Possessed, p.1
Possessed, page 1
part #3 of Tempted Series Series
Table of Contents
Possessed: Tempted Series, Book 3
Dedication
Chapter 2 | Flint
Chapter 3 | Cain
Flint
Chapter 4 | Flint
Chapter 5 | Flint
Chapter 6 | Cain
Flint
Chapter 7 | Cain
Chapter 8 | Flint
Chapter 9 | Flint
Chapter 10 | Flint
Cain
Chapter 11 | Flint
Chapter 12 | Flint
Cain
Chapter 13 | Flint
Cain
Chapter 14 | Flint
Chapter 15 | Flint
Cain
Chapter 16 | Flint
Chapter 17 | Flint
Chapter 18 | Cain
Chapter 19 | Flint
Chapter 20 | Flint
Cain
Chapter 21 | Cain
Flint
Chapter 22 | Flint
Chapter 23 | Flint
Chapter 23 | Cain
Flint
Chapter 24 | Cain
Epilogue | Flint
About Selene Charles
Forbidden: Tempted Series, Book 1
Welcome to Carnival Diabolique
Reckless: Tempted Series, Book 2
Selene Charles’s Books
Possessed: Tempted Series, Book 3
Copyright 2015 Selene Charles
Cover Art by Damonza
Formatted by D2D
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This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Marie Hall, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in the context of reviews.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of all people involved with the creation of this ebook.
Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Selene Charles.
Unauthorized or restricted use in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.
The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patent Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.
Published in 2015 by Selene Charles, Hawaii, United States of America
Author’s Note
I felt it incumbent to let all of you know that the Tempted universe is actually a spin-off universe based on the completed Night Series written by my adult pen name RS Black. This series is set on a concurrent timeline to what happened in that series. If you haven’t read those books, it shouldn’t hinder your enjoyment of this final installment. However, to get a fuller and richer experience, I’d suggest checking out that series as well, and it is also part of the Kindle Unlimited program.
Dedication
Several months ago I ran a contest in my harem (the very best place on FaceBook with some of the coolest fans evah) to help me name a couple of my fae characters in the books. Below are the winners, thanks for entering ladies, hope you love the creation built from your awesome names.
Sarah Spalding-Malise
Melanie Hudspeth-The Ciardah
Kaytlin Fedonick-Ophelia
Kelly Tolentino-Kestrel
Domo Williams-Idris (cuz, did ya doubt it)
Relina Skye-Wormwood
Nina Oliva-Phenome
Crystal Moon-Crystal Moon (the dragon lady)
Possessed
Flint DeLuca had hoped that recapturing Abel from Layla's vicious clutches would have been the end of a very long nightmare, but she couldn't have been more wrong. She's taken her friend—now twisted into a thing of rage-filled darkness—deep below the earth to heal and recover from the atrocities his mother committed upon him, only to discover they've been tricked by the dark fae court and have been thrust into a game of high stakes. Where the winners walk away, but the losers die.
As if that wasn't bad enough, back on Earth, Cain's grappling with biblical end time prophecy, an Aunt who may or may not be the reincarnation of the Scarlet Woman doomed to tear open the Gates of Hell, and the loss of his mate and his brother.
Great sacrifices will be required of them both, losses will accrue on every side, will Cain and Flint find their way back to each other? Only time will tell...time neither of them have much of...
Once upon a time...
That’s how these things are supposed to start, right? But that’s a load of crap. ’Cause today I saw my mom die. I didn’t even get a chance to say good-bye or “I love you.” Because I was mad. And I told her I was sick and tired of being a Flaming DeLuca, and I was tired of traveling, and sick to death of being a lifer. I wanted more. Wanted the fairy tales she’d read to me when I was a kid.
She cried before she took the stage. And now I can’t help feeling like maybe I killed her. Like maybe the horrible things I said were what made her lose her focus. Made her let go of the harness a second too soon.
It’s past midnight now. But I can’t sleep. I hear the grown-ups whispering outside my trailer. Trying to keep their voices low, acting like I can’t hear them if they whisper. But I hear them. I hear everything.
I need to get away from here. From this place. From this nightmare I just can’t seem to wake up from.
Dad’s been gone most of the night to... I don’t even know where. He looked at me tonight, a look that passed right through me like a blade. It stole my breath and made me tremble.
I think he knows what I did, the things I said. I think deep down maybe he blames me for her death.
I wish I could fly away into one of Mom’s fairy tales, into the book full of faeries and elves, heroes and princesses, to a place where I never have to be scared again, never have to know death again... never have to be me again.
I wish fairy tales were real, because I know that life would be so much better than this one...
~Flint’s Journal Entry
Chapter 1
Flint
The last thing Flint remembered was drowning in a sea of dirt, fingers crushed and throbbing from where Abel had clamped down on them, and then finally Cain’s warmth. His mental projection of calm and understanding had wrapped around her like a velvet cocoon, cradling her from the raw power of Earth magic that’d whipped like lightning through her bones just before she and Abel were yanked underground.
Opening her eyes, all she could do was frown and stare in bewildered wonder at the world that now surrounded her. Rather than being ten feet deep in dirt and clay, she now lay in a field of grass so thick and plush she might as well have rested on a pasture of fluffy clouds. Each blade was so green and jewellike that it glowed deep chartreuse in the darkness of the night.
Almost afraid to move, scared that maybe she was traveling in that strange dreamlike state she sometimes did when she walked between life and death, Flint kept herself as still as humanly possible.
First her fingers brushed timidly across tendrils of her thick red hair, noting its soft texture. That had felt real.
Gathering her courage, she moved her fingers along her cheek. Her flesh was firm and warm; the movement of her arm caused a beam of moonlight to slice across her forearm.
She glowed like moonstone that’d been set aflame. Her brows gathered into a deep vee.
“What the—”
Planting her palms flush to the carpet of grass, she took a cursory glance at her surroundings. Trees encircled her—giant, megalithic, towering trees that reached so far into the heavens it was impossible to see their tips. And they each bore branches easily as wide as one of Cain’s biceps when he was in full-on rager mode, some of them even bigger.
But that wasn’t the strangest aspect about this place.
No, the strangest thing came from the purplish haze that rolled up from the earth. Dancing through the fog were bright blue orbs that zipped and sped past like jeweled insects.
The fog and the glowing bugs gave the place a distinct Wonderland feel.
“I don’t think I’m in Kansas anymore,” she whispered, mashing up her fairy tales badly.
Still trying to get situated, she sniffed. There’s a lot you can tell about a place (and whether or not you’re dreaming) based on smell alone. Because dreams don’t smell, or at least none of hers ever did.
But if this was a dream—or a waking nightmare as she was halfway inclined to think it—then it was a very convincing one.
The air smelled of flowers. Like a million different varieties that saturated her senses with each inhalation. And faintly in the distance she heard water—the soft hum of it made her throat feel suddenly dry and parched.
“Abel,” she whispered, stupidly scared she might hear the haunting cry of a ghost answer back. Because this seemed like just the kind of place that a horror movie would start out from.
Creepy setting.
Check.
Stranded, lonely girl.
Check.
Now all that was needed to complete it was Abel in f ull-on beast mode rampaging through the trees, ready to rip her head off.
But as creep-tastic as this place was, Abel didn’t come galloping around the corner wearing a hockey mask and holding a machete.
More than a little anxious, Flint continued her slow and steady progression upward. Coming now to her knees, she still wasn’t quite sure she was ready to get up and walk around, ’cause in the movies the second the girl got up and thought she was safe was when the psychopath came rushing out.
Nibbling her lip, she strained to hear the night, listening for any strange grunts or buzzing chainsaws. But apart from the occasional cricket’s chirp and the rush of water that made her feel like she had to pee, there was nothing.
Where was she? This was nothing like the forest she’d been in with Cain earlier today.
Had it been only today?
When she tried to think about it, her memories turned hazy and fuzzy. Her stomach flipped on itself, and she remembered Abel. Remembered the black monstrosity he’d become, the animal he now was, and her hope that dragging him beneath the earth would be his salvation because some stupid voice in her head had told her to do it.
God, she could kick herself now.
That still didn’t change the fact that she had no fracking clue where she was or how to get home.
She’d crawled out of a few dirt pits at this point, but considering she wasn’t actually in a dirt pit at present, she had no way to know how to get back.
Not to mention there was no way in heck she was leaving without Abel.
“Abel,” she hissed, knowing he probably wouldn’t hear her, and even if he could, he wouldn’t answer. Abel was incapable of doing anything but growling at the moment.
It was stupid to feel disappointed that he didn’t reply, but she felt it anyway.
“Feck me.” She sighed, feeling a little silly for using a replacement curse word, but her dad’s admonitions of “Language, Flint!” would pick this moment to rear its ugly head.
There was one of two choices left to make here, and that was either continue to sit like a fainting goat that’d just tripped over its hind leg or actually get up and stop acting like a baby.
“I hate my life right now.”
Before she could talk herself out of this newfound bravery, Flint shoved her way to a standing position. But then she froze and waited, listening for anyone or anything.
The only noise for miles was white, and that unnatural stillness made all the fine hairs on her body stand on end. She glanced down at herself, still not a hundred percent convinced this wasn’t the world’s most acid-trippy dream, only to notice her clothes.
They weren’t the same clothes she’d gone into the dirt with; she was wearing the white robes she’d sometimes seen herself in during one of her waking dreams.
So maybe she was actually asleep somewhere, or stranded in the dirt, and only thought this was real? Of course, that didn’t explain the smells or the sensation that things felt and looked way too real to only be part of her imagination.
Callisto...
A haunting voice whispered on the breeze, the name tugging at Flint’s soul in a way she could hardly understand but that made her desperate to follow.
That name felt like a string attached to her soul. Like she knew it, even though she didn’t know how. And suddenly all the fears of a chainsaw-wielding murderer were tossed far away.
Callisto...
The call came again, more urgent this time. She knew what she had to do.
Without a thought other than finding the source, Flint turned on her bare heel and padded slowly, following the echoing call as though she were in a trance.
But she was very much aware of what she was doing.
She had to know who was saying that name.
Callisto... Come to me... Callisto...
Curls of ivy slithered out from beneath her feet with each step she took, undulating like the writhing bodies of snakes, each leaf glimmering as though dipped in emerald ash and protected by large, thorny barbs along its stem.
As Flint moved deeper into the forest, she spied shadowy movement to her left and right and sensed that something, or someone, followed from behind.
Her breath came out a wispy curl of frost as she glanced over her shoulder, the temperature suddenly dropping to near freezing where she stood.
She frowned, oddly unafraid even though this was a time when she definitely should be.
If Grace were here, Flint imagined she might say something like “That’s because like is calling to like, Flint girl.”
And though Flint shouldn’t know that, she did.
Callisto...
She was definitely being drawn. Her name wasn’t Callisto, but that call was for her. But to what was she being called, and by whom?
Brushing her claws across her bicep, she took strength from the tattooed vines shivering beneath her flesh. It helped to ease the nerves tightening like bands in her belly.
Continuing her exploration, she figured that much like a game of Marco Polo, once the voice got loud, she was there.
Wherever there was.
On and on she followed the voice, sometimes hearing nothing but a vague whisper and then...
Callisto.
She gasped; the name had been so close this time. Twirling to her left, she peered through the thick shrubbery. Her vine wrapped docilely around her ankles, rubbing against her with leaves so petal soft they felt like fine cashmere on her flesh.
“Are you there?” she asked no one in particular.
All she saw was trees, trees, and more trees. Although just a few yards ahead sat one very different from the others. It was entirely white and glowed like it’d sucked all the light from the moon and pulled it inside itself.
Callisto.
Clutching at her chest, Flint watched as that strange tree quivered. As the dangling ropes of rust-colored leaves swayed gently around its massive trunk. Black specks moved up and down in uniform formation upon the weathered white bark.
She shuddered when it dawned on her that it was millions of marching ants.
Come!
The power of that command almost knocked Flint flat on her butt. The rippling waves of that call crashed into her, stealing her breath for a moment and making her gasp with relief when it was over. She shivered.
The voice came from the tree.
Swallowing hard, she finally felt the nerves she should have felt all along. But the ivy hugged her close, and its warmth flooded her senses, and in no time she’d grown calm again.
She was here for one reason. To find and save Abel. Everyone back home was depending on her to make this right. And deep in her heart, Flint knew she was his last hope.
“Abel.” She murmured his name low beneath her breath and wished with all her heart that wherever he was he would hear her and take comfort.
Wind riffled like fingers through a hedgerow up ahead. That sixth sense she’d felt for some time now that she wasn’t alone hadn’t abated in the slightest.
But whatever was out there, she was almost positive it didn’t mean her harm.
The vines nudged her forward. Squaring her shoulders, she followed where her plants guided, and in a minute she stood in front of the strange tree.
Her jaw dropped.
A breathtakingly beautiful woman with porcelain skin and large, haunting black eyes that seemed to take up most of her face stared back at Flint.
Tears trekked down her cheeks, but the tears were a rust-red color that looked more like blood, or maybe sap. Running horizontally across her cheeks were upraised twin scars. And the way they’d healed—it reminded Flint of tree bark after someone had carved their initials in it. Her nose was delicate and yet strong, and her full lips were a dove-gray color.
Her hair wasn’t hair at all but sheets of bark that flowed enchantingly around her svelte form. She was fully formed. That is to say she had a body with trim legs and arms. But they too were part of the tree. Her dress, just like her hair, was made up of tree bark the color of white birch.
Her arms were branches that tipped outward into gnarled, clawed tips that came to deadly points.
And for just a second Flint understood how Alice must have felt when she fell down the rabbit hole.
“Who are you?” Flint tentatively asked.
“Malise.” She spoke in the raspy, woodsy sounds Flint had expected to hear, and yet she couldn’t keep from shivering.
