Giselle Beauchamp is a woman gifted with the ability to sense the dead. With the rise and popularity of haunted houses, many towns are vying to have one to call their own. Painesville isn’t one of those towns. Its people seem reluctant to speak about Marcel Manor-long rumored to be haunted.
Marcel Duprat IV, a creature of the night who is centuries old, sweeps Giselle into his home thinking she’ll safe for the time being. He’s wrong.
Rating: Carnal.
Excerpt
Marcel Manor
by
Mandy M. Roth
© copyright by Mandy M. Roth, September 2009
Cover Art by Natalie Winters, September 2009
ISBN 978-1-60394-364-1
New Concepts Publishing
Lake Park, GA 31636
www.newconceptspublishing.com
Chapter One
Giselle Beauchamp looked up at the large, castle-like home in front of her, in awe of its Gothic splendor and wondered what in the hell she’d gotten herself into. The place seemed familiar yet she’d never before set foot upon the grounds. Still, it was as if she was coming home, not visiting for the first time. Her dreams, that had beseeched her some four months prior, hinted of a home of this grandeur, this eloquence but when she woke, her memory was ill-defined. The dreams also carried with them a safe presence that was in deep contrast to the sense of foreboding felt in her current situation.
"Here goes nothing.”
When the mayor of the tiny town of Painesville phoned, wanting her to either confirm or dispel the theory that the old Marcel Manor was haunted she’d assumed he wanted to know for the sake of tourism. Having a certified haunted house was big business for many places. It brought tourism and generated much needed revenue. Just about every small town boasted some sort of paranormal activity. Some were true. Most weren’t. Giselle had assumed Marcel Manor would fall to the side of the majority.
After speaking with a number of the local townspeople, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Several of the locals seemed to have little to no desire to talk about Marcel Manor or the myths surrounding it. They seemed even less inclined to get into discussions about the possible profits having a haunted house would bring the area. In fact, if Giselle had to label it, she’d say the locals seemed frightened by the idea anyone, tourist or otherwise, would want to visit Marcel Manor.
As Giselle glanced around the ominous estate, she couldn’t say she blamed them. If nothing else, the place had the spooky vibe associated with so many haunted houses down pat. It had something else too. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on and wasn’t sure she wanted to.
This case, involving Marcel Manor, was so very different from others. The owner of the manor had an eagerness that was refreshing and he seemed open and honest when she’d spoken with him on the phone. He came across as a natural born skeptic who had seen enough to become a believer. Those people tended to be the ones with an actual haunting versus something as simple as feeling cold spots due to a drafty old window.
Staring up at the ivy covered limestone exterior, Giselle looked for signs of life but found none. The rather ornate set of stone gargoyles flanking the entranceway only added to the spooky overtone. She peered harder at the vaulted stain glass windows and wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. Were there really scenes of monsters attacking people? Of what looked to be vampires feasting from the blood of the living?
"No way."
Surely no one would commission such works of art to have them show that.
She shuddered, the oppressive feeling returning once more. It didn’t help she’d already had to drive her tiny coupé through an iron gate appearing to be original to the house. It had creaked horribly adding an air of legitimacy to the macabre location.
About the time she was able to gather her nerve the fog which had been light upon her arrival thickened, moving over the area, following the theme of the evening.
Sure signs I’m in for a treat.
“Get a grip. You’ll be fine," she muttered to herself, not believing a single word she’d said. No. Something about this house, this case, hadn’t sat right with her from the word go. She wasn’t sure if it was the mayor’s urgent pleas or the owner’s relaxed approach to the entire matter. Either way, something was off. Even with that knowledge, she was compelled to go forth, to seek out answers to questions she did not yet have.
The carefully manicured grounds were fast disappearing under a blanket of fog, as was her courage. Giselle took a tiny step forward. The fog seemed to thicken around her legs, suddenly feeling as though it had a familiar life all its own, brushing past her sensitive skin, up her long, lace print, black and white georgette skirt. It settled at the apex of her thighs, causing her pussy to dampen. Each step she took was pure torture, making additional cream form. Giselle drew upon her inner safeguards, doing her best to shield herself from the onslaught of paranormal energy suddenly around her.
The feel of being touched remained but she’d managed to ease the arousal accompanying it, at least for the moment. The mid-calf black leather, three-inch heeled boots she wore clicked against the stone pathway to the front entrance as she hurried for sanctuary. If the heavy iron gates opening for her car hadn’t announced her arrival, her shoes certainly wouldn’t do a thing to call attention to herself.
Just a little bit further and I can get my night started… then get it over with so I can go home.
The need to handle her current state of sexual awakening was great. She knew she’d either spend the remainder of the night masturbating or stop off at one of the bars to see what her options were. As much as she hated the idea of bunking up with just anyone, Giselle’s body was sex starved. Another night alone, with only her fingers and toys to satisfy her wouldn’t do. Especially not if she needed to use her natural born gifts anymore while on the case. Every time she used them, the urge to fuck clung to her like a second skin for hours, sometimes even days afterwards. Her skin already ached to be touched. She’d never make it all night at this rate.
Something howled out in the night and Giselle drew her arms around herself, not liking the sensations she was picking up on—death, pain, everlasting torture. The agony alone was enough to bring her to her metaphysical knees, to make her weep for agony that was not her own, but rather someone else’s. It was an overload to her system, her senses.
Pulling at the lettuce-edged sleeves of the high-neck, antique, black, lace top, Giselle did her best to calm her now erratic breathing. It didn’t work. The heavy weight of someone’s stare was on her. Whatever or whoever was watching her carried death on them. The scent so overpowering, she staggered. Another howl pierced the night, this one closer than the last.
Thump.
Thump.
Her heart beat madly.
She gasped, afraid to do more than draw in air. Too many years she’d spent investigating evil to allow herself to foolishly draw it closer. A randy spirit, looking for a quick feel, was one thing, this was altogether something else. This was evil. Pure and simple.
Reaching towards her chest, Giselle cupped the tiger’s eye pendant she wore faithfully, finding solace in its added protection from evil. She silently mouthed a prayer to ward off malevolent spirits and sensed it had little to no effect on whatever was nearing.
Never a good sign.
Something brushed over her skin again, this time feeling identical to fingers. It kept the feel of malevolence at bay, at least for the moment. Giselle turned, expecting to find someone there. She found no one. Her heart rate sped even more as she backed up towards the manor. The sensation of being touched continued. The “fingers” grew bold, caressing her nipples, making them harden to diamond-like points. The power kneaded them, rolling them between its nothingness, until her pussy was so damp, so wet that she panted with desire.
What was happening? Nothing had ever done this to her before. Sure, she’d encountered her fair share of the unexplainable and the supernatural and some even tried to force seduction on her but this was different. Whatever this was had a touch that left her wanting more. There was no forcing involved. Giselle wanted its wordless promises. She wanted the pleasure it could bring her.
The faint sound of a chant pushed through the thick layer of evil nestled over her. The evil tried to break through the barrier the other energy had built around her, but the protective power held firm. She focused, unable to make out the exact words but knowing it was Latin. Concentrating, she listened closer.
“Ltum nMn omnia f+nit.”
What?
She stilled. Every ounce of her wanted to run back to her car and leave this place but she knew she couldn’t. The call was too great. Someone here needed her, whether they acknowledged it or not. She could feel it in the air. Not to mention the dampness between her thighs. That alone was enough to make her want to stay just a little bit longer. So much pleasure was to be had here and Giselle couldn’t bear the idea of passing it by.
“Ltum nMn omnia f+nit.”
Spinning in a small circle, Giselle tried to find the source of the voices. “Death does not finish everything? What do you mean? Who are you?”
Strong hands gripped her shoulders. A scream tore free from her throat as she went rigid. Whatever was behind her, turned her to face it, suddenly radiating a calmness that she required. Its power was familiar. It felt like the fog, the fingers, the pleasure.
“Qu’est-ce qui ne va pas? What is the problem… err… the matter? What is wrong?" The heavily French accented voice moved over her, seeking out the fear within her and cradling it with nothing more than words. Still, they were enough to chase the demons away. Looking up, Giselle found a tall man standing before her. A head of shoulder-length, jet black, silky hair framed a caramel-colored face. Eyes of deep brown, almost black stared out at her from beneath a pronounced brow, giving him a dark and brooding quality. The tiniest bit of a five o’clock shadow graced the man’s strong jaw line.
The black turtleneck sweater he wore drew attention to his broad chest and wide shoulders. That in turn, made Giselle painfully aware of just how much bigger the man comforting her now was from herself. Easily six foot three, he dwarfed her five foot six inch frame. As her gaze raked down his body, she found herself staring at the front of his dark gray, wool pants—paying special attention to the size of the bulge that lay beneath them.
She gulped. Hot, unadulterated need ripped through her, causing her legs to shake and her hands to tremble. This man could give her what she was after, a night of passion, fulfillment, a stiff cock. What would it be like to take him into her body. To taste him? To have him taste her as well?
She didn’t know anything about him. Not even his name. To feel this attracted to a stranger was absurd. Wasn’t it?
Pulling back slightly, she blinked up at him. “Who…? Where…?”
The corners of his lush mouth drew upwards ever-so-slightly. “I could ask you the same thing, though I am quite sure I would manage to get the entire question out. Now,” he ran the back of his cool hand over her cheek, “do you wish to tell me what has frightened you?” He sniffed the air. "For it is obvious something has troubled you greatly.”
Lord above, his touch was divine, like sinful bliss for the taking. She closed her eyes briefly, tipping her head towards his smooth fingertips. Sighing was an option she was willing to take. His smell was heavenly as well. Enough to do a sex starved girl in. Hints of moss and musk reached her as her tongue darted out and over her lip.
It took a second for Giselle to realize the man was speaking to her once more. She caught the tail end of what he was saying. He wanted to know what had scared her. She didn’t have to go into detail. The chanting voices answered for her.
“Giselle, ltum nMn omnia f+nit.”
She stiffened. So did the man, seeming to go on full alert. Did he hear them too? More often than not, only Giselle could hear the calls of the dead, of the spirits unable to rest.
“Come," he said gruffly. He took hold of her upper arm and escorted her towards the manor.
“D-did you hear that?” She paled, the color draining instantly from her face.
For one brief moment, it appeared as if the man would say no. Tipping his head to the side, his eyes narrowed as if he were in deep thought. When he nodded ever so slightly, her heart soared. Finally, someone who shared her ability to hear spirits. “Do you think what we heard was real?” She had to know if he would be like others, wanting to believe but in the end dismissing it all as overactive imaginations.
“I do," he said, his resolve unquestionable.
She sighed and instantly stepped closer to him, the heavy weight of possessing a gift others could not understand seemed to ease. It had been far too long since Giselle was around another like her, a sensitive. She had so many things she wanted answers to. She wasn’t sure where to begin. “How do they know my name? Better yet, who are they and why do they want me to know that death doesn’t finish everything? They don’t feel like ghosts. What are they?”
The man stood eerily still as he stared at her, his dark eyes seeming to see through, to her very soul. “Your name is Giselle?”
She nodded.
He gasped and looked out at the fog. Howls came from every direction and the heavy feel of death pressed in on her. She only barely managed to keep from screaming and that was because the man drew her protectively to his muscular body. He grunted. “You were not to come.”
Instead of pushing away as she’d have normally done when angry, she held tighter to him. He represented safety. “Not to come?" she questioned. "Mr. Duprat phoned yesterday and told me my services were not only needed but that I should come immediately.”
“Non, that is not true.”
She stared at him with wide eyes. Who was he to tell her what the owner of the manor said when he called? “Yes, it is. Mr. Duprat told me to meet him here after nightfall. He said that all business I had to conduct with him needed to happen then.”
Something passed over the man’s face. He seemed nervous. “Come, quickly.”
Giselle followed him. Not that he gave her much of a choice. He held firm to her, ushering her swiftly through the oversized dark wood door. It closed behind her with a thud that echoed through the foyer. The smell of incense filled the air. The high, ruby red walls suited the room, giving the stone staircase an even grander feel. She drew in a sharp breath when she saw the size of the crystal chandelier that hung from the high ceiling.
Impressive.
If the entranceway was as magnificent as this, the rest of the place had to be astounding. She leaned, noticing the number of paintings lining the wall near the staircase. They were as glorious as their surroundings. Mr. Duprat took great pride in his home. That much was evident.
Yes. A home she had no doubt was wrapped in a blanket of spirits and evil.
The man with her, curled his hand around her elbow, guiding her into the sitting room. A deep red settee sat off in the corner, near a writing desk and two, high back sofas took center near the fireplace. Yellow, orange and red blurred as the flames licked the air, offering warmth. Giselle moved closer to the fireplace and the man accompanied her, staying near, his hand still on her elbow.
It inched along slowly, making its way to her side. Heat flared through her and Giselle knew better than to assume the fire had anything to do with the sensation. She stepped in, towards the man, her eyes fluttering, her lips parting.
His fingers dug deeper into her hips and he jerked her to him.
“Are you well?”
“Huh?” Giselle asked, staring at the handsome stranger longer than she should have. She moved from the close proximity, instantly noting the reduction in temperature even though she was even closer to the fire now.
“Is Mr. Duprat here?" she began. "I think I should speak with him. I don’t even need to go further to be certain the place has some serious evil around it. I can save us a lot of time and just declare the manor haunted. I don’t even need a tour.” She rubbed her hands together, hoping to chase away the ominous feeling that had come over her outside. It didn’t work.
In an instant, Giselle felt the press of something evil bearing down on her. Glancing at the man behind her, she weighed her options. She could hope for the best—that whatever the force was wouldn’t strike with him near or she could take the offensive lead. Her gaze went to the top of the stairs. Whatever evil threatened her currently emanated from that location. Nothing appeared to be there. Giselle’s psychic senses told her otherwise. She moved, placing her body before the sexy stranger’s in an attempt to protect him.
“I, uhh, forgot my bag in my car. Would you be so kind as to grab it for me?” she inquired, doing her best to sound sugary sweet. “The howling and the voices aren’t something I want to go through again. Not just yet, anyway.”
The man’s brow furrowed and for a moment she thought he’d say no. When he nodded, she exhaled. He turned and headed out of the door. Not a second later, the evil rushed at her. It took no real form, instead choosing to come at her with a psychic attack. It struck her hard, forcing images of death, destruction and mayhem into her mind. The pain was excruciating and the images were horrific.
Giselle cried out a second before her body was lifted. Something held her, suspended in air as it continued its assault. The horrors the evil presence thrust out at her left her clawing at the nothingness holding her, as she fought for freedom.
Her powers attempted to surface. The years she’d spent hiding them away, only tapping into the tiniest portions of them on an "as needed basis" made her have to think about what should have been automatic.
“You will not win. You will not save him,” the voices said, chanting in unison. Their Latin flawless. Their terror real.
Suddenly, it felt as though large hands were wrapped around her throat, cutting off much needed air. The feel of fingernails digging into her skin, made her very aware of just how powerful the evil was that she now confronted.
Long wisps of light brown blew past her and it took her oxygen-starved mind a second to realize it was her own hair blowing around. Dazed, she did her best to kick-start her dormant power.
Images of something so evil, so raw and full of hate that her mind refused to even acknowledge what was before her, continued to assail her. Reaching out, Giselle took hold of her pendant. She fisted it tight, focusing on the protective power of the tiger’s eye and not the evil around her. She felt it then—help was on its way.
Fog surrounded her, bathing her in a calmness she needed to center her mind. Drawing in a sharp breath, Giselle kicked out and to her surprise, she came into contact with something though what, she wasn’t sure. Strong arms wrapped around her, plucking her from evil’s grasp. She didn’t care what now held her only that it not let go. She coughed, her lungs demanding to be filled once more with air. She clung to her savior too weak to lift her head to see who it was that comforted her.
To BUY
