Page 31 of Possess Me

No.

I scream the word, but there is no sound. I try to get out of the chair, but I can’t move. I’m frozen, pinned in place by an unseen force. I’m stroking the snake bracelet, the motion soothing, and when I’m calm enough, I look around. My eyes stop at the small table beside the chair, where the journal sits. Its cover is pristine now, unmarked. No ouroboros. No initials.

I reach for it, my fingers brushing over the smooth leather. A shiver runs down my spine as the memory of the shifting passages sends a chill through me. I want to throw it across the room. This horrible, wrong thing.

But instead, I flip open the cover and, again, begin to read.

The entries start out mundane. Notes about Vivien’s day-to-day life. Tea with Carlton. A meeting with her agent. But as I turn the pages, the letters begin to blur, the ink shifting and swimming on the paper. I blink, my breath catching as the words reshape themselves into something darker:

Carlton swears Basil speaks to him in whispers. That he hears the voice even in his dreams. He insists Basil is more than flesh and blood. That he is strong. Inescapable. I’m scared. Scared of my own husband. And yet I don’t understand why. I only know that he’s changed.

I shudder, my grip on the journal tightening. My eyes dart to the next page, and I watch, mesmerized, as the ink ripples again before settling into stark, black words:

These pages are tainted—I am certain of it. I should stop writing in this journal, and yet I can’t seem to do so. It’s as if I’m compelled to record my thoughts. To spill out my soul. I only hope that by doing so I am not bleeding out.

My thoughts go again to Damien. To the blood. To the need. To the passion, raw and primal that played out between us.

Bleeding out…

Yes, that’s what it feels like. Not blood, but my soul.

Damien!

The cry rips through my mind in one moment of pure, perfect terror. I love him. I need him.

I need him to save me.

But Damien isn’t here.

Basil is, though. Basil is everywhere.

And Basil loves me.

13

Damien walked back to the cottage, the light of the full moon casting long, sharp shadows that seemed to follow him, flickering and stretching as if alive. He moved slowly, replaying the conversation with Franklin over and over, as if on an infinite loop.

An affair.

Cheating.

Betrayal.

He didn’t want to believe it. Hell, he couldn’t believe it. Not Nikki. It wasn’t possible. He knew her as well as he knew himself. Trusted her more than he’d ever trusted anyone.

It wasn’t possible.

It wasn’t.

And yet with each block he walked—with each inch closer to the cottage—a tiny tendril of doubt expanded, growing into a wide, curling ribbon, as dark and insidious as a coiled basilisk just waiting to strike.

You’ve been betrayed before.

True, though not by her. The thought twisted through him, raw and grating—Not that he knew of, anyway.

But he knew the feel of betrayal. The bitter taste of it.

He shuddered as the sharp screech of a bird echoed through the darkness, underscoring the thought.