Possessing the Witch. Elle James

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 to stem the flow of blood from her body, but her face was deathly pale.

      As he leaned over her body, blood dripped down on her.

      Until now, he hadn’t realized how much blood he’d lost. He could tell he was weakening, but he couldn’t leave the woman until the police or ambulance were close.

      A siren sounded in the distance, growing closer by the second.

      Gryph had to leave before the emergency personnel arrived—how else would he explain his tattered clothing? And given his injuries and the pain they caused, he couldn’t risk being around surface dwellers should the pain increase, summoning his inner beast.

      He stayed until the last possible moment. When the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle pulled into the side street, Gryph leaped over the chain-link fence behind him, raced for the opposite end of the alley and rounded the corner to the next street.

      Keeping to the shadows, he ran until his feet slowed, the blood running in a stream down his arm, dripping onto the sidewalk, draining his strength. The police would follow his trail. He couldn’t let that happen, he couldn’t let them find him. Then he remembered how close he was to the river, its scent drawing him to the corner of Washington Street and Wacker Drive. Making a sharp left, he stumbled toward the bridge. An ambulance passed him, its lights blinding. A police car followed, slowing as it passed by.

      Exhaustion pulled at Gryph—he wanted to sleep, but he knew he couldn’t. He leaned against the bridge railing and stared down into the water.

      The police car stopped and backed up.

      Gryph leaned out and let himself tip over the edge. Then he was falling, racing to meet the black shiny surface of the river.

      When he hit the water, the force of the fall sent him deep into the murky black depths.

      His shoulder burned, the effort to move it too much. But he kicked his feet, propelling himself upward, hoping the current would carry him far enough away they wouldn’t find him.

      He surfaced a hundred yards from the Washington Street Bridge. A cop stood at the rails shining a flashlight below, sending a sweeping arc back and forth across the water.

      Gryph sucked in a breath and sank below the surface, letting the current carry him farther away. As he flowed downstream with the river, he wondered what it would feel like to drown, to let his lungs fill with water and the river claim him. His chest burned for oxygen and he kicked his feet to send him closer to the river’s edge. Dying in a river wasn’t in the cards for him tonight.

      When he came up again, he had drifted far enough that the cop’s light couldn’t find him. Tired beyond endurance, he kicked and pulled with one arm to the side of the river, searching for a place he could crawl out. Several minutes later, he found a metal ladder pinned to the concrete walls of the river and dragged himself up the east embankment onto a walkway, where he collapsed, the night sky of the city fading to black.

       Chapter 2

      Pain...tired...can’t breathe.

      Selene staggered to the door of her basement apartment below the vintage dress shop she owned that was situated among the quaint little buildings of old-town Chicago.

      She could barely breathe and her shoulder ached unbearably, the pain draining her strength, sucking the life from her body.

      Holding on to the handrail, she pulled herself up the steps to ground level. Headlights flashed on the street in front of the building.

      Once outside the door of her shop, Selene met Deme, as her sister climbed out of her Lexus SUV. “Thank the goddess, you’re here.”

      “Were you going somewhere without me?” Deme asked.

      Selene lurched toward the car and leaned against the door. “We need to get there.”

      “Are you all right, sweetie?” Deme started to round the car.

      “I’m okay, but we need to move fast.” She opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. “Hurry.”

      “Where exactly do we need to get?” Deme climbed back into the driver’s seat and inserted the key in the ignition.

      “Head toward the Washington Street Bridge.”

      Deme shifted into gear and spun the SUV around in a tight U-turn, bumping over the curb on the other side of the street. When they’d gone several blocks, she looked across at Selene.

      “Is it the girl? The one you called about earlier?”

      Selene shook her head. “No. Someone else. He’s injured and alone.” She closed her eyes, shivering. “And cold. He’ll die if we don’t get to him soon.”

      “What about the girl?”

      “The EMTs are with her now. But he’s alone.”

      Deme’s foot sank to the floor, shooting them along the streets, dodging the occasional driver unfortunate enough to be out on the city streets so late into the night.

      As they crossed the Washington Street Bridge, Selene leaned forward, her gaze panning the landscape, the steel, glass and concrete buildings rising high into the night sky, blocking the moon. “Turn left on Wacker.”

      On such short notice, Deme slammed on her brakes and skidded into the turn. The rear end continued around and she goosed the accelerator to keep her SUV from making a complete three-sixty.

      As they shot down Wacker, Selene dug her fingers into the dash, leaning so far forward her nose almost touched the windshield. He was near, very near. Selene leaned back in her seat, braced herself and yelled, “Stop!”

      Deme hit the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a standstill, tires burning into the asphalt.

      Selene burst from the door, rounded the car and raced across the street. So intent on reaching the wounded man, she didn’t see the car until almost too late.

      A horn blared, tires squealed and an older model Lincoln Town Car swerved, barely missing her.

      Without slowing, she ducked between buildings and headed for the river.

      “Selene, wait for me,” Deme called out behind her.

      But she couldn’t wait, his need drove her forward, sending her on a headlong rush toward the river. She found a staircase leading down to the walkway along the water’s edge.

      “Selene!” Deme called out behind her. “Damn it, this area is dangerous at this time of night.”

      She knew. He’d been injured by a dangerous animal, his blood running into the river. Selene ran along the water’s edge, heading north. Something moved in the shadow beneath the next bridge.

      Fear had a place in Selene’s race to save him. But it wasn’t for herself. It was for him.