Possess Me Please Read Free

thinking.
    Since then, he had been trapped in his true form—or rather, a formless state of fog—floating around, only half existing.
    He could remember that night as if it were yesterday. He had been living inside the body of the former Jack Nixon—good old fucked-up Jack, the murdering rapist who had deserved to have his corrupted soul ripped from his body—when he met the little witch, Lily. She had intrigued him with her big blue eyes, wheat blonde hair, big tits, and shapely ass. Yeah, the shapely ass was probably what had gotten him in over his head.
    The shapely ass is undeniably what got you in trouble, you idiot.
    If there was one thing he enjoyed nearly as much as taking souls, it was taking women. And he had known instantly that Lily would give as good as she got. Except he had never gotten the chance to find out. Somehow the witch had known what he was and tricked him.
    Lily had lured him to her bed, and, just when things started getting interesting, she’d chanted her spell and bound him in his demon-spirit form before he realized what she’d been up to.
    If there was one weakness all males had in common, it was thinking with their dicks. War wasn’t the downfall of man. Pussy was. He had been too sure of himself, too sure of his past experiences with women, too cocky, and thoroughly blindsided. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
    In one uncharacteristic moment, one split second, he had let his guard down, and she’d pounced. She had never let him explain that he was an Akem soul-demon who took only the bodies of those who were truly evil. Instead, she had immediately condemned him as an abomination.
    Most humans, at least the ones who knew of his kind’s existence, considered him an abomination for no other reason than because he was different. Humans didn’t like things they couldn’t explain away, and he was undeniably unexplainable in their minds.
    He had wanted to ring Lily’s graceful neck at the time. There were too many murders, rapes, and abuses being committed that he could stop. He had a conscience, damn it, and he helped people by removing harmful assholes off the streets.
    But his anger at Lily had faded over time, as he came to an understanding of why she had done what she had. She thought she’d been doing the right thing, because she had confused him with Creod soul-demons. Even though technically the Creod were his brothers—he preferred to think of them as the yin to his yang—he hated the cold bastards. They were non-discriminatory in their hunts and didn’t care whose soul they stole—women’s, children’s, men’s—it didn’t matter. All were prey to them.
    He considered himself one of the good guys, although that might be stretching the truth a bit. He tried to be fair and honest, and he truly wanted to erase evil off the face of the earth, even though, deep down, he knew it was an impossible task—this, ironically, coming from a creature born of Hell.
    He was judge and jury of the unsavory, and dealt quick, irrevocable sentences that were always the same—one-way tickets to Hell. There were times, though, when the sentence wasn’t quick, like when he came upon an exceptionally evil soul. Those got his special treatment. The kind of special that consisted of him drawing out the suffering for as many long, agonizing breaths as possible.
    If getting satisfaction from an evil soul’s realization that there would be no chance for its survival, and the sheer terror that set in as a result, made him unsavory, so be it. Cyrus fed off that fear and enjoyed the knowledge that he gave it a taste of the agony so many of its victims had endured.
    The murderer would experience the panic, the sadness, the anguish of knowing that he would never see a loved one again. The rapist would feel defeated, used, angry, and ashamed. The abuser would feel the frustration, the fear, the anxiety of wondering when the next blow would come. The molester would feel the confusion, the complete