Deep IsThe Night: Haunted Souls

by Denise Agnew

  HAUNTED SOULS

  An Ellora’s Cave Publication, June 2004

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.

  PO Box 787

  Hudson, OH 44236-0787

  ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-84360-960-6

  Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

  Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) HTML

  HAUNTED SOULS © 2004 DENISE A. AGNEW

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Edited by Martha Punches.

  Cover art by Scott Carpenter.

  Deep Is the Night:

  Haunted Souls

  Denise A. Agnew

  Prologue

  Pine Forest, Colorado

  They must all die.

  When Halloween comes, my energy will be fiercest. I will be invincible.

  As a swirling draft leaked through a crack in the broken tomb, the ancient one drank in the cold night air. Despite a weakened body, the old vampire’s anger rose high. With a groan he lay back on the stone floor near a wooden coffin long ago starting to disintegrate. Ah, but he loved the old, the forbidden, the gloom surrounding him in the crypt. The place didn’t possess the heavy pall of the tunnels, the delicious sickness he craved so much. No, all that lingered here was the reality of death, the inevitability for all but the undead.

  He would have to be satisfied.

  No one would look for him here. This long-forgotten crypt resided in the desolate area not far from Pine Forest. Well-hidden, surrounded by bushes and trees, the stonework neglected and weathered, this sanctuary would serve as safe shelter. Few people probably even knew this crypt existed.

  A day had passed since his last encounter with the group of meddlesome, hateful mortals and the immortal Irish pup, Ronan Kieran. Closing his eyes, the ancient one replayed in his mind the mistakes he’d made. He cursed that a thousand years of experience had broken down under mortal will. Energy had drained from him fighting the mortals’ combined psychic energy fields. He’d underestimated Ronan Kieran’s will, but more than that, he underestimated the power the group could generate between them.

  An ache built inside him as he thought of Erin’s betrayal. She didn’t want him and didn’t recognize her reincarnation as his beloved Dasoria. He had one alternative. No longer would he indulge her, no longer would he spare her. Lachlan, her lover, would die with her when the time came, and suffer a fate far more horrible than they could imagine. Her new friends, Micky Gunn and Jared Thornton, would also suffer before succumbing to his wrath.

  He planned and plotted, his desires hotter and stronger with each passing hour. Once he regained his strength, he would return to the tunnels under the Gunn Inn and make an alliance with the malevolent energy residing there. He’d sensed the power, far older than himself, would enhance and compliment his own desires. He wondered if other vampires had wandered the tunnels and discovered what he now understood. This town seeped with evil, with darkness so dominant no mortal could guard against it in the end.

  The ancient one understood he must be careful when dealing with the strange energy, for shadows invaded the tunnels under the Gunn Inn, more hate-filled and growing with each minute. Sentient, the darkness felt stronger and more defined as fear multiplied in Pine Forest. Whenever an act filled with dislike and pain, hatred and dread entered the mind of someone in Pine Forest, the evil drew upon it, added to it, and fed it in an ever-increasing circle.

  When Halloween came, all putrefying emotions would gather and wicked entities would join. Nothing could stop the most horrible strength on earth.

  Few people could imagine the entity. As it invaded their dreams at night, it came cloaked in recognizable forms. The missing child, the missing spouse, the horrible monster chasing them in the night. Because it lived in the tunnels, it became one with the earth, penetrating the ground people walked upon and absorbing their doubt and trepidation with every step. Soon all the signs would be there, a total accumulated from more than a century of continual strife and discontent. The sleepy little town sat upon a boiling wound. Blood flowed from the cut, the hurt inflicted upon it by human nature and excessive greed.

  On Halloween, the inequity of the ages would merge with the ancient one to become one horrible power.

  The Final Darkness.

  Chapter One

  Pine Forest, Colorado

  St. Bartholomew’s Catholic Church

  The central graveyard

  “Give me your money, bitch.”

  Clarissa Gaines’ heart stopped and her breathing ceased.

  At least that’s what it felt like as a dark form stepped out from behind a crypt and into her path. She took a step back as the man leveled a gun on her, his black-gloved hand steady.

  A tremor ran over her body as dread froze her blood. Icy wind blew across the graveyard, rustling the pine trees into a chilling whisper. The last rays of sunlight were swallowed by encroaching clouds. Shadows swept across the gravestones, darkening their gray faces. Cold seemed to encroach on the churchyard and blanket her soul.

  Night came and apparently so did the neighborhood kooks.

  Or the serial killer haunting this town.

  Seconds drew out as she took in the horror caricature. Dressed like a pirate of old, the tall man’s swirling cape, tall boots, and feathered hat would have looked dashing at any other time. The Freddy Kruger Nightmare on Elm Street mask ruined the effect.

  He moved a step closer and she flinched. “I said, give me your money.”

  Guttural and determined, his request sounded more than dead serious.

  Good deal, Clarissa. Go ahead and prove your friends right. Put yourself one step into Pine Forest and get dead.

  Her brain kicked in and she took a deep breath to steady herself. She hitched her camera case higher on her left shoulder. Licking her dry lips, she tried to piece together a coherent sentence. “I only have a couple of dollars.”

  The man snorted and waved the weapon back and forth. “You’re lying. What’s in your fanny pack?”

  “Driver’s license, tissues—”

  “Take it off and give it to me.”

  She unclipped the fanny pack and started to hold it toward him. He stepped forward and snatched it. The movement wrenched her right ring finger, the fanny pack strap catching on her large citrine ring. Pain stabbed through her hand. He grabbed her right forearm in a harsh, bruising grip.

  She gasped. “Let me go!”

  He yanked and she stumbled into him. The man smelled of sweat and whiskey. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “You’re askin’ for it, bitch. What if I give you some?”

  She pulled back from his revolting stench and he let her go.

  Before she could blink he slapped her across the face. Sharp pain stabbed her jaw as she fell backwards and dropped like a rock. Her camera case went flying.

  Dizziness assaulted Clarissa as she lay on her back. Stunned, she couldn’t gather her foggy thoughts except for one. She must escape. She struggled to sit upright, one hand to her bruised face. If she’d expected to find death in a graveyard, it hadn’t been at the hands of a pistol-welding pirate with no sense of humor. The bastard was definitely not playing trick or treat.

  What she saw next defied logic and sanity.

  A brown-cloaked form materialized with an audible pop behind and to the right of the pirate. The pirate flinched. Breathless and beyond surprised, Clarissa didn’t budge.

  Before the pirate could ma
ke another movement, the large cloaked form clamped one hand on the pirate’s neck and whirled him around. The Freddy Kruger wannabe dropped her fanny pack and it landed a short distance away.

  “What the—?” The pirate tried to bring up his weapon.

  The cloaked form wrenched the gun from the man’s hand and jammed the barrel against pirate’s throat. The pirate’s hat landed in the snow. Greasy dark hair hung lank around the purse-snatcher’s head.

  “This is my territory.” Harsh, husky, and vibrant with an Irish accent, the deep voice issuing from the cloaked stranger sent a strange shiver over her skin. “And you are bloody well trespassing.”

  His territory? Oh, shit. She’d stepped from one fire into another. Maybe if she tiptoed away neither man would miss her.

  She saw the pirate’s Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

  “You ought to feckin’ know,” the cloaked man said, his tone unforgiving and hard.

  “Please, let me go.” The pirate’s voice wobbled. “Please. I won’t ever come back.”

  Incredibly, the cloaked figure lifted the purse-snatcher by the shirt collar. The pirate’s legs dangled and kicked in the air as he started to choke and gasp.

  She could barely see the cloaked man’s face in the encroaching night, but his voice, inflexible and determined, told all. “Never, ever treat a woman that way. If you come near her again, I will break every bone in your body. If I hear you’ve mistreated or tried to rob anyone, I will hunt you down and kill you myself.”

  Somehow, the cloaked figure’s words sounded old-fashioned, the inflection tinted with centuries of understanding. The vibrancy, the sheer assurance in his tone guaranteed severe punishment to anyone who defied him.

  Clarissa shivered with reaction, her heart pounding and her fingers trembling as she reached for her camera case.

  “Is that understood?” the cloaked form asked.

  The pirate made a choking noise and rasped, “Yeah. Whatever you want. I’ll do anything you want.”

  The cloaked man tossed the pirate aside. A screech left the pirate’s throat as he sailed into the air and landed on his back just short of a gravestone. Whimpering in fear, the man scrambled to his feet and ran.

  Sunlight shifted as it dipped between parting clouds, then descended behind the mountains, casting deeper darkness across the area. Renewed apprehension gathered inside her as a cold lump grew in her stomach. Her ring finger throbbed and so did the rest of her body. A strange disorientation plagued her, as if she’d stepped into a surreal dream.

  In a blink of an eye the remaining man yanked off his cloak and it landed at his feet. Her savior turned and started toward her. She scrambled to her feet, ready to flee if the man made one suspicious gesture.

  His gaze flared yellow, as penetrating and abrupt as cat eyes in a dark room. Her heart leapt with unholy fear, her muscles strung taut. His long legs ate up ground, and although self-preservation told her to retreat, she found she couldn’t move.

  Common sense made her struggle against the fear holding her in place. Suddenly a voice whispered in her mind. You are safe. There is no need to fear me.

  Despite the reassurance, her anxiety grew. I must be losing my mind. He can’t be in my mind. He can’t be. Her entire body trembled.

  He appeared one hundred percent capable of ripping a person to pieces. Evening meshed with the stranger, as if he belonged to the night more than the day. His open long black leather coat, black sweater and black jeans made him a part of the shadows. Why on earth would he wear a cloak over that gorgeous leather jacket?

  Impressions assaulted her like a gale, knocking her breath from her lungs for the second time in a few minutes. His visage defined hard, rugged masculinity to perfection. If anyone asked her what made him handsome, she would say his intenseness, the undeniable heat in those searching, searing eyes.

  As a photographer she appreciated the surreal scene of a menacing stranger stark against gravestones. As a woman, she drank in the most incredible man she’d ever seen.

  His shaggy chocolate, collar-length hair ruffled in the breeze. Sooty, dense lashes framed obsidian dark eyes that sparked with golden fire. In profile his nose seemed almost perfect, a compliment to his high cheekbones. His sideburns lined all the way down his jaw and to his chin in a close-clipped beard, turning cinnamon at his mustache and chin.

  She would love to photograph him.

  Clarissa snapped out of her thrall, her voice whispery. “Thank you.”

  His attention dropped to her lips, his warm gaze a physical caress along first her upper, then lower lip. When he didn’t answer, she wondered about the sanity of waiting for him to speak. Anxiety twisted in her stomach.

  Finally she heard his rusted, husky voice. “Do not be afraid.”

  As rich and full as one glance from his glorious, thickly lashed eyes, the stranger’s tone trapped her in place like a rabbit under the hunt. Maybe he lured victims with the liquid, soothing tone wrapped around a dangerous, telltale rumble. She cursed her defenselessness and his ability to see her apprehension.

  When he stopped a short distance from her, the man’s gaze played over her features then down the length of her red wool peacoat. His unswerving assessment warmed her entire body with strange flutters of attraction.

  He had to be at least six-four, his shoulders wide, his chest broad. She allowed her imagination to conjure a fleeting fantasy about the body he owned under all those clothes.

  Without a doubt the mystery man would be built like a god. She visualized taut muscle under smooth skin, dark hair sprinkling over hard pecs and a muscled stomach. And further down his manly attributes would be large to fit the rest of him.

  Untamed sensation hit her in the stomach, a powerful and stunning craving. She felt hot and needy, itching for his touch.

  As she looked up into his eyes, she noticed a stunning firelight in the center. Gold melded with rich, deep mahogany. As the light swirled and tumbled, so did her equilibrium. Her knees felt unsteady and she couldn’t look away. Yellow flecks swirled in his irises, spinning with the intensity of a hurricane, and she felt weightless.

  “Your eyes,” she whispered in amazement. “How…?”

  He blinked and the strange light went out. Maybe the face slap the pirate had given her rattled her more than she thought.

  He studied her intensely. “You’re hurt.”

  Clarissa swallowed hard. “No, not really.” She cleared her throat and gathered strength. “I’m fine.”

  He traced her jaw with his index finger and the sensual touch made her shiver. He tilted her chin up so she fell into the depths of his eyes. Her heart fluttered and a warm rush filled cold places in her body. A sense of unreality overcame her; she couldn’t be certain this was happening.

  “You’ll have a bruise here in the morning.” He shook his head, his eyes filled with anger. “You shouldn’t be here without a chaperone.”

  Indignation removed her strange malaise. “Chaperone? What century are you living in? I can go where I please, thank you very much.”

  His gaze simmered with annoyance. “You misunderstand me. I imagine you can take care of yourself under normal circumstances. Haven’t you heard about the serial killer? No woman is safe alone in this town at any time. Neither day nor night is a haven. You should leave here and not come back.”

  His patronizing tone cut through the heady attraction. “Now wait a minute, I’m doing a job here.”

  “Reporter?”

  “No.” She hefted the camera case. “I’m a writer. I take photographs for my books. I came out here to take maybe two pictures very quickly. I wasn’t out of the car more than five minutes when that jerk showed up.”

  His gaze intensified. She tried to remember the last time a man enveloped her with his attention as if he found her fascinating, and she couldn’t. Not with the single-minded attention of a man sexually entranced and worried for her well-being at the same time. It was a heady sensation hav
ing this man’s full attention locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile.

  “Are your books worth losing your life?” he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

  “Of course not.” Curiosity made her change the subject. “Who are you?”

  “Ronan Kieran.” The name rolled off his tongue with that distinctive lilt.

  “You’re Irish.”

  “Yes.” His gaze danced over her face with red-hot appreciation. “And your name?”

  “Clarissa Gaines. I’ve written several books on haunted areas.”

  “Some places are quaint. Some places are old. Pine Forest is the most haunted place on earth,” he said.

  She couldn’t help but smile. “That’s for sure.” She put out her hand to shake his. “Thank you again. You may have saved my life.”

  “It was all my pleasure.”

  He clasped her hand and brought it to his lips for an old-fashioned kiss. Startled, she squashed a gasp of surprise. Although she’d seen him lift a man with one arm, his grip remained gentle with her. In fact, as he released her, his fingers drew over hers with sensual exploration.

  She inhaled, her breath a little sharp as a twirl of sensation traveled up her arm and landed in her lower belly. Wow. Could a man get any sexier than this?

  A smile curved one corner of his mouth for a second, almost as if…as if he knew what she’d been thinking. “Why did you come here if you know there is a serial killer lurking and that this whole town is haunted?”

  She smiled. “I grew up here.”

  One of his eyebrows quirked upward. “Interesting. It doesn’t make you immune to harm.”

  Damn the man. “I realize that. I just got here today and wanted some pictures as the sun was setting. I didn’t get a chance to take any shots before that idiot jumped out at me.”

  Ronan shook his head. Another miniscule movement of his lips, a tiny twitch of amusement. “You were lucky he wasn’t the serial killer. You should leave town and not come back.”