balance. To reclaim all she’d stolen.

His left eye blurred, his vision darkening. He rubbed his temples, damaged flesh scraping beneath his leather gloves.

“You alright back there, Boss?” Bishop asked, sensing his deteriorating mood. That innate intuition was part of the reason Marcus paid the lycan so well.

“Fine,” he growled, his voice chilling even to his own ears. “How long does it take to say goodbye? Does she expect me to sit here forever?” He massaged his knee, his once shattered bones aching. His entire body one throbbing toothache.

“When’s the last time you slept?”

Days. Weeks. “Don’t know.” He was vulnerable when he slept. Not in control.

“You’ll need to, eventually. Regardless of the risk.”

“What are you, my mother?” Marcus snarled.

“No, but if you call me daddy, I’ll read you a bedtime story and tuck you in real nice.”

Marcus chuckled, his laughter a brittle sound. “That was pathetic.” He inhaled a deep breath, slowing his heart rate. Bishop’s crude distraction had done the trick, though, breaking through the darkness that threatened to consume him.

“I’ll sleep tonight.” Marcus groaned, slumping in his seat. “Did you prepare her room as I asked?”

“Everything is in order.”

“Good.”

“Here she comes.” Bishop exited the car, moving to intercept Dove. Before admitting her, he performed a quick check of her pockets and bag, then opened the door.

Dwindling sunlight streamed into the interior. Pain sliced through Marcus’s eyes, and he winced, sinking deeper into the comfort of the shadows. Dove flopped into the bench seat, and her gentle jasmine fragrance filled his senses.

“Sorry, I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long. I’m terrible at goodbyes. I mean, really. Goodbyes are the absolute worst.” She heaved her oversize purse between them, and he winced as something inside slammed into his hip. “With beginnings, everything is fresh and exciting. Uncharted territory to explore. New impressions to be made. Beginnings are the best. Don’t you think?”

Bishop, back in the driver’s seat, steered them away from the curb.

Dove leaned forward, smiling at the lycan. “Hi. I’m Dove.”

“I know,” Bishop answered in a tone that didn’t invite conversation. Unfortunately, that only seemed to encourage the oblivious faerie.

“Right, I wasn’t sure.” She snorted a nervous laugh. “The way you searched my purse, you’d think I was a guy with a chainsaw hitching a ride.”

“Head of security.” Bishop summarized his position in the most mundane terms. “Nothing personal.”

“Gotcha.” She chewed her bottom lip. “I imagine you ran a security check on me?”

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