Is dying being alone forever?
Beside her, someone moaned. Niall. She wasn’t alone. Niall’s here. She wriggled her fingers, finding the satisfying warmth of his hand still gripping hers.
One painful inch at a time, Aisling turned her head toward him. Like her, he lay on his stomach, his arms and legs spread wide, crushed maize jutting out from beneath him at all angles. A long gash ran across his cheek, and dried blood and dirt marred his angular features.
He was with her. They were together. That was all that mattered. Aisling squeezed his fingers, the effort causing a spasm of pain to rocket up her arm. Why did her body hurt so bad?
“Are we dead?” she mumbled, her tongue sticking to her mouth.
“I think if we were dead, we wouldn’t hurt so bloody much.” The corner of Niall’s lip twitched, and he winced with the effort.
Aisling dropped his hand, pressed her palm into the warm dirt, and a little at a time, she rolled her broken body onto its side. Niall followed suit, groaning as he shifted the shoulder where the arrow had sliced him.
“We made progress,” she huffed.
“Great,” Niall said, his breath rasping. “With any luck, we’ll be on our feet by nightfall.”
“There’s nothing around,” Aisling said, staring across the field at another sprawling expanse of maize, stretching on and on into the distance. “No landmarks or anything. I guess we should follow that road—”
“Look,” Niall croaked, raising his finger to point beyond Aisling’s shoulder.
With agonising slowness, she twisted around, and saw what he was pointing at. A figure ran toward them through the maize. A black man, dressed in brown, dirt-stained overalls. His tall frame jerked like a puppet as he propelled himself forward on long, spindly legs, and he waved his hat so hard his shoulder looked in serious danger of dislocating. He looked vaguely familiar, but Aisling couldn’t place him.
“Excuse me,” he called out to them, his voice dripping with an old-fashioned southern drawl. “Are y’all alright?”
“We’re—” Aisling started to speak, but her voice came out as a dry croak. She coughed, and tried again. “We’re fine, thank you.”
The man reached them, and without even pausing to catch his breath, he hauled her to her feet and hugged her. Aisling gasped for air.
“Lucky ah found you, Miss. Your horse must’ve thrown you and bolted. Ah ain’t seen the creature around, but he can’t have gone far now.”
“My … horse?”
“Of course, dear.” Niall, who’d managed to get to his feet also, steadied her arm. “How else would we have landed facedown in this field if we hadn’t been thrown from our horse?”
Aisling nodded, understanding Niall was trying to cover for their strange appearance in the middle of the field. “Yes. That’s right. Of course. We were taking a shortcut across this farm when something spooked the horse.”
“Ahm not surprised. Ah was over yonder, when ah heard this almighty great clap of thunder.” The man spread his arms wide. “Ah was expecting the heavens to open, but ah was mistaken. Ah came over to investigate, and ah found y'all lying here.”
“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Niall rubbed his chin and looked meaningfully at Aisling. “I remember a loud noise too. It might’ve been a gunshot.”
“Ah hope not. Damn Barker boys, poaching on mah master’s land again.”
“What’s your name?”
“George, ma’am.” He lifted his hat and tipped it to her. “Ah belong to Master Wilcox, up at the manor yonder. This here is his land you’re standing on.”
George? The name tugged at Aisling’s memory. There was a George connected with the Hollow someone, in one of her grandmother’s old stories …
“It’s a pleasure, George,” she said, falling into the formal way of speaking he seemed to expect from her. “Can you tell us …” Her voice trailed off, as the details of the landscape started to make sense in her head. The road, the tall Southern live oak on the horizon, even the gentle slope of the land … it all looked awfully familiar, as though someone had crawled into her childhood memories and pulled out this picture. Everything was the same, except …
She glanced all around. “Where’s the house?”
“Wilcox homestead is just over the fields,” George said.
“No, the Hollow.” Aisling walked a few feet away, scanning the horizon, her heart pounding. “It’s a huge house built in the Gothic style. It can’t be that far away from here.” She spun in a circle, a knot tightening in her chest. ”Why isn’t it here? Why can’t I see it?”
“Ain’t no house round here that looks like that.” George scratched his head. “Just Wilcox over yonder and the Meadowford Roach over on Cassock.”
“You mean …” Her stomach churned. Her knees trembled. I thought I’d saved it, but I can’t have, because it should be here. It should be right here, right where I’m standing, I’m sure of it. And this is George, who first met Lady Greymouth on the road and introduced her to his master—
So they had travelled back in time. But why, why isn’t the house here?
Niall grabbed her arms, his eyes dancing. “Aisling, stop. Don’t panic. I think I have this all worked out.”
“Then start explaining.”
“You can’t see the Hollow because it hasn’t been built yet.”
“But it should be here!” Aisling wrung her hands. She could feel panic rising in her chest. “This is the exact spot. That’s George, who Lady Greymouth set free after he saved her from a horse-riding accident. But he doesn’t even seem to know her. It’s all wrong.”
“Of course he doesn’t know her.” Niall smiled, gripping her shoulders and staring deep into her eyes. “He only just met her.”
Aisling stared into George’s kind face, and the truth dawned on her. “No.” She shook her head, grabbing Niall’s shoulders to keep from falling over. “No. It can’t be.”
“Are you ill, ma’am?” George stood over her, looking worried. “Should ah take you to mah master?”
Niall laughed, and wrapped his arms around her. “Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life, Lady Greymouth.”
“Lady Greymouth?” George looked shocked. “You’re dressed awful funny for a lady, if you don’t mind mah saying, ma’am.”
“These … these are my traveling clothes,” she said, the words sliding from her throat easier than she could ever have imagined. “I’m surprised you haven’t seen this ensemble before. It is the latest fashion in the city.”
“Ah must take your Ladyship to mah master.” George gave her a deep bow. “Ah know he would want to meet you an’ your companion.”
“I don’t think—” Aisling started, but Niall stepped forward and shook George’s hand.
“We’d be delighted to meet Mr. Wilcox,” he said. “In fact, I think we might be able to offer him a deal. Lady Greymouth is quite taken with this site. I think she would like to buy it to build her home on.”
“Niall,” Aisling hissed. “We don’t have any money. How can we—”
Niall grinned wider. He whipped his other arm around, and Aisling saw something clenched in his fist. One of the hideous dog statues – made of solid gold. The dog's eyes were two large diamonds that sparkled in the sunlight.
“It’s solid gold,” Niall said. “In this century, it’s worth a small fortune. Certainly enough to buy these fields.”
Aisling’s mind reeled. “How is this possible?” she asked. “How could I be Lady Greymouth, when she’s my ancestor? And how come you don’t seem surprised about any of this?”
“Because I’ve been putting this together for a little while now,” Niall said. “You were the one who led us here, Aisling. I mean, the you who is Lady Greymouth. You laid all the clues. You made the hallway to the ballroom. You even played the waltz in the ballroom for us.”
“But I didn’t do any of that. I don’t have the power for that kind of enchantment.”
“Yes, you did.” He looked a
t her. “At least, you’re going to. Don’t you see? Lady Greymouth’s incredible life – building the Hollow, having adventures, helping the sick and those in need of justice, hosting all those elaborate parties, even going to the beach – is really your life. All those tales your grandmother told you about her, you get to live them. And as you do, you build the clues into the house, you weave your own magic into the walls of the Hollow, you master the magic of dreams in order to bring two unlikely people together. You create the secret hallway and make your voice travel through the void, so that in hundreds of years time, Aisling will come along again, with her fae lover, and she will defeat the fae once more.”
“But … that’s a paradox.”
“You said to me once that the Hollow was a paradox.” Niall shrugged. “Perhaps paradoxes are allowed.”
“We can go to the beach?”
He laughed, and kissed the top of her head. “We could go to the beach every single day.”
Something rubbed against her leg. Aisling leaned down and scooped up Widdershins. “You knew all along, didn’t you, bud?” She nuzzled his fur.
George stepped back, his face creased with concern. “It’s bad luck to cross a black cat like that, ma’am.”
Aisling smiled. “This little guy?” She held up one of Widdershins paws. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly. I have a feeling he’s actually a bringer of good luck.”
“If you say so, ma’am.” George turned, gesturing over the hill. “We should get going, if ahm to get you back in time for lunch.”
Widdershins snuggled into Aisling’s hair. She passed her arm through Niall’s, resting her head on his shoulder, breathing in the deep, beautiful scent of him. She couldn’t believe only a few minutes ago she was staring down into the void, looking into her own death. And now, after years of being trapped, of living in the prison of the Hollow, the house had given her the most precious gift of all – the gift of a long life, filled with love. “We’d better go see Mr. Wilcox, then. I have a feeling we’re about to make his whole year.”
THE END
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From the author of Hollow comes a dark and beautiful gothic romance
Love so fierce it transcends even death.
When Elinor Baxter arrives at the dilapidated Marshell House to settle the estate of her law firm's oldest client, she can't help but feel a little spooked. The creaking gothic mansion is a far cry from her life as an adventurous party girl back in London.
Then she meets Eric Marshell, a man dressed entirely in black with a wicked smile and the ability to float through walls. Eric was the violinist in popular rock band Ghost Symphony until a hit-and-run accident claimed his life. Now he's trapped inside his mother's house for all eternity, and the only one who can see or hear him is Elinor.
Eric and Elinor fight their attraction for each other as they dig into the mystery of Eric's death. But when they uncover a dark and sinister plot that threatens Elinor's life, their bond draws them into a world neither of them understands. Can their love transcend the boundary between life and death?
The Man in Black is a steamy gothic romance by USA Today bestselling author Steffanie Holmes, Set in the English village of Crookshollow, it's a standalone novel of love, redemption, and second chances. If you love clever BBW heroines, crumbling gothic mansions, and brooding rockstars who know what they want, then this book will have you shivering all over.
READ NOW: The Man in Black
The Man in Black
An excerpt
Elinor moved her hand, so her palm lay flat against mine. It was so odd to see her fingers nestled right inside my body, and even odder to feel them there, not as fingers usually feel, but as a hot ball of energy, emanating heat to a steady rhythm.
It took me a few moments to realise the rhythm was Elinor's heartbeat.
I stepped forward, my hand shifting against hers, her fingers dancing inside mine. I pressed my other hand against her back, my palm sinking into her flesh. If I were alive at this moment, I would push Elinor against my body, and relish the warmth of her, the shape of her, against me. But I couldn't do that, so instead I folded myself in closer to her. The front of my jacket brushed against her chest, sending waves of pulsing heat through my whole torso.
"This is amazing," Elinor breathed, her bow-shaped lips parting slightly. I didn't trust myself to reply, so I smiled back at her. I started to sway, pushing my right hip forward, moving the warmth through her leg. Elinor sensed the movement through her skin, and she moved backward, turning her body with me. I stepped again, and again we slid across the floor, our bodies sweeping and dipping with the music.
With my next step, I pushed myself closer, bowing my head slightly, so that my face hovered inches above hers. My eyes locked on those bow lips, ripe and delicious like the first berries of spring. I could feel my spectral cock straining against my boxers, ready for action. God, I want this woman—
"I like the music," Elinor said. Her voice wavered. She sounded nervous. I wondered if she was speaking because she sensed what I wanted to do, and she was trying to fill the space between us, to stop me from doing something I couldn't take back.
"Mmmm …" I shifted my fingers in her hand. The heat flickered, thrumming through my body with a quickened pace. She was nervous. Interesting.
"I love the … distortion. The way it crackles right through my whole body," Elinor breathed. "It's almost as if the music is mirroring the sensation when we touch."
"This piece is originally written by the composer Niccolò Paganini, a Greek violinist in the early nineteenth century," I murmured. If she wanted to talk, I could at least impress her. "He was known for making liberal use of the diabolus in musica, the devil's tritone, which creates that haunting dissonance you hear in the piece. Of course, Paganini's composition has been sped up and updated, and accompanied by the electric guitar, bass guitar, double bass, and drums, it's quite the feat of modern gothic rock."
"Who is playing the violin in this piece?" Elinor asked, her lips barely moving, struggling to form the words.
"I am, on Isolde. Ghost Symphony is my band."
"Eric …" Elinor's face turned up to me.
I leaned closer, I could practically taste the sweetness of those berry-red lips, feel the warmth of her mouth against mine. The air between us crackled with electricity. Elinor shifted her weight against mine, falling into me as she leaned forward, her lips pursed, waiting.
I brushed my lips against hers. It was like no other kiss I'd ever experienced before. The heat leapt through my body, twisting from my mouth right through my core. I felt as though I'd swallowed a hot coal, and though it burned me deeply, it was the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted. I leaned forward, my weightless body pressed against hers, my lips parting to devour her heat as our bodies hummed with pulsing energy.
READ NOW: The Man in Black
Support me on Patreon!
You can support Steffanie’s writing via her Patreon page – it’s like an ongoing crowdfunding campaign where you get free books, deleted scenes, random fun stuff, and the chance to name characters and decide plots.
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About the Author
Steffanie Holmes is the author of steamy historical and paranormal romance. Her books feature clever, witty heroines, wild shifters, cunning witches and alpha males who always get what they want.
Before becoming a writer, Steffanie worked as an archaeologist and museum curator. She loves to explore historical settings and ancient conceptions of love and possession. From Dark Age Europe to crumbling gothic estates, Steffanie is fascinated with how love can blossom between the most unlikely characters. She also writes dark fantasy / science fiction under S. C. Green.
Steffanie lives in New Zealand
with her husband and a horde of cantankerous cats.
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Other Books By Steffanie Holmes
This list is in recommended reading order, although all Crookshollow series can be enjoyed as standalones.
Crookshollow Foxes
Art of Cunning - READ NOW
Art of the Hunt - READ NOW
Art of Temptation - READ NOW
Crookshollow Ghosts
The Man in Black - READ NOW
Crookshollow Ravens
Watcher - READ NOW
Reaper - READ NOW
Wolves of Crookshollow
Digging the Wolf - READ NOW
Writing the Wolf - READ NOW
Witches of the Woods
Witch Hunter - READ NOW
Coven - READ NOW
The Curse (coming in 2016)
Fallen Sorcery shared world series
Hollow (Isa Fae book II) – READ NOW
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Hollow: Isa Fae paranormal romance (Fallen Sorcery Book 2) Page 21
