Possessing the Witch. Elle James

a stack of bound cardboard, dropped her to the ground and roared, the sound reverberating off the walls.

      “Please...don’t kill me.”

      * * *

      Selene Chattox jerked awake, drenched in sweat, her heart racing.

       Please...don’t kill me.

      She snatched her cell phone from the nightstand and speed-dialed her sister, Deme.

      “Yeah...what...who is this?” A loud banging noise was followed by a muttered curse. “Sorry, I dropped my phone. Selene? What’s wrong?” Her voice was hoarse, filled with the gravel of sleep.

      “She’s dying.”

      “Who’s dying?” All raspiness cleared, Deme’s words were clear and clipped.

      “I don’t know.”

      “Can you tell where?”

      “In an alley.”

      “Can you be more specific? Do you see anything else, a street sign, a building name, something?”

      Selene inhaled, closed her eyes and let her mind drift back into the dream. Her cheek stung where the pavement had scraped against her skin in the nightmare—blessedly, the rest of her body felt no pain. Hot breath snorted down on her neck and Selene jerked out of the vision, her hand shaking so hard she could barely hold the cell phone to her ear. “I smelled water. She was in a parking garage, leaving the theater, when she was attacked. It dragged her into a nearby alley.”

      “A theater near water...” Deme spoke to someone on the other end. “River or lake?”

      “River.”

      “The Civic Opera House on Wacker Drive?”

      “Maybe.”

      “I’m coming over. Cal’s calling Lieutenant Warner. We’ll have someone there in minutes.”

      “Hurry,” Selene whispered. “It’s going to kill her.”

      * * *

      Wind blasted down the back alley as Gryphon Leone emerged from the Civic Opera House, wrapping his long cloak around him. The chill of fall had settled in far sooner than he’d expected. He sniffed the air, his keen sense of smell picking up on the delicate nuances of coming rain and the dampness of the river.

      He’d waited until the other theatergoers had departed before leaving the shadows of his box. He arrived early and left late, valuing his anonymity and privacy. The fewer people he encountered, the better. Despite years of exercising his control, he didn’t trust himself with the people of the light and didn’t put himself in too many situations that required him to remain in the public eye for long.

      With the rise of his business and philanthropic ventures, he feared his anonymity would soon be a blessing of the past.

      He hurried toward the street, determined to return to his apartment at the base of his office building, a haven beneath the surface of the oldest part of downtown Chicago, before the rain came.

      The scent captured him, bringing him to a sudden halt. He lifted his nose to the air, a low rumble rising in his throat.

      Blood. Fresh blood and animal musk.

      His apartment, and the need to return before the rain, slipped through his thoughts, forgotten as his inner animal pushed to the surface.

      Gryph fought back, breathing deeply in and out until the growling abated and all that was left was the scent—blood, tantalizingly fresh, tainted by the musk of another animal and the accompanying stench of fear.

      He wanted to turn and walk away, but he couldn’t, his feet moving of their own accord, closer to the source. Rounding a corner, he spied a parking garage and something dark staining the sidewalk near the stairs leading up.

      The stain spread like someone had taken a large paintbrush and dragged it along the walkway, until the paint ran out at the entrance to an alley.

       Go home. Return to your apartment. Don’t get involved.

      Balthazar’s words echoed in his head, the old man’s warnings etched firmly in Gryph’s brain since as far back as he could remember.

      Still, the trail begged to be followed. He’d go as far as the entrance to the alley, no farther.

      Gryph crossed the street, keeping out of the inky liquid staining the concrete, and worked his way quietly to the entrance to the alley.

      As he stepped into the opening, a bellow blasted against the brick walls, followed by a woman’s scream.

      A huge shadow rose up from behind a stack of wooden pallets, the shape that of a giant wolf, rearing back on his hind legs.

      Gryph’s beast exploded from inside, answering with a deeper, more ferocious roar, thundering into the alley, echoing against the brick walls. His skin and bones moved, spread and stretched as his physical form altered, expanding, his clothing ripping at the seams. He shrugged out of his cloak, the long folds falling to the ground at his feet.

      The creature in the alley rumbled again, launching itself toward him.

      Caught in midtransformation, Gryph was helpless to defend himself.

      The wolf, equal in size to Gryph’s inner lion, hit him full in the chest, knocking him back into the side street. The air slammed from his lungs.

      His attacker flew past him and hit the opposite building, his feet glancing off the bricks, then landed on all fours, launching a new attack within seconds.

      His transformation complete, Gryph dodged to his side and sprang to all fours, reaching out to pound the animal with a powerful swipe from his forepaw.

      The wolf tumbled across pavement, sprang back on his feet and tore into Gryph, his fangs slashing for Gryph’s jugular.

      Gryph twisted to avoid the worst of the bite, but not all of it. The wolf’s teeth sank into his skin, ripping through his shoulder near his collarbone. Pain rocketed through his senses, blinding him briefly.

      The wolf pounced on him, pinning him to the ground. Had the creature wanted to finish him off, it could have with one more fatal bite.

      Instead it stared down at him, its chest heaving, and it growled low and menacingly, like a warning. Then it leaped over Gryph and disappeared out of the alley and around a corner.

      His shoulder bleeding, Gryph pushed to his paws, his racing heartbeat slowing.

      A moan alerted him to another being’s presence in the alley. With his focus on survival, Gryph hadn’t moved on to the source of the long, thick bloodstain.

      He staggered toward the banded stack of compressed cardboard boxes, his nostrils filled with the scents of blood, woman and fear.

      Before he reached her, his body began its transformation back to man, the change made more difficult given his wounds.

      His arms and legs completed before his face and head, allowing him to reach out to the woman and feel for a pulse.

      Her eyes blinked open, widening, a scream bubbling up in her throat.

      Gryph tried to reassure her with words, but all that he could emit was a rumbling growl.

      The woman’s eyes rolled back in her head and she passed out.

      The pavement was soaked with her blood from a wound in the back of her neck. If she had any chance at survival, she had to get to a hospital as soon as possible.

      He left her on the ground for only a moment to retrieve his cloak, his cell phone tucked in the inside pocket.

      Quickly he dialed 911 and gave a description of the victim, her injuries and her location. When the dispatcher asked his name, he clicked the off button and pocketed the phone.

      He returned to the woman and applied pressure to her wound