Feral Possession: A Opposites Attract, Paranormal Romance (Inner Beast Series Book 5)

Chapter 1

DoveLaurent was moments away from becoming the esteemed Chosen of Lord Marcus Steele—a position every faerie in the eastern realm envied—and yet this great honor bestowed upon her was the worst kind of betrayal.

“I can’t believe Vivian is doing this to me.” Dove slapped a deck of cards into her suitcase, right on top of her unicorn pajamas.

Vivian’s progeny, Armond, leaned against the bedroom doorframe, brows furrowed as he observed Dove’s stellar packing skills. “Now, honey, you know Vivian wouldn’t transfer your Chosen bond to another vampire on a whim.”

For close to seven years, Dove had been Vivian’s honored Chosen. The bond gave vampires exclusive feeding rights while providing their wards with security. Except what Vivian and Dove shared went beyond a traditional benefactor and ward relationship. The two of them, along with Armond, were a family, or so Dove had believed.

She dumped a handful of glow-in-the-dark Mardi Gras beads into her suitcase, along with her rainbow flashlight. Dark days lay ahead of her. It was smart to be prepared.

That done, she turned back to Armond, daring him to comment on the pile of treasures she’d loaded into her case. Instead of lecturing her, he shook his perfectly coiffed head. Looking at the Mediterranean hunk in his tailored shirt, no one would guess he was the same vampire who stayed up late with her gorging on cheese puffs.

She stuffed a silver-blond tendril into her ragged bun. “Deny it all you want, but Vivian wouldn’t be sending me away if I hadn’t failed to stop those undead monsters from attacking you both yesterday.” Proving once again Dove couldn’t be relied on—ever. This time, Dove’s failure had almost cost Vivian and Armond their lives. Once again, Dove had disappointed the people who meant the most to her and was being abandoned. The experience all too familiar.

Armond entered the room and sat on the only clean spot of her cluttered bed, careful not to disturb the sling he wore on his arm. At the sight of his injury, images of the attack flashed in Dove’s mind. The screams, snarling teeth, and Armond’s torn flesh. She shuddered, returning to her dresser.

“You know this has nothing to do with your necromancy skills and everything to do with your safety,” Armond offered in a sad attempt to reassure her.

Faeries were blessed with a variety of casts. Some were empaths. Others could control animals. Dove’s was necromancy.

She riffled through her drawer. “I mean, it’s been years since I’ve attempted to control a corpse. I’m not some goth wannabe, hanging out in graveyards, raising zombies.” ’Cause ew, gross. She liked to think of herself as an earthy spirit whisperer, not the dominatrix of the dead.

Into her suitcase, she chucked a crocheted bralette along with a half-eaten Snickers. Before she could storm away again, Armond captured her hand in his manicured fingers.

“You’re not listening. Vivian needs to take this threat seriously.” Vivian became Armond’s sire long before Dove joined their little family and, therefore, knew more of her abusive history. “Vivian’s ex is an uber-powerful mage who held her captive for decades. The mage is a complete psycho. Case in point, the pack of zombie hellhounds he raised just to ruin her ground-breaking ceremony.”

They’d so looked forward to that ceremony, too. After years of planning, Vivian had turned her dream of building a women’s shelter into a reality. What should have been a celebration had turned into a nightmare. Apparently, Vivian’s ex had taken offence at the shelter being built on the ashes of their former mansion.

Dove huffed an irritated sigh. “At least you get a vacation. Me, I get stuck with an egotistical billionaire who thinks his gold-plated poo doesn’t stink.”

Armond and his partner were heading somewhere off-grid. Likely some place lush and tropical, where clothing was optional. Dove would have given both of her pinky toes to go with him. Unfortunately, Armond wasn’t in a position to take her with him, seeing as they were both potential targets.

He squeezed her hand, his firm grip more of a reprimand than comfort. “Becoming Steele’s Chosen is no small matter. Neither is the fact that he owes Vivian a favor. One she is calling in for your benefit.”

Eye roll. Dove couldn’t care less if Steele sat on a diamond-encrusted toilet and wiped his aristocratic buttocks with hundred-dollar bills. It was how you treated people that mattered. In this, Lord Marcus Steele was a pauper.

Dove toyed with the colorful beading on the skirt of her maxi dress. “Have you seen him? Vivian said he’s still terribly injured.” This was why Vivian thought they could help each other. Faerie blood was known to have incredible healing powers. That part, Dove didn’t mind so much. Sharing a vein with your benefactor was par for the course. If she had the cure to cancer in her veins, she certainly wouldn’t keep it to herself. It was Steele himself who had her concerned.

“No, and believe me, I tried,” Armond said, sounding annoyed. “They were already ensconced in Vivian’s sitting room when I—oh so casually—passed through. Knowing Steele, though, the scars have left him even more ruggedly handsome than before.” Armond gave her the side-eye. “You know, most women would give their right tit to be in your shoes.”

“You forget I’ve met him,” Dove said, tone flat. “Though I doubt he’d remember.”

Unfortunately, Chosen didn’t share the same rights as vampires. When it came to the underworld food chain, she and plankton were tied for last place. Dove was only invited to the grand opening of Steele’s casino because she’d created the artwork his designer had place in the entrance.

That night was still emblazoned on her mind. Perhaps because of its tragic end, or due to her humiliation. Regardless, she remembered every detail. Beneath the twinkling lights of the crystal chandeliers, Marcus Steele had been flawless. Dove was the proverbial moth to his flame. One look and she’d been riveted. Lost. Enraptured. In her mind, she’d pictured him on her canvas. Swathed in shades of midnight, cerulean, and azure.

To her delight, she’d caught him staring at her as well. For half a minute, she’d believed her admiration was returned.

Then they’d met.

While Dove was enamored by the sheer energy he exuded, Marcus had looked at her like she was a shiny dime-store bauble he could purchase. When Vivian introduced them, he’d compliment her painting, then made an off-handed comment about purchasing the artist to add to his collection.

Like she was Vivian’s property instead of her treasured companion.

Entitled jerk.

Armond grew somber. “I’ve heard since Steele’s accident, he rarely leaves his penthouse. Yet he came here in person for you.”

Was that supposed to soften her to the idea? It didn’t. “Accident, huh? Is that what he’s calling the attempt on his life?” Someone very angry and very dangerous had wanted Lord Steele dead. The night of his casino opening, Steele’s fancy sports car exploded with him inside.

Dove snorted. “Tell me again why I’m safer with Steele than I am here, in my home?”

Armond huffed a patient sigh, a sound he used often around her. “Since his accident, Steele’s turned his penthouse into a fortress and hired an army of security guards. There’s no place safer for you than at his side. Lord Marcus Steele has the position, reputation, and means to make sure no harm comes to you.”

“Great. I’ll be locked in an ivory tower. Maybe I’ll grow out my hair, braid it, and toss it out the window like Rapunzel.”

Undeterred, Armond went on, singing Steele’s praises. “Out of the four vampire Houses, Steele’s is the oldest and most powerful in the eastern realm. He’s the youngest on record to ever lead a House. His father was lord before him. Well”—he fluttered a hand—“that is until he was assassinated.”

“Assassinated?” Dove said, a pang of sympathy cutting through her pique. “As in…” She slid her finger across her throat, making a choking sound.

“Afraid so,” Armond continued. “When Marcus was old enough, he challenged the traitor who’d stolen his father’s position and won quite spectacularly. I’m told he slaughtered the male in such a grizzly fashion, few have dared to challenge him since.”

“Well, someone dared,” Dove snorted.

Armond plucked an imaginary bit of fuzz from his immaculate slacks. “Regardless, provoking Steele is akin to signing your own death warrant. He certainly isn’t one to forgive and forget. Best not toy with the male. I’m told he can be quite vicious when provoked.”

Dove huffed. “So this was more of a warning than a pep talk.”

Gilbert, Vivian’s anculus, appeared at the threshold of the open door, his butler’s garb pristine. His family was descended from a long line of distinguished mortals who served the vampire aristocrats.

“Lord Steele and Mistress Vivian have requested your presence, miss.” His bushy eyebrows rose as he surveyed her room. To his credit, he didn’t falter in the face of Hurricane Dove. Didn’t betray a morsel of disgust as he surveyed the colorful clothing draped over every surface, nor the piles of shoes scattered across the floor. “Shall I place your luggage in his lordship’s car?”

Before she could answer, she shivered, icy tingles prickling her glyph. The spiraling ribbon of nerves climbed the length of her spine, resembling an iridescent ivy tattoo. It was one of many things that set her apart from other supernaturals. At times, the glyph acted as a faerie necromancer’s warning system. Though it wasn’t foolproof since she reacted the same around creamed spinach, spiders, and clowns.

This time it rang true. In the corner of her room, a misty apparition took shape. Dressed in a flowing white nightgown, the attractive mid-thirties woman floated closer to the bed. Gilbert, bless his heart, stiffened for half a second as though sensing something was amiss, then squared his shoulders. For a while now, Dove suspected the anculus was aware of his wife’s presence. Not that either of them was willing to discuss the ghostly elephant in the room. Dove had learned long ago, even those she considered close friends grew uncomfortable around her when she discussed the spirits only she could see. Gilbert was too dear to her to risk that kind of rejection.

Dove jabbed her elbows into the top of her overflowing suitcase and wrenched the zipper closed. “Thanks, Gilbert. I’d love if you’d take it down for me.” She pretended not to notice the ghostly woman hovering at his side. Once a spirit knew you were aware of them, things could get awkward. “Contact my loved ones. What happened to the white light? I think I left the stove on. Avenge my death.” Blah, blah, blah. Thankfully, Mildred only had eyes for Gilbert.

Sure, Dove could have warded her room, ensuring those from the astral plane couldn’t invade her sanctuary. Still, she’d hesitated to take such a drastic step. All Mildred wanted was to be near her husband. That kind of love and devotion was rare today. In some twisted way, Dove envied them. It was doubtful she’d ever find the same herself. Besides, why would she want to when she had everything she needed, right here with Vivian and Armond?

“Only one suitcase, miss?” Gilbert said in an even tone.

Dove shrugged. “I didn’t have time to pack anything else.”

“Because she’d spent the last two hours watching The Wizard of Oz,” Armond said, ratting her out.

She whacked him in his good arm, even though he wasn’t wrong. Time management wasn’t one of her superpowers. Besides, she had a deep affection for the classics and found them soothing in stressful times. Times like this one.

The butler’s unflappable demeanor didn’t falter. “Not a problem, miss. I’d be happy to pack the rest of your things and send them to you.”

She didn’t doubt his eagerness. He’d been trying to get his hands on her disaster of a bedroom for years. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it.” Good luck with that.

Gilbert strode to the bed, eager to help. Before he could wrestle with the case, Dove threw her arms around his rigid frame and buried her face into his waistcoat. The scent of lemon polish and peppermint filled her senses. “I’ll miss you most of all, Scarecrow.” She swallowed tears. The elderly anculus had been part of her little family just as long as Vivian and Armond. He’d been with her from the beginning. She just prayed this wasn’t the end.

For a moment, Gilbert stood frozen in her grasp until his wiry torso softened. He wrapped an arm around her and patted her shoulder. “Not to worry, miss,” he said in a thickened voice, “you’ll be back in no time. The moment Mistress Vivian says it’s safe.”

Dove released him and stepped back. Over his shoulder, Mildred blinked in and out of focus. Her arm lifted as though she wiped tears. Dove pinned the apparition with a direct stare, pushing a kernel of her power into the command. “Take care of them. Please.”

Gilbert answered, “I will, miss. Now, off you go.”

She glanced up to find Armond dabbing a fingertip beneath his eye.

“Stop it, right now.” She held out a hand. “If you lose it, there’s no way I’ll be able to keep it together. I don’t want to be snotty when I see Steele.”

“Right.” Armond cleared his throat. “Just something in my eye, is all.” He stood, schooled his features, and swept his arm out. “After you, my lady.”

Dove swished past him, holding her head high, firm grip on the tears that threated to choke her. “Let’s get this over with.”

“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, machérie, 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.

She picked up the strange-looking pen. “Where do I sign?”

“You should read it. Give it the same scrutiny you just gave me,” Steele snarled from across the room.

Dove stiffened, the shock of his appearance wearing off. She didn’t mean to stare at him and already tried to apologize. Apparently, his close call with death had done little to improve his personality. “If Vivian approved it, there’s no need. I trust her implicitly.” Usually. No. Always. Even now, Vivian had her complete trust.

Steele’s low growl conveyed his disapproval.

Vivian took mercy on her, summarizing. “Along with a non-disclosure, the contract states that you shall remain Marcus’s Chosen until such a time that he has recovered from his affliction. In exchange, he will protect you from all harm, providing for your well-being and comfort. During your stay, if you believe he isn’t fulfilling his obligations, you may enact the… pumpernickel clause.”

Dove arched a brow. “Pumpernickel?”

Vivian’s crimson lips pulled into a secretive smile. “Just a little something I added to the agreement. Consider it a safe word you may use once and only once. Say it and Marcus must supply you with transportation to any secure destination of your choosing.”

“Like Monopoly. It’s a get out of jail free card?” It made sense that Vivian would ensure Dove had an escape clause, given Vivian’s abusive history with her ex.

Vivian nodded. “You’ll need to prick your finger with the tip of the pen and sign your name in blood.”

Dove wrinkled her nose. Of course a contract between vampires would involve blood.

She signed her name as Vivian asked, then sucked the tip of her finger. While Vivian returned to Marcus, Dove scanned the document.

Pumpernickel clause. Who’d ever heard of such a thing? If anyone needed an escape clause, it was Lord Steele. She’d make sure the grouchy vampire was so tired of her by the time he was healed, he’d be more than eager to send her home. No way was she staying with him a second longer than necessary.

How long would he need her, anyway? Given the way he hid his appearance, he may be even more injured than she expected. At least her only responsibility in this was sharing a vein with him. Easy-peasy. She’d never been squeamish about such things, comfortable with her role as Chosen. The arrangement with Steele would require little effort on her part, which suited her perfectly. She preferred jobs with low expectations. That way, no one ended up disappointed, and she didn’t end up on a doorstep, suitcase in hand.

Memories stirred, shaking her composure. Her father’s face. A flash of taillights as he drove away.

“Dove?” Vivian’s voice penetrated her musings.

“Huh, yes?” Drat, she’d been so caught up in her own head she didn’t hear them talking.

“Marcus and I completed the first portion of the exchange. It’s time to finish the transfer.”

“Okay. Sure.” Dove forced her feet to return to his side. Once she stood in front of him, she locked her eyes on a shadowed painting on the wall. Fates forbid he accuse her of staring at him again.

This was it. The moment her connection to Vivian was severed. Dove curled her fingernails into her palm, her eyes stinging with tears.

It had been seven years since Vivian claimed her. Dove still cherished the memory. From the moment they were introduced, she’d been in awe of Vivian Laurent. Through some twist of fate, Vivian had wanted—no, demanded Dove become a part of her life. Vivian had rescued her from Havenhouse, an academy where underworld youth were raised. Even though Dove was two years short of the legal claiming age of eighteen, for Vivian they’d made an exception. That and they were eager to get rid of the young necromancer. She remembered the feeling of warmth and security as the bond took hold. The joy at knowing she was free of that stifling place.

Bonding with Lord Steele was none of those things.

“Let’s see this done.” He exhaled an irritated sigh. “I’ve a schedule to keep.”

He dipped his hooded face into her neck. Quick prick of his fangs, a sip of her blood, and his mark branded her skin. Next, he bit his wrist and pressed it to her lips, sharing his blood with her as well. Dove’s head swam, her body changing so no other could feed from her but Marcus.

The whole thing lasted all of thirty seconds. Like his contract, this moment of bonding felt more like a business transaction. She stifled a snort of derision. As it turned out, Lord Marcus Steele had gotten his way after all. Dove was the new Porsche he’d added to his collection. And still I feel cheap.

“Marcus, darling,” Vivian said. “Would you mind if I have a moment alone with Dove before she goes?”

“I’ll be in the car.” He leaned heavily on his cane as he limped to the door. Before exiting, he paused, uttering, “Don’t keep me waiting.”

This last part, Dove suspected was for her ears only.

She gritted her teeth. Already he gives me commands.

Vivian and Dove followed at a slower pace, exiting the sitting room and pausing in the foyer.

Once they were at the front door, Dove threw her arms around Vivian. “It doesn’t feel right, leaving you like this,” she choked out, losing the grip she had on her tears.

“Just remember that under that gruff exterior, Marcus Steele is a good, trustworthy man. He’ll take excellent care of you.”

Dove stepped back, peering up at her. “And who will take care of you?”

Vivian wiped her tears. “Don’t you worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Dove cast a look at the front door and shivered. “He’s different than he was before.” Though she’d mostly watched him from a distance, at his party he’d been confident and charismatic. The man she met this evening was dark, withdrawn, and surly.

“Marcus has been through a lot since the accident. Be patient with him. He needs you in more ways than one. Share your light with him the way you did with me.” Vivian was the reason Dove even had a light to share. Without her patience and understanding, Dove’s life would have turned out much different.

“Promise me.” Dove grasped her hands, desperation leaking into her wavering tone. “When all this is over, you’ll contact me immediately. Surely by then Marcus will be on the mend and eager to send me on my way.” Besides Vivian and Armond, there were few with strong enough constitutions to tolerate her for any length of time.

“Promise,” Vivian swore.

Sniffling sounded behind her and Dove turned. Armond. She threw her arms around his neck. With her meeting over, there was no need to keep herself together. She didn’t bother to hold back the sob that rattled her frame. “Promise you’ll call when you can and send me pictures of your trip.”

“A pack of wild hellhounds couldn’t stop me.” He hugged her back with his uninjured arm. “Go on now,” Armond urged, withdrawing. “Don’t want to keep the man waiting.”

Dove hiccupped a sigh and crammed her lips into something that might pass as a smile. Despite her fracturing heart, she’d present a positive front for her family. “On to a new adventure, right?”

Vivian returned her strained smile. “That’s right, ma chérie.”

One last peck to Vivian’s cheek, then Dove squared her shoulders and headed out the door.