Dark Possession

by Aja James

  A big fat zero, was what they were.

  Finally, her toes stubbed into a concrete block.

  Steps?

  She heard a door creak open, and then she was pushed again to climb up the steps.

  “Leave us.”

  Eveline’s entire body went on red alert.

  All of her fine hairs stood on end, bristling with awareness. She barely heard the retreating footsteps of the males who brought her here after the door was shut.

  That voice.

  It was the only voice she’d heard in all this time. At least thirty-six hours of captivity.

  And what a voice it was.

  Deeply masculine, husky, and rough.

  Sinful.

  But she didn’t have time to dwell on it, because his scent assaulted her next.

  Earthy, dark, decadent.

  Arousing.

  Eveline shook her head slightly to clear it.

  What in Goddess’s name was happening to her? Was she actually getting turned on right now?

  It would be laughably ludicrous if she was feeling in a jovial mood. But she was definitely not laughing. She felt like crying actually.

  It was just her luck that her unseen captor and would-be foe was the one male in the world who cranked Eveline’s extremely dormant (nearly dead, if she were absolutely honest) libido.

  Instinctively, she braced herself.

  He was coming toward her.

  She couldn’t hear his footsteps, he was silent as a cat, but she felt the flare from his body heat. It was like a small sun approaching her orbit.

  She held her ground, refusing to shrink back as he came closer. She might be small but she was no coward. He couldn’t intimidate her.

  Even if he was twice her size and three times her weight.

  Because that’s what she felt like. She could feel his body heat surrounding her, his shadow looming tall and threatening over her.

  How she detested intimidatingly large males!

  Internally, she shook herself.

  What nonsense. He couldn’t be ten feet tall and five feet wide. He probably wasn’t four hundred pounds either, with the silent way he moved.

  He was merely another living being.

  A male one.

  An extremely, indisputably, elementally male one.

  She wasn’t cowed. She could hold her own.

  Just like she could hold her breath, which she bravely attempted to do for as long as she possibly could.

  Because his dratted scent was doing something to her!

  Intoxicating and drugging her, she felt like. She was getting dizzy with reluctant arousal, her skin heating, her nerves tingling.

  It was as if her body had declared mutiny on her mind. It was reacting in ways she’d never reacted before.

  Nipples beading. Stomach fluttering. Knees quivering. Core clenching.

  Goddess save her from this humiliating loss of control!

  Barely, she felt fingertips sift through the hair at the back of her head. He was untying the blindfold.

  She couldn’t hold her breath any more, and she heaved a deep, shuddering sigh.

  Before opening her eyes, she sucked in a breath through her mouth to fortify herself.

  But no matter what she imagined, across all of her long existence, the male who stood before her defied every fantasy, every dream.

  Glittering, exotic dark eyes pierced right through her. She didn’t know where to look.

  Should she drown in the deep, obsidian pools of his pupils or entangle herself in the thick forest of his spiky lashes?

  She decided on the safer option of following the line of his high-bridged, narrow blade of a nose, before her gaze skittered across the sharp, unyielding cliffs of his cheekbones, down lean cheeks that hinted at deep grooves around his mouth—if he ever smiled.

  Her eyes darted quickly to the corners of his to check for laugh lines.

  Nope. No evidence of humor found.

  She went back to perusing the exquisite and elementally masculine landscape of his face by focusing on his diamond-cut jawline, covered, surprisingly, by rough-looking stubble.

  Surprising, because most immortals didn’t have body or facial hair. And this male was definitely immortal.

  On the other hand, his beard seemed to suit him. It made him even more…

  Male.

  If the tips of his fangs glinting in the soft glow of the cabin was any indication, he was a Dark One. A very powerful and ancient Dark One.

  She could feel his strength and vitality radiating from his body like a palpable, overwhelming force of nature.

  Determinedly, she refused to complete her canvasing of his unforgettably beautiful face by concentrating on his mouth. The unfocused glimpse she couldn’t help but catch hinted at full, kissable lips.

  Hell’s balls! Get a grip, Eveline!

  “Well, well. So you are to be my Pure Blood slave,” her captor murmured in that sinful voice, practically oozing sex and carnal—

  Wait.

  What?

  His Pure Blood Slave?

  “In the beginning, Immortals lived among humans as gods and Heroes, but they did not rule. They preferred to interact only with their own Kinds, for humans held them in awe and fear, often misunderstanding their intent. Dark and Pure existed in harmony, as they were meant to be, created by the Twin Goddesses who complemented each other like the air they breathed…”

  —From the lost oral histories of the Zodiac Scrolls

  Chapter Two

  Ramses noticed the moment his little “gift” realized the gravity of her situation.

  Her large blue-gray eyes widened even more, taking up most of her small, heart-shaped face, and her mouth dropped slightly open in a tiny O.

  As in—oh, shit.

  He took in her appearance at leisure, letting his assessing gaze rove casually over her fae-like features, just as she had slowly and methodically categorized his own a few moments before.

  She liked what she’d seen of him, that much was clear, though her eyes hadn’t dared to stray from his face.

  She found him…attractive.

  Even though his height, size and strength intimidated her. He could see that as well. The spike in her temperature, the flush in her fine, porcelain skin, the dilation of her pupils, and the agitated huffs of her quickened breaths told him so.

  He might even venture to say that she found him frightening and arousing. Or frighteningly arousing.

  This bit of knowledge he took in stride.

  Most females, no matter their Kind, found him pleasing to look upon. Even more females found him desirable to rut upon. And all females, with the exception of either the very brave or the very stupid, knew instinctually that he was not a male to ever cross.

  He used his sexual hold over others as a distinct advantage. Now, he just had to figure out how to use it to his maximum benefit with this particular female.

  She was small, barely over five feet and gracefully curved, as a woman should be, though understatedly so.

  Everything about her was soft-looking. Her dark auburn, wavy tresses that glinted bronze in the fire-lit cabin framed her face lovingly like caressing hands. Her skin was flawlessly smooth, sprinkled liberally, but not excessively, with freckles—on her bare arms, upper chest, and blushing cheeks.

  Her generous, full, red lips (still slightly pursed in an O) pouted just so beneath a small, button nose. Along with her eyes, they took up most of her face, and were the most prominent features on a delectable, creamy palette. Her pointy chin gave her an elfin look, as did the slightly tilted corners of her long-lashed eyes.

  Hers was an unpretentious beauty, especially since she did nothing to emphasize it. She wore no enhancements upon her skin or face, and the clothes she donned were made for comfort, not ostentation. She didn’t need it. She was quite remarkably lovely.

  Unfortunately, Ramses had to admit: He was attracted as well.

  She stirred… something inside him.


  He didn’t like it.

  This mutual awareness and attraction put them on a more equal footing. How to make the scales tip back in his favor? And by a landslide?

  All these considerations churned through his busy mind in the brief moments he took to assess her.

  And then he recognized who she was.

  Eveline Marceau, if he wasn’t mistaken. The Seer and Scribe of the Pure Ones. A member of the Pure Queen’s inner circle.

  Though they’d never met, he made it his business to know all about his enemies, as well as his supposed allies. He had reams of documentation on all of the Royal Zodiac, including video surveillance footage.

  There were only a few blurry pictures in his file about Ms. Marceau, for she seldom ventured out in public. But those photos and detailed descriptions about her were enough to confirm her identity.

  Ramses never forgot a face. And hers was distinctly memorable.

  He wondered how long he could get away with pretending to not know who she was, and have a little fun in the process.

  “You’re the Dark King Ramses,” the little fairy suddenly declared, the sound of her crisp, bell-like voice straightening his spine in attention.

  “I’m Eveline Marceau, one of Queen Sophia’s Circlet members. Thank goodness it’s you. Now we can clear this all up, and I can return home.”

  So much for pretending not to know her identity.

  Ramses sighed internally at the loss of his little game. It would have been an entertaining diversion after a long, tedious night.

  “You are correct, little sprite,” he said slowly, his mind efficiently calculating his options with this new news, “I am who I am, and you are who you are. But…”

  “I’m not a little sprite,” she pointed out quite firmly, before prompting, “But?”

  Her sleek brows raised aloft in question.

  Ramses almost quirked his lips in amusement.

  Why did she bother to gainsay him? He’d call her whatever damn name he chose, though he didn’t state this aloud.

  “But that doesn’t mean you can return home,” he answered instead.

  She blinked rapidly, clearly not comprehending.

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked in that same calm, reasonable voice, not at all appreciating the precariousness of her predicament.

  “We have an alliance between us,” she reminded him. “Friends do not detain friends without their permission.”

  Ramses took a small step closer to her, and she took a large step back.

  Was the fairy more afraid of him than attracted?

  But no.

  Her clear eyes showed no apprehension or fear, if a healthy dose of caution. There was even a challenging glint in them.

  Then why did she need to put space between them?

  He had a theory, of course.

  To test it, he slowly reached out a hand toward her hair, slow enough that she could avoid his touch if she wished to.

  Her entire body went statue still as she braced for contact, but she didn’t move away.

  He barely grazed the backs of his fingers against her silky cheek as he drew a tendril of hair to hook behind her small, slightly pointed ear.

  She shuddered delicately all over at the ephemeral touch, and Ramses watched in fascination as sparks crackled like tiny stars in the air.

  Now that’s what one would call chemistry.

  She wanted him.

  Badly.

  But it was clear that she didn’t like the feeling, given that her brows slammed down and her lips pressed together to settle in a mulish expression.

  Which Ramses found strangely adorable.

  “The alliance was between Jade Cicada and Queen Sophia,” he said, letting the import of his words sink in. “I have not declared my own views on the matter.”

  He rubbed his thumb lightly along her jawline, watching her shiver with awareness.

  More sparks. More crackles.

  He’d never encountered a female who reacted to him the way she did, across the many millennia of his existence. He wondered if she noticed it too.

  “You and I don’t know each other…intimately, little sprite,” he pointed out and deliberately called her the name she denied earlier, which predictably made her eyes sharpen in a glare.

  “We are not friends.”

  She didn’t contradict him this time, swallowing visibly at his softly spoken words. He could see the pulse in her throat flutter rapidly, like a hummingbird’s wings.

  “If I choose to detain you, Eveline Marceau, there is nothing you can do to stop me.”

  *** *** *** ***

  Bollocks.

  Eveline didn’t like where this conversation was headed one little bit.

  Why was the Dark King being so difficult? He should be apologizing profusely by now for being party to her predicament.

  Not that she imagined a male like him (even if he wasn’t the one and only Dark King, and the most powerful vampire ruler in the world at that) apologizing for anything.

  But still.

  The alliance between their Kinds, or at least the New England vampire hive and the Pure Ones, had to count for something, didn’t it? Unless he instigated this whole thing and was actually making an example of her.

  True, she was a lesser known, hermit member of the Dozen, but she was still in the Pure Ones’ official records. If he wanted to make a clear declaration of where his alliances lay, or didn’t lie, as the case might be, she’d certainly suit his purposes.

  But then why go to the trouble of stealing her away and bringing her to this remote location? Why not parade her as his Blood Slave publicly?

  And why, oh why, did he have to be so…distracting?

  His nearness, his body heat, his scent and voice, not to mention the strange… static electricity (yes, must be just the dryness in the air and on their skin) from his touch, made it very difficult for Eveline to concentrate on her logic and equanimity.

  Verily, she wanted to leap upon him like a starving lioness, tear his clothes off and have him for breakfast, lunch and supper. Then tie him down while she indulged in dessert.

  What in Goddess’s name was wrong with her?!

  She squared her shoulders and put some metaphorical steel into her backbone, preparing to go to verbal war with this uncooperative male.

  “True,” she allowed, “you can detain me if you so choose. You are bigger and stronger. I am smaller and weaker and bound besides. You can break the intent of the alliance between our Kinds, if not the specific laws, by continuing to hold me prisoner. You can be an ogre of a conquering male by keeping a helpless, defenseless female hostage against her will.”

  He cocked his head at her when she paused for breath after that impassioned little speech.

  “Are you trying to appeal to my honor and nobility with these words? Or shame me into compliance with your wishes?” he asked in that awfully seductive voice.

  Why did his voice have to conjure writhing naked bodies in her mind? Why?!

  “You will find that I have none to appeal to,” he stated almost regrettably.

  “Not true,” Eveline rebutted, her brain admirably trying to engage while her libido threatened to take control.

  “Jade would never recruit a Chosen warrior who isn’t honorable and trustworthy. Not only did she choose you to be part of her personal guard, but she also abdicated the throne to you. I trust her judgment. She’s one of the wisest Immortals I know.”

  His lips quirked in an infuriatingly gorgeous way.

  “Now, you’re trying to appeal to my vanity and use reverse psychology. Do you think me a child to be so readily manipulated?”

  She sighed with frustration internally, keeping up the external façade of cool composure.

  “Let’s talk this through like reasonable adults then,” she suggested. “What do you want to do with me, King Ramses? Do you want to declare war on the Pure Ones?”

  He was silent for an uncomfortable length of time, especially since Eve
line literally waited with bated breath for his answer.

  Finally, he said, “It seems like a lot of trouble. I’m not sure the outcome would be worth it.”

  “Just so,” Eveline immediately agreed, though she wished he was more adamant against war, rather than treating it like a chore to avoid.

  “But I don’t want to be seen as supporting the alliance either,” he continued thoughtfully.

  “I understand,” she sympathized. “Jade mentioned the civil strife within your hive.”

  “And also because I don’t particularly like your Kind,” he added with a sinful smile that didn’t reach his eyes, as if daring her to react to the insult.

  “Well, I don’t like the ones who kidnapped me, tied me up and brought me here either, so I guess we’re even,” she said agreeably.

  “And you don’t like me,” he pressed.

  “I am withholding judgement until I know you better,” she returned.

  His bright obsidian eyes glinted at her.

  She didn’t know whether it was teasing or predatory.

  Probably both.

  “Perhaps you like me too much,” he insinuated with a dark, decadent smile.

  “Not at all,” she rebuffed immediately.

  “Not even a little?”

  Those sensuous lips curled slightly higher at one corner.

  “You are really not my type,” Eveline explained. “Not that it matters, of course. Nothing personal, you understand. I just don’t generally feel an affinity for males like you. Or females like you. You know. If there were female corollaries to…well…you.”

  Bravo, Eveline! That oral exposition was incredibly articulate and sensible.

  Not.

  “Males like me…?” he prompted.

  Why wouldn’t he get off the subject, and why did she continue to run her mouth to answer him?

  “Well, yes, males like you. All physically…overwhelming, and…and…”

  “Mentally deficient?”

  “Well, obviously not,” she huffed with exasperation. “It’s just that your brain is not your most salient attribute upon first encounter.”

  Before he could speak again, and especially before he could probe her on what were his more salient attributes, she desperately inserted, “Can we just agree that we are both coldly indifferent to each other and move on? This isn’t about you and me as individuals, it’s about our Kinds and the message you want to send to both.”