Page 68 of Feral Possession

“Enemy. Ally. Your choice.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Marcus grated, eyes boring into the image in the mirror.

“Enemy…”

Fire raced up Marcus’s injured thigh and his knee buckled, dropping him to the ground. He tried to brace himself, only to find his damaged arm too weak to support him. “Blast it. What did you do?”

“Ally,” purred the demon.

Energy infused Marcus’s stiffened muscles, and he shot to his feet. Satan’s balls. What was this madness? He tested his weight on two sturdy legs. It’s like the bastard had flipped his switch on and off.

“You weakened me?”

“You are broken. I am exiled. Together, we survive.”

“No.” Marcus raked a hand through his hair. “There is no together. You’re nothing but a disgusting parasite. I don’t need you.” He didn’t need anyone. Not Dove. Not Bishop. No one. Screw them. Screw all of them.

“Fine.”

Again, Marcus collapsed. “Son of a motherfucking bitch.” He tried to rise, but his shaking limbs wouldn’t support him. The left side of his chest ached, the skin drawing tight. His lungs struggled for breath. He grabbed his throat, sucking air into his fire-damaged body. This was how he’d felt when he’d woken on a stretcher, being airlifted to his uncle’s facility.

Memories washed over him in a flood. Marcus sank, drowning in them. Images flickered. Helen and the purse she left on his seat. Her missing wrap she’d gone to retrieve. Watching her race into the casino as he stood beside his favorite sports car. An explosion. Energy pummeled his body. Bones splintered. Pain. Flames licked his flesh. Then nothing. Darkness. Silence.

Death.

He quaked, digging his nails into his palms. The sting grounded him, and he broke free of the memory. He was alive. Alive and gasping for oxygen. His scarred lungs were tight, resistant. His once broken frame stiff and unyielding. Spots danced before his eyes, his head swimming.

The demon truly was the reason he’d survived the explosion. Now that he’d pissed it off, the bastard was going to let him rot.

“I go. You go,” Marcus wheezed.

“So be it.” The demon snarled, his presence ripe with reckless determination.

Figures the prick would be just as stubborn as his host.

“Marcus?” said a hesitant voice. “Are you okay? I heard a hard thump and feared…” Dove. His Chosen. His savior gasped from the doorway and raced to his side. “What happened?”

“You were right.” Words he wouldn’t have uttered if he wasn’t knocking on death’s door. “Need the demon to survive.”

Her pale face swam before his blurred vision. “Which is why I left him inside of you. Don’t tell me you tried to lock him out again.”

He coughed a self-deprecating laugh. “I may have pissed him off.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. You mean this is some kind of bull-headed stand-off?”

“Yep.”

All four of her fuzzy images scowled at him. “The two of you deserve each other.” She released his shoulders, and his head cracked the ground. Ouch.

He grabbed her arm before she could storm away. “Sorry.” He gasped.

“What was that?” She leaned in, her silver locks feathering his chest.

“Sorry I blamed you.”

At this, her forest green eyes rounded. “Holy crap. You’re apologizing.”

“Help. Please.” He placed his life in her hands. Again. Only, this time, he prayed for a much different outcome.

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