He reached inside his jacket for the ancient parchment and unrolled it before her. Leaning forward, she read the script and pointed to the verse containing the word “swan.”
“And I'm the swan?”
“I have a passion for a certain ballet, and only the gods know how much I love that story.”
“Swan Lake—my favorite as well,” she told him.
“I know.” A smile creased his face. She looked up at him in question.
“I know everything about you, Meghan Alexandria,” he said tenderly.
A faint flush tinged her cheeks. “Carya ovata?” Meg asked, stirred by his admission. “What does it mean?”
“Shagbark hickory, but I prefer Lady Enchantment.”
Overwhelmed, Meg leaned back against the massive hickory and closed her eyes. She was about to say something when she heard Pruitt call her name. Her sister came running, a tall, blond Adonis following behind her.
“Meg! What the hell is going on?” she gasped breathlessly. “I was at the library when … when he came in.” She pointed at Morton. “And … and the next thing I know … I'm here!” On a second breath, she said, “Doctor Lamborghini?”
Sirius smiled, nodding to Morton.
“We'll explain, Pru,” Meg said, patting the space next to her as an invitation for her sister to sit. “Just like Poppy, there's a story in need of telling.”
Sirius explained everything, from needing their permission to extract the oil from the hickory nuts, to the rush to return to his ailing coven before midnight on All Hallows’ Eve.
The story told, both sisters granted permission. Then together, they formed a plan.
Chapter Eight
ALL HALLOWS’ EVE
The full harvest moon glistened bright in the black October sky. Sirius gazed at Meg; her face reflected the purity of her heart. It was painful and alluring at the same time. Reading her mind, he already knew the questions she needed to ask. He decided truth was his only recourse, though he hated that his words would cause her heartache.
“How long will you be gone?” Meg finally asked. The heavy question lingered as they lay beneath a fur cloak that warded off the night’s chill.
“In truth, I'm not sure.”
“Will I ever see you again?”
Sirius's gaze fell. He was reluctant to answer.
Meg tensed, pulling away. She ran her hands along his chiseled jaw and chewed at her bottom lip. “Sirius?”
He maneuvered their bodies, tucking her beneath his. He knew by reading her mind that the heat of his muscular frame ignited her—ignited both of them. Meg reached for him, trying desperately not to cry.
“Oh, God. I won't, will I?”
“I have waited an infinite lifetime for you, Meghan Alexandria. And by the power of the gods, in your universe and mine, I give you my solemn oath: I shall return to you,” he whispered tenderly, casting a sleeping spell over her and sending her to dreamland.
Before the stroke of midnight, he was gone.
Chapter Nine
Several lit jack-o’-lanterns, leftovers from Halloween night, cast a soft light around Meg as she sat on her grandfather's porch swing, sipping a mug of hot cider. She always felt closer to him here. A gust of cold October wind sent a whirlwind of dry leaves across the porch.
It must be close to midnight, she mused, her thoughts wandering to Sirius.
“I miss you already.”
A tapping, scattering sound in front of her caught her attention. She grabbed a pumpkin for more light. A single hickory nut lay at her feet.
“Sirius?”
Several more nuts fell at her feet. A warm gusty wind peppered her, extinguishing the lights.
“Do you believe in magic?”
She instantly recognized the deep baritone of his voice.
“Yes,” she answered, her breath hitching softly through the inky darkness.
“Do you believe in love?”
“I believe in the magic of love.” Her heart swelled with emotion.
He stepped out of the shadows and into the light of her presence.
“Are you real, or just a figment of my imagination?”
He placed her hand over his heart, then slowly guided it down to the hard ridge of his cock beneath the tight leather pants. “What do you think?”
“I think, Doctor Lamspagetti,” she answered playfully, sliding the zipper down to expose his pulsing invitation, “I need a taste test.”
~~ * * * ~~
Sirius caressed her cheek, his thumb outlining her warm, wet lips. He smiled. “Who am I to deny my tempting little swan anything?”
She slid to her knees.
The feel of her mouth was exhilarating, spearing him with lust, rocking him back on his heels.
“Yes,” Sirius groaned in ecstasy, dunked in the aching memory of a woman's hot, wet mouth covering him.
He wanted to savor the moment, but centuries of abstinence had him pumping deep and fast. Breathing hard, he pulled back, watching as her tongue ravished the mushroomed tip of his swollen cock. He hissed, feeling the bite of her teeth.
“First, your mouth, then your cunt,” he said with rusty hoarseness.
Meg latched on, sucking him to the back of her throat, her hands gripping his thighs.
With one final thrust he grunted, anchoring her head with both hands as his exploding climax filled her mouth.
“I love you.”
“Naked,” she huffed. “I want to feel your magic deep inside of me.”
They undressed quickly and reached for each other, his cock pulsing hard at her entrance. Raising his finger to her tempting lips, he spoke the incantation magically written across their hearts.
“Our hearts and minds and souls shall mesh,
Tonight, my love, we'll be one flesh.”
“Yes, my Prince.”
He entered her in one deep, loving stroke.
A magical prophecy come true.
~*The End*~
I dedicate this story to my family, especially my beautiful and talented granddaughter Claire. Your love and constant encouragement through the magical world of writing has breathed life into my soul. ~ LF
~~ * * * ~~
About the Author
Belle Langtree’s passion for hot, sexy romance began in the late seventies, after reading The Flame and The Flower by Kathleen Woodiwiss. Over the years, her book club friends encouraged her to write her own love stories. Belle lives in the great State of Michigan with her loving husband of fifty happy years and their wild and crazy rescue pup named Faith Fu Fu.
Follow Belle on:
Facebook: lorey.frazher
Twitter: @LFrazher
Instagram: loreyfrazher
LEAVING LIMBO
Lucinda Cox
Jaxx Carter, ghost hunter, needs a legitimate haunting to establish his career as an Internet star. Too bad he doesn't think ghosts are real.
Enter Burroughs Manor, an unexplored estate with ties to Jaxx's family. A tall, dark stranger awaits him there, to give him a night he'll never forget.
(m/m; heat level: inferno)
LEAVING LIMBO
“If you find a corpse, tell me,” the old man cackled, locking me in behind the gates. “Just don’t be the corpse I find tomorrow morning. Oh, and watch out for—” The wind drowned out the rest of the words, but I didn’t care; he’d been trying to scare me off the entire way here.
Nice try. Instead of snorting, I waved, hefting the equipment bag onto my shoulder. I flicked on the flashlight he’d given me and followed the cobblestone driveway. My eyes were on the prize ahead: Burroughs Manor. Huge trees towered over the driveway leading to the house, protecting me from the never-ending rain but not the freezing wind. A bolt of lightning flashed behind the house, a scene out of a horror movie. Perfect.
I pulled out my night vision camera and began recording as I walked. “Hello Jaxxers, it’s me, Jaxx Carter. This week’s episode of Maybe Haunted is here in Sexhow, England. Sexhow, folks. It
’s a real place. I know the name’s stupid. Google it. Anyways, I’m going to spend a night at the cursed Burroughs Manor, where a former owner killed himself three hundred years ago. Is it haunted? Maybe. People have mysteriously died here, and I’m about to stir things up.”
So what was I really doing in the armpit of England?
A month ago, my agent sat me down and told me I was losing subscribers, fast. I needed to do something big to get back on track with sponsors.
I had over thirty-five videos out, each averaging two hundred thousand views, but Team Jaxx was just me. No sound guy, no video guy, no graphics or marketing team. So my overhead was pretty low. Most of the money I made went into my gear and my travel fund. I prided myself on the quality of my shows. Unlike other ‘Tubers who did daily vlogs that looked like, heaven forbid, Twitch, my stuff was the real deal. Which meant, yes, no ghosts. Though who’d have thought people would pay to watch other people play video games, huh?
“Your angle sucks,” Merv, my agent, had whined. “You never show any actual ghosts, or any creepy shadows or specters or whatever. You’re always saying places are not haunted.”
“Because they aren’t.” And believe me, I wanted to find ghosts as much as he did. Or any evidence of an afterlife.
“Well, that’s boring. What’s the point of going to these places, then? You’re boring, Jaxx. Gotta find a gimmick. Make it sexy. Go find a ghost who was into BDSM or something. Or maybe you could fake it: just catch a shadow or something like that Paranormal Encounters show did. You’ve already peaked. None of your videos have gone viral. Unless you do something major, you’re going to lose more viewers.”
So, I did some research, looking for the subject of my next video.
Enter Burroughs Manor.
Sometime in the distant past, God-knows-how-many-greats-grandpa Carter had made the move from Hicksville, England to the great US of A. I knew this because my mom used to tell me we had English blood in our veins, so I had to keep my grades up in English class. Sure, Mom. I suspected it was all a ploy, but I figured, why not check it out? Behold my surprise when I found out that Burroughs Manor was a real place. Thanks, familyhistory.com. Grandpa Carter, a farmer-turned-soldier, immigrated to America after Napoleon’s defeat.
Bonus: I did some digging online and found a photo of the castle, still in the Burroughs family. Someone on a forum said the place was haunted and abandoned for over two hundred years ago. Ding ding ding.
I sent out feelers to the owners, requesting permission to film. Turned out they couldn’t have cared less. They’d hung onto the property mostly for inheritance purposes.
Some old fart in the 1800s had written it into his will that they couldn’t get rid of it or else they wouldn’t inherit the cash, and boy, was this family loaded. Burroughs Manor was one of the many, many properties they owned, but it was completely useless to them because of the location. Even better for me, it wasn’t in ruins. Apparently, the same old fart had added the condition that the house be kept up-to-date and inhabitable. It was just sitting there empty, waiting for me.
It was a sign.
Six hours ago I’d gotten off a trans-Atlantic, much-delayed redeye, picked up the keys from a fancy lawyer’s office, squeezed into a rental car the size of a shoebox, and then had to drive on the wrong side of the road with spotty GPS.
Four hours ago, the car had died. I’d ended up hoofing it to the caretaker’s cabin a couple of miles away. Right before sunset, the old man drove me to the actual place, muttering about ghosts and curses. He had said the place was renovated every fifty years or so and stocked with food, as per instructions from the owners. Awww, that was nice of them.
As far as I knew, no other shows had featured this place. Anticipation had me walking faster, climbing the stone steps to the massive door.
So. Here I was, my heart pounding. I managed to unlock the door, and with epic timing, another bolt of lightning struck just as I opened it.
I could have sworn someone was standing right in front of me in the entryway. Swallowing my scream, I looked again. Nope, only a coat rack. It took a while to locate the light switch. When I finally found it, I looked around. The main room appeared surprisingly normal and lived-in, unlike the places I normally explored. The old man had said there was modern-ish plumbing and hot water and power. Not bad, really. It was like a fancy Airbnb.
“Hey, Burroughs Manor! It’s ya boy, Jaxx.” My voice echoed through the hallway, punctuated by a roll of thunder. “Be good to me, ‘kay? I promise I won’t break anything.”
Slamming the door behind me, I dropped my stuff. Like all the haunted old places I’d investigated before, this one was huge and drafty. I inhaled the dank air, my breath coming out in puffs. Yep. It smelled like old people and mold.
I sat on the floor and assembled the harness that would hold two cameras: one to record my point of view and the other my reactions. But before I put them on, nature called. I mean, I’d be wearing that thing for maybe eight-plus hours to sunrise, so I figured I might as well get the basics out of the way, right?
In my search for a bathroom, I opened a couple of doors down the hallway and passed by portraits of glaring old men. The fourth door was the jackpot. I did my business and washed my hands, checking to make sure I looked presentable for the upcoming shoot. Merv was right: I was a pretty boy. One reviewer had described me as having just-out-of-bed hair and fuck-me blue eyes. I could say that without shame, having been lucky enough to get my good looks from my momma. God only knew who my dad was, but my mom had made damned sure I would never miss him.
The thought of my mom sent a familiar ache through my chest. “Focus, Jaxx,” I muttered, hoping the camera would not pick up the serious baggage under my eyes from the jet lag and lack of sleep.
The lights were out when I opened the creaky bathroom door. Huh. I knew I had left them on. Must have blown a fuse.
I took a step and a musky, unfamiliar scent enveloped me. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. For the life of me I couldn’t explain why, but it also sent a surge of arousal curling through my stomach.
Then I was tackled from behind. Someone shoved me against the wall, knocking my glasses off.
“Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?”
I struggled to break free. “What do you mean, your house? Are you with the Burroughs family? I have permission to be here. Ask the family.”
My cheek hit the polished wooden wall as the guy shoved me again. I wasn’t scrawny—not by a long shot. But whoever this guy was, he was much stronger than me.
“Have you permission? Prove it.”
I couldn’t see clearly as cold fingers pushed my face to the side. His voice was deep, and accented enough to make me imagine posh schools and money—lots of it.
“I’ve got keys in my pocket; the lawyer gave them to me.” Was that his thumb stroking my lip? I fought the urge to bite it.
“Show me.”
The pressure eased and I whirled around to face him, digging my hand into my pocket. The keys were not there. Genius that I was, I had left them by my backpack.
“They’re over there. Let me grab them.” Rubbing my cheek, I went over to my stuff and knelt to search for the keys. Finding them after a few gropes, I waved them at him. It was dark, though moonlight streamed in from the windows. Hadn’t it been thundering and lightning a few minutes ago? Man, the weather here was weird.
Without my glasses, I couldn’t get a good look at the man’s face, though I got an impression of someone tall and built. “Look, nobody told me someone actually lived here. I’m just here to shoot my video, then I’m out. Twelve hours, probably ten, tops. Can we turn on the lights?”
“You may attempt it,” he replied, a dark figure in the dark. “I do not think you will succeed.”
I scrambled to my feet to grope for the switch along the wall. He was right. The lights were dead. I was glad I had pre-charged all my equipment and spare batteries. I mean, the number of times my
power banks had saved me … yep.
“Who are you? I’m Jaxxon, by the way. That’s Jaxx, to you.”
“L— Douglas Burroughs. You may call me Burroughs.”
“Right. Hey, the old man said there was food here. Could you point me to the kitchen?” The long day and the sudden surge of adrenaline were catching up, and I needed to get food in me before I crashed. “I promise I’ll stay out of your way, and we can just hammer out what’s about to happen. I wonder why they wouldn’t tell you I was coming.”
“I wonder that as well.” He stepped into a moonbeam and golden eyes gleamed at me. I caught the impression of dark curls and a straight nose. Even in this sliver of a view, I could see he was gorgeous. I heard some rustling, then he came closer. “I believe these are yours.”
Plastic and glass pushed against my fingertips. Gratefully, I slid them on and the world sharpened again. “Thank y—”
By the time I could form any words, the first door to the right was swinging open. Right. I could suddenly relate to Belle from Beauty and the Beast. Except the beast was one sexy beast.
“Are you not coming?” His voice floated back to me.
Right. Food.
The kitchen was at the end of a long corridor. A fire crackled in the fireplace; Burroughs stood, his back to me, watching the flames. I took the opportunity to study him.
He had dark wavy hair like some dude on the cover of one of the romance novels my mom used to read. He wore a generic white shirt, black pants, and really cool old leather boots. He even had a white necktie thingy like Austin Powers. Playing up the British thing, huh.
He was definitely the sexiest man I had ever seen. My sexual orientation wasn’t a secret from my fans. Life was too short, and I’d known I liked boys ever since I had a crush on Mikey Chen in kindergarten. But this in front of me—this was a real man.
Moonlight, Monsters & Magic Page 13
