The Phantom and the Psychic: A Paranormal Erotic Tale

by Jones, Sophia

  “Christ, Alyssa, you’ll be the death of me.”

  Surprised laughter bubbled up and burst from her lips, her body shaking with mirth. His rich chuckles soon joined hers.

  “That’s awful,” she managed, reaching up to wipe a few tears from her eyes. Tears of joy, tears of sadness.

  She wanted him to know peace. It means I’ll lose him soon, and I’ve only just found him.

  Forcing the dark thoughts from her mind, she embraced the present. I have this time with him, here and now.

  Starting to rotate her hips, she created an urgent rhythm between them, working to bring him his pleasure. For long minutes the room was filled with the symphony of his husky, needy moans and her breathy gasps, set to the tempo of their joining bodies.

  She could feel his climax building as he became even harder inside of her, and the knowledge he was close started her own internal tremors.

  “Dominic!” She cried his name as she came for a second time, tremor after tremor quaking through her. He followed, slamming into her a final time with a shout of completion.

  She sagged back against his body, limp and sated. He wrapped his arms around her in a hug, and rested his chin on her head.

  For the beat of several moments, she traced a single finger through the dark hairs on his arms, then, courage gathered, she turned in his embrace … and looked at him.

  He was real. Solid. Only the fiery blue orbs of his eyes revealed he was more than a mortal man.

  *****

  Dominic marveled at the wonder in Alyssa’s warm brown eyes. He reached a hand up, a hand as real as the woman in his arms, and tucked a lock of her mahogany hair behind her ear.

  "Thank you," he whispered. Such simple words. Too simple to express the depth of his emotions, the extent of his gratitude. Instead of saying more, he pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss. A benediction.

  She smiled up at him, joy on her face. "It worked, Dominic." Then a shadow clouded her eyes. "I don't want you to think the only reason ... it wasn't just to rid the place of the demon."

  He nodded, understanding. "Aye, I know that. But we have this chance, this opportunity to make things right." Faces flashed through his mind's eye. For O'Toole. For the two ill fated resort guests, and the two priests I served with long years ago. His heart ached with a familiar hurt ... for the little girl the evil spirit inhabited then. He recalled her angelic features, her chubby baby's face and beautiful brown eyes ... so similar to Alyssa's, distorted with the demonic presence. Since the exorcism failed, that thing must have claimed her life as well. It wasn't a new thought. The weight of his failure had dwelt in his heart for six centuries.

  Determined purpose filling him, he sat up, helping Alyssa to her feet. The two slipped on their clothing and headed for her guestroom, both still dazed from their joining. She said she needed to get dressed in real clothes, and shared she had some objects that would help them expel the spirit.

  Once in the room, he stared at his reflection in the antique mirror, transfixed. "Christ." For the first time in centuries, he used the Lord's name with reverence instead of as an obscenity. "Look at me. Look at my eyes." He turned to Alyssa. "I'll do whatever it takes to banish the creature. But I no longer have the faith I once did. How will I fight the thing?"

  She looked at him, gaze sad and filled with a tired wisdom. "You felt like God forgot about you, so you turned your back on Him."

  He nodded, face grave.

  "I don't have any magic words for you. It's something you must settle in your own heart. But I'll tell you this," she said as she walked over to him and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "Christians aren't the only ones that fight demons. Believers of many faiths battle dark beings. You must believe that you fight for good, and you must have a desire to defeat the evil for the sake of good. You can't beat the spirit if you're there out of vengeance, or for any other selfish reason."

  Voice gruff, he responded, "Aye, part of me, a very strong part of me, wants revenge. But more than anything, I want to stop it from hurting others." His fiery eyes flared as he made his vow. "I will fight for the sake of good, and only that."

  She pressed her lips together, eyes somber, staring into his for several quiet moments, then answered, "Okay. And I'll help you." She reached over for her small travel bag and unzipped a side pocket. From it, she withdrew several clear plastic bags filled with an assortment of items.

  He picked one up, careful of the fragile, dried herb inside. "Are these bay leaves?"

  She nodded. "Bay has protective properties. We'll burn them, and the smoke will help exorcise the harmful spirit."

  Doubt filled him. "Alyssa, my life's work was demon casting. We followed an exact ritual, and it didn't include any of these things." He made a sweeping gesture over the collection of plastic bags.

  "I understand that. But you said yourself, you've changed since then. Do what you need to do, follow your ritual. But let me help in the way that I know how."

  He picked up a second bag, heavy with coarse salt, and looked to her.

  "Also for protection," she answered his unspoken question. "We go in as prepared, as armed as we can."

  He wanted to argue with her, tell her she needed to pack up her small bag and leave the creature to him. But he took in the stubborn tilt of her jaw, the steel in her eyes, and knew she would never consent to such a thing. "Very well. But we agree you'll not enter the room." It wasn't a question, his tone adamant.

  A heavy sigh escaped her. "It's not my style to sit back and let someone else fight my battles." He started to protest, and she raised a hand, silencing him. "This is my fight as well as yours. Mr. O'Toole brought me here to help. But I don't have a death wish. You enter, and I'll help from the doorway."

  Satisfied, he watched her slip the little baggies into her pockets. She pulled one more item from her travel bag, a lighter, then nodded to him that she was ready.

  Hands entwined, the two made their way across the castle. Despite the tension in the air, Dominic took a surprised joy in the sound of his own footfalls on the stone floor. He gripped her fingers tighter, glad for her presence, even as he feared for her safety.

  Much too soon, they stood before the door of the haunted room. Dominic still sensed nothing. No dark, ominous feeling crept up his spine. But a single glance at Alyssa's pale face revealed her distress.

  "Are you okay, love?"

  "Yeah." She took an unsteady breath. "Let me get the bay leaves smoldering before you go in."

  He nodded and closed his eyes, using the time to mentally run through the Latin phrases once so familiar to him.

  She pulled the baggie from her pocket and crouched down, creating a neat little pile of leaves directly in front of the door. Then she took out a second bag, filled with what looked like frayed rope bits, and dropped the pieces down onto the leaves.

  Muttering an incantation in a language he had never heard before, she made several circular hand motions towards the room, then flicked the lighter and set the pile on fire.

  Violet flames erupted, bathing her face in an eerie light.

  She looked up to him from where she crouched. "Okay. You can go in now."

  He nodded and helped her to her feet, then pulled her into his chest and sought her lips, desperate and hungry.

  She returned his kiss, her mouth as fervent as his.

  Finally they pulled apart from each other, saying with their eyes what they hadn't put into words.

  Then he stepped away from her, opened the door, and went inside.

  *****

  The second Dominic entered the room, an unholy wailing filled the air. Alyssa's whole body recoiled with the shock of the penetrating sound. Her ears felt like they were bleeding, sweat erupted from her skin, and even her teeth ached like the roots had been exposed.

  Barely, just barely, she could make out the sound of Dominic's chanting. It was Latin, she knew, though the meaning of the words were lost to her.

  Thank God he's alive. Well, perhaps
not alive, but still present. Some part of her had feared the evil would simply consume him, and he would cease to exist.

  She fought against the overpowering cacophony and stepped closer to the room's entrance.

  Looking inside, her worst fears were very nearly realized.

  Dominic was fading.

  No longer solid, she could only see the vague outline of him, much like the first time his image had flared before her eyes when she'd stood before him naked. Only this time he wasn't gaining power, but losing it.

  Not Dominic. It can't have him.

  She made a decision ... and stepped into the room.

  The pain of the noise became a hundred times worse. Unseen forces pressed against her chest, constricting her heartbeat. A heavy, suffocating weight settled on her lungs, making it impossible to take her next breath.

  She didn't have much time.

  Dominic had feared he'd lost his faith. What do I believe in?

  Through her haze of agony, the answer came. Love. I believe in love.

  Life was often hard and hurtful, then death arrived, and anything beyond that was a frightening uncertainty. But love was the balm to it all. Really the purpose for everything, Alyssa believed.

  So she filled her mind with thoughts of her loved ones. Her parents. Her best friend. Dominic. She thought of the devotion between Mr. O'Toole and his wife.

  An aura of soft white light enveloped her, and spread throughout the room.

  The noise ceased. Just stopped.

  Relief. She took a gasping breath, then another. The evil was gone.

  She stood in the middle of the room, ears still ringing from the onslaught they'd endured, and looked at Dominic standing before her ... looked into his lovely blue eyes, the eyes of a mere man. The flames were gone.

  He was human.

  She threw herself into his strong arms. No electrical charge. No static shock. And she wouldn't want it any other way.

  He looked at her, dazed. "I ... I don't understand."

  Through teary laughter she managed a reply. "Maybe you never actually died. Maybe it sucked you into a different plane, one parallel to this one."

  It was a conversation for later. Much later.

  Because she'd barely finished speaking when his desperate lips were on hers. They tangled their bodies together, and she couldn't get close enough to his heat, to his hardness. She would have climbed inside of him if she could have.

  She felt his lips curve into a smile against her mouth. He leaned back just enough to speak. "I've waited lifetimes for you, wench."

  Alyssa rolled her eyes at his outdated nonsense. But she'd been waiting for him too.

  Connect with Sophia JonesAuthor website: http://www.sophiajonesromance.com/

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  Also, check out The Pharaoh and the Curator: A Paranormal Erotic Tale. Thank you for reading, and best wishes.