All Chapters of Deaths Possession: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

He steps into view a second later. Looks like he got dropped here by accident. The universe meant to put him in a penthouse, but someone fat-fingered the coordinates.He's tall, so tall and absolutely stacked. Wearing a black suit that had to cost more than my entire life. Shirt crisp, tie straight, shoes somehow untouched by the grime of the Ring. This is the kind of man who should be yelling at someone for getting his order wrong, not walking into my murder alley at midnight on the way to pick up dry cleaning.Everything about him feels… wrong. Not the same as the thing that attacked me. This one's contained. And that's way more dangerous.There's not even a flicker of acknowledgment in my direction. I'm part of the scenery. Never mind me still bleeding into my jeans and holding a deadly weapon. His eyes are on the thing in the alley. A heat-seeking missile that's already picked its target and isn't interested in detours.The creature senses it too. Whatever it is, it shifts, just b

I've been lay here for four days, hmm, maybe five. Long enough that the mold's grown bold and the rats have stopped checking to see if I'm still alive. They know I'm not a threat anymore, not like this.My squat isn't much. The mattress beneath me is a piss-stained ruin I dragged off a curb two months ago. It smells like old meat, and at some point I stopped caring. The surrounding walls are tagged over in half-dead neon, layers of curses and gang signs competing for dominance. One says "BLEED FIRST" in dried maroon. I took it as advice.My ribs are black from bruises. The gash along my hip has started to turn the wrong color, the kind of red that seeps heat and doesn't blink when you press it. I've been rinsing it with warm water from a rusted kettle I stole two blocks over. No meds. No food. Just water and spite and whatever scraps of instinct I've got left.It's not enough. I'm not healing.Dreams are dogging me. Vivid, horrible things, always the same. Me, barefoot and small, wand

She's stopped fighting. For now. Her chest rises in uneven little gasps as I hold her there, her pulse a flutter beneath my palm. I could count the beats if I wanted to. Could tell her how many times her heart raced the moment she realized it wasn't just the door that betrayed her, or the window, or the world, but her own body. She's trembling for all the right reasons, and every twitch of muscle makes it harder to think.My cock is already stone, straining against the fine fabric of trousers that cost more than this whole rotting building. I knew she would be receptive, but when I felt that warm pussy throb against my thigh, I nearly blew in my pants right there.It's absurd. Standing here in this rancid hovel, mold bleeding from the walls, a mattress thinner than my patience beneath our feet, and all I can think about is fucking. Making her beg on her knees for my dick, cry for it, until she can't remember what she was before she became mine.I glance around the apartment, if you ca

Whatever happens after today, I can forever glow in smug satisfaction that I've worn the ghost of a path in this rug, which is probably really expensive. Granted, it's because I've been pacing so long, but it's worth it.Or was it already there? Maybe some other poor sap of a girl wore the same track. Another one who thought she could fight her way out of this place with a little stubbornness and a bad attitude.Spoiler: she's probably bones now.Getting dressed after the bath was an unsettling experience. Not only because the clothes are soft and pricey, but because they fit me perfectly. I chose black skinny jeans, a black hoodie and soft-soled black leather boots. Perfectly reflects my mood.Shit they feel good. I feel good in them.There's no clock here, so time has lost all meaning. I searched for a phone, tablet, TV, any technology, nothing. Just four grand walls, a heavy-ass bed, a bathtub that could fit three of me, and time. Endless, silent time. The more I move, the more I r

Last stop, the dining room, ripped from a gothic fever dream. People wear powdered wigs and discuss bloodlines over roasted swans in a place like this. It's massive, like everything else in this mansion, but there's only one table in the center. Long, black, polished enough that I can see my own distorted reflection on the surface.Dinner's already laid out.Roast beef, pink in the center. Piles of honeyed carrots, potatoes so crisp they steam at the edges. A boat of gravy, actual gravy, thick and dark and shimmering. I haven't smelled anything this good in years. Maybe ever.Caelum pulls my chair out for me, the gentleman host. I sit because I don't trust myself to stand without drooling.He doesn't sit across from me. No, he settles in right beside me, thigh pressing against mine, hand draped over the back of my chair."You should eat," he says, voice low and indulgent. "You'll need your strength."I clench my hands under the table. "Not hungry."His grin is slow. "Is that a lie, pe