Page 69 of Feral Possession

She paled. “Please? By the goddess. You must be dying. What should I do? Call your uncle? Call for a medic?”

“Summon the demon.”

“Okay. Sure. Just hold on, and whatever you do, don’t go into the light.”

He snorted. There would be no light for him. Flames perhaps, but no light.

“Bishop!” she bellowed in a voice that would make a banshee envious.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. The door slammed back on its hinges, imbedding in the wall. “What the hell happened?”

“Quick. Get him into the circle,” Dove said, barking orders like a pro. Pride strained Marcus’s tightened chest. He was starting to rub off on her.

Firm hands snagged his ankles and dragged him across the floor. Beside the bed, Bishop grabbed him around the middle and flung him onto the mattress. As he bounced, Marcus couldn’t help the groan that rolled past his lips. The lycan’s bedside manner left much to be desired.

Bishop and Dove moved outside the protective circle where she chanted, words tumbling over each other. “Powers that be, hear me. Earth, wind, fire, water, spirit. I summon you, spirit of the demon.”

Marcus held his breath.

“Anything?” Bishop asked.

“No,” Marcus groaned.

“Darn it. Why isn’t it working?” She stomped her foot. “You’re not blocking him, are you?”

Marcus shook his head, lacking the ability to speak.

“I’ll need to get closer,” Dove said.

The hell she would. Before Marcus could formulate an objection, Dove crawled up on the bed, straddling his hips. Many times he’d pictured her thus, though not in this context. Not that he could appreciate her position in his condition. His heart strained, his pulse stalling. She set her palms on his chest, worried face swimming above him.

“Shadow, come forth.” She smacked his chest and again Marcus fought a groan. If his injuries didn’t kill him, Dove and Bishop surely would.

“Fine, you stubborn donkey. You want to play hardball, game on.” She popped her neck, then planted her hands firmly on his chest. Static prickled his skin beneath her palms. He got the feeling this was going to hurt. Dove acting as his faerie defibrillator.

Wind gusted through the open balcony doors, whipping Dove’s hair. Lightning cracked outside the windows. Her eyes took on a maniacal gleam. She was spectacular. Without a doubt, the powerful necromancer was not living up to her potential. If Marcus weren’t on the verge of dying, he’d have taken a moment to just stare in awe.

Power crackled in the room. Dove’s expression cleared of all emotion, her demeanor becoming trance-like. Her cheeks hollowed, shadows darkening her eyes. She appeared, pale and ethereal, like the queen of the spirit realm. Whereas before she’d shouted and yelled, the quiet menace in her was even more unnerving. In an unnatural voice that sent a chill down his spine, she whispered, “Spirit, I command you. Merge with your host.”

Electricity shot through his body, power charging his cells. Marcus’s muscles seized out of his control. He threw back his head and bellowed. Warmth infused his system, soothing the pain in his body. Energy returned to his withered muscles, his chest rising and falling, each breath stronger than the last, filling his lungs with much needed oxygen.

“It’s working,” he groaned in relief.

Shadows wafted from beneath the bed. They swirled and twisted within the bounds of the containment circle. Worry lanced Marcus’s heart. He didn’t have the energy to control the creature. “Harm her, demon, and it will be the last thing you do.”

“Stupid vampire. You know nothing,” the demon snorted in disgust.

Smokey tendrils slid up Dove’s back in a caress, then released her.

Dove’s rigid frame softened against him, her head rolling forward. Without warning, she collapsed on top of him.

“Dove,” he shouted, holding her, strength returning to his arms.

“What happened?” Bishop said, rushing into the circle. “Did the demon do this?”

Marcus gritted his teeth. Rage burned through his veins. “I don’t know, but if it did, an exorcism will be the least of its worries.”

Dove cracked her eyes open, licked her chapped lips, and winced. Blech. Her mouth tasted like she had rusty braces on her teeth. Her blurry eyeballs drew the room into focus. Whose bed was she sleeping in? At least Ida had been there recently. All the sheets were off the highly polished furniture. While dated, the furnishings and fixtures were classy and masculine. Rich shades of forest green and mahogany gave the space a comfortable feeling. Or maybe it was the fragrance of smokey linen wafting from her pillow.

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