Page 8 of Feral Possession

“I’d like to play a game,” he said, and her face lit up until he added, “Who can be quiet the longest? You start.”

Her expression fell, and his mood lightened.

“I, um…” She picked a thread on her gods-awful hobo bag. “In case you haven’t noticed, but I think you did notice. I talk a lot when I’m nervous. Right now, I’m very nervous. So… sorry. I’ll try to do better.”

He exhaled a sigh. The female was exhausting, but he didn’t hate her honesty. “Forgiven.”

At last, blessed silence stretched between them.

“You’re in pain,” she said softly, eyeing his hand on his knee.

He didn’t even realize he’d been rubbing his leg. “I’m fine.”

Metal clanged as she slid a stack of bangles off her arm, shoved them into her bag, and held out her wrist.

He eyed the golden expanse of skin. Thin blue veins thrummed beneath her sun-kissed flesh. It had been far too long since he’d truly fed, not trusting his control after his “accident.” Dove’s exquisite blood was particularly tempting. Hunger hollowed his gut, his fangs aching. She is oursss. Take what she offersss.

Shadows deepened around him, an icy chill sweeping through his veins.

“Not now.” He retreated into the darkness. Sweat prickled the back of his neck.

Despite his snarled objection, she didn’t withdraw. “While I’m painfully aware that I’ve been stumbling about blindly, uncertain about my role as your Chosen, this part I’m clear about. I’m told I have the nectar of the gods running in my veins. The sooner we get you on the mend, the better.”

It was rare for prey to convince a predator to feed from them. Maybe the girl was touched in the head. He’d heard with necromancers it wasn’t uncommon.

“While you’re stumbling, you should know I don’t like to repeat myself,” he growled, the walls of the sedan slithering closer.

“But why suffer when the solution is right under your nose?”

In Vivian’s sitting room, she’d seemed afraid of him, which rankled. He’d rather be feared based on his reputation, not his appearance. Now, she jabbered as if they were old friends, seeming to grow more comfortable around him by the minute.

He preferred her frightened.

Undeterred, she tipped her head, exposing her throat. “Maybe you’re a neck guy?”

The faerie’s nerve was astounding. She offered her jugular as casually as she did a stick of gum.

He eyed the tempting column of her graceful throat, hunger burning in his gut. Beneath her skin, her vein pulsed in a seductive rhythm. His flesh chilled, darkness welling inside of him. “Take. She is oursss,” insisted the voice in the back of his head.

No. Not now. Not here.

His words emerged in a frigid snarl. His tone sharp, animalistic. “I said. No!” Lights flickered in the sedan’s interior. The bulb overhead sparked and shattered.

Dove squawked a noise of alarm, throwing her arms over her head.

The sedan veered sharply. Brakes screeched, and they jolted to a sudden stop. The door winged open. Bishop reached in and grabbed Dove’s upper arm. Marcus sank his claw-tipped fingers into the seat cushion to keep from reaching for her, dragging her back.

“What’s going on?” Dove gasped, oblivious to the danger.

“Electrical short. Ride up front with me,” Bishop ordered.

“Cool. Shotgun.” She exited without argument.

Bishop met his eyes, nodded, and shut the door.

Through the glass, Marcus’s sensitive ears picked up Dove’s voice. “Oh, thank goodness. I can see out of the windows up here. Now, which game do you want to play first? Never have I ever or I Spy.”

“You owe me, Steele,” came Bishop’s low response.

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