A Paranormal Easter: 14 Paranormal & Fantasy Romance Novellas

by Tiffany Carby

  “Oh, come on, like you aren’t as obsessed with chocolate as me.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “And you’d know that how, exactly?”

  He laughed. “Because I watched you hide a secret stash after everyone left yesterday. BTW, it’s not there anymore.”

  Selene and Kyler howled with laughter as Kyan ran off, an enraged Ana, hot on heels. Never come between a woman and her chocolate.

  Kyler dropped into a nearby chair. “Well, I think we pulled it off.”

  “I think we did.” Selene settled on his lap and wrapped her arms around Kyler’s neck. When the initial surprise passed, he gathered her up in his. “You know, there’s this Chinese proverb that says if you save someone’s life, then you’re responsible for that life. It becomes your responsibility to ensure that the life you saved isn’t wasted that it’s lived to the fullest potential.”

  He chuckled. “Is that right?”

  “Yes, and seeing as how you’ve saved my life three times since we met, I guess that means you need to make sure I do enough stuff to make up for three lifetimes.”

  Kyler’s arms tightened around her waist. “Three, hey?” He dropped his voice. “Did I mention your life being tethered to mine means you share in my longer lifespan?”

  Her eyes widened. “No. You totally skipped that part of the explanation.” She paused to consider the idea. “So, you’re saying you have a really long time to catch me up on what else you missed and the whole making sure I’m living my life to its potential promise?”

  Excitement flared in his eyes. “Did you have something specific in mind?”

  Selene pressed herself closer. She still hadn’t figured out her feelings on the whole blood bond thing, but that didn’t mean she had to do it alone “Well I was thinking that tonight, after everyone’s gone home, you could work your magick on the creek, maybe warm the water, and I could try that swimming naked you’re so keen on.”

  His breathing came in short sharp breaths. “And then?”

  She leaned in to cover his mouth with hers, smiling. “We’ll talk.”

  * * *

  THE END

  About the Author

  J.C. Madison has lived her whole life in the Land Down Under. Growing up she actively participated in several sports (track, basketball, netball and volleyball) and developed a love of languages. To her grave disappointment, she only speaks one.

  During the daylight hours, she suffers from an affliction known as ‘her day job’, which fortunately only affects her between the hours of 9 and 5. Her ability to survive this affliction is in part due to the knowledge that she will be undertaking a two-year sabbatical in the coming years, during which she plans to backpack around the world.

  In addition, J.C. is a mother to two, now adult children, and she's run out of excuses not to pursue her passion for writing.

  J.C. developed a love for reading and writing from a young age. But while her adventures in reading only increased over the years, a lack of confidence and support held her back from following her dream of becoming a writer. Her first and only, published work was lovingly typed up and bound by the school library staff when she was 11 years old. A strictly limited edition printing with the only copy known to exist currently presiding on her bookshelf as a source of inspiration.

  Fast forward twenty years and her dream was once more ignited, but it has taken yet another decade for her to see her next work in print.

  Not willing to let any more time slip by, J.C is determined to make 2018 her break-out year as an author. Writing mostly in the YA/NA/A fantasy and romance genres, she is hoping to try her hand at some other genres along the way. Will she succeed? Guess you will have to stick around to find out.

  * * *

  Follow JC on social media:

  Website: https://www.jcmadisonwrites.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jcmadisonwrites/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/jcmadisonwrites

  SPRING AWAKENING

  Natalie-Nicole Bates

  1

  Spring had most definitely not sprung.

  Micki Bennett rose from her bed at 6:55, as she did every morning. Most of her night was spent awake from the near constant thunder, and torrents of rain pounding incessantly on her roof and windows. It was the worst storm in the area for years.

  Still, she had a job to do. Wrapping up warmly in a terry cloth robe that while comfy, had seen better days, she sat on the edge of the bed, and reached for her thermal socks. As she slipped the first sock on her foot, a boom of thunder rocked her tiny cottage, followed by a flash of lightening that could be seen through the narrow crack in the heavy drapes covering the sash window.

  She hurried to the hallway, intent on completing her morning task, and hopefully getting back into her bed for another hour or two of precious sleep.

  In the closet, she reached for her bright pink raincoat, and stepped into her rain boots. Finally, she made her way to the kitchen and grabbed the ring of keys from a hook, took a flashlight from a drawer, and opened the door.

  Almost immediately, the wind snatched the door from her grasp, and sent it with a tremendous bang against the exterior stone of the cottage. Stepping out, she grabbed for the door. After a minor tug of war between her and the wind, she managed to get the door securely closed.

  At once, the wind whipped her hair all around her face, and icy rain pelted her skin. A fog hung in the air, and swollen, rain-filled clouds rolled across the grey sky. Micki turned on the flash light to cut through the foggy air. She hurried her way from the cottage and through the puddles of gathered rain on the path, to the imposing wrought iron gates. With one hand, she attempted to brush away the rain drops that clung to her eyelashes and fumbled to hold the flashlight steady as she used the key to open the padlock, whilst with the other hand, she pushed open the gates.

  The purchase of the cottage, which sat in an isolated area of the upscale market town of Edgerton, had been a steal; dramatically underpriced for the sought-after area. Yet, the cottage, or more pointedly, what stood on the grounds of the cottage, was not for the squeamish. The cottage was once upon a time ago, a chapel, and what surrounded the chapel was a small graveyard. A stately church built in the mid nineteenth century once owned the chapel and graveyard and buried its parishioners upon their deaths. When the graveyard ran out of space, the church eventually locked the gates and distanced itself from it. Likely, they did not want the expense of its upkeep.

  Only recently, Micki discovered the difference between a graveyard and a cemetery.

  A graveyard now or at one time, belonged to a church. A cemetery had no association to a church. Yet, with time and expansions of graveyards and church closings, and the opening of large cemeteries, most people now settled upon the word cemetery. Micki was happy to call her little plot a graveyard.

  Regardless if people believed the cottage that sat on the grounds was a graveyard or a cemetery, no one was very interested in living amongst the dead, and the property languished on the market for years. Even the solid maple floors and bespoke kitchen weren’t enough to convince a buyer to lay down their money.

  When the price dropped to an amount Micki could comfortably afford, she snapped up the cottage -- graveyard and all -- and moved in. The main stipulation of the sale was that Micki must maintain the grounds, and the graveyard must be made available to the public. So, every morning at seven, she opened the gates, and at seven every night, she locked them. Sadly, she never saw a living soul in the graveyard.

  She was now quite comfortable in her little home, and lost hours every spring and summer lovingly maintaining the grounds and washing the stones. In winter, she would sit in the window seat near the fire and gaze out at the picturesque scene created by the snow on the gravestones. This summer she would begin planting flowers and assorted shrubbery to make her graveyard more eye appealing. Maybe then, there would be visitors.

  Once her daily chore was complete, the gates open to any visitors, she was about to dart back into the cottage, b
ut stopped to shine the beam of the flashlight toward the grave stones. The wind had been fierce all night and showed no signs of relenting. She needed to peek at the graveyard to be sure no trees uprooted, or stones damaged. After all, there were stones from as far back as 1830. Some of them so weathered, the inscriptions were no longer readable, and most were very fragile.

  Several large tree branches lay on the ground and could be cleaned up after the storm. It was at the end of the long row of gravestones that something did not look right. Micki walked along the line of stones, with each step her rainboots sunk into the squishy mud. Her worst fear was confirmed – one of the above ground vaults had partially collapsed. With a sigh, she crouched down beside the broken stone and first shined the light around it hesitantly, apprehensive to investigate the vault itself in fear of seeing bones. Mustering her courage, she focused at the gaping hole, now surrounded by rubble.

  It wasn’t what she expected to find.

  She’d never with her own eyes saw an open vault before, but she had seen photographs. Usually there was a casket inside the stone vault enclosure. If a vault collapsed, it would crush the aged casket inside, exposing its contents.

  But there was no casket to be seen, only a broken stone platform, and a dark, gaping hole. Had the ground subsided, and the casket fallen deep into the earth? Or had there never been a casket at all?

  Perplexing for sure, but with the wind increasing in its ferocity, and the rain coming down in sheets, she needed to get back into the cottage. There was nothing she could do now, and no one ever prepared her for such an incident. Later, she would call a stone mason for advice, and to schedule a repair.

  She stood, ready to hurry back to her warm cottage, when she heard it.

  A whimper.

  Was it coming from the open grave?

  Imagination, she assured herself, as a cold shudder came over her.

  Then she heard it again. A soft cry now. At once, Micki’s legs turned to jelly, and she dropped to her knees.

  Had a dog fallen into the hole beneath the broken vault?

  It didn’t sound like the cry of an animal. It sounded…human. Was it a child trapped in the hole, lost, possibly injured, and in danger of what remained of the vault collapsing on top of him or her? Her heart palpitated in her chest as she leaned into the broken vault, hoping and praying the whole unstable mass would not collapse on top of her and the poor child trapped in the hole.

  A sudden waft of damp, moldy air reminiscent of an old, abandoned cellar caused Micki’s stomach to heave. Recovering quickly, she shined the beam of the flashlight into the hole. For a moment, time seemed to still, and Micki merely stared. Was she dreaming? Or hallucinating? Her mind could not process what her eyes now stared at.

  It was not a dog.

  It wasn’t a child, either.

  In the corner of the hole sat a young woman crying pitifully. Her knees were drawn up to her chest and her back against the earthen walls. In the dim light, Micki couldn’t make out a lot of detail, except long hair, and limbs.

  She knew she should telephone the police and ask for an ambulance to be sent as well. But with the chance of immediate collapse, instead she leaned further into the hole, and extended her arm to the woman.

  “Grab on to my hand, and I will help you out. The hole isn’t very deep.”

  The woman only tucked her head to her chest and didn’t answer.

  “It’s okay. I know you are scared. I will go to my home and call for the police. They will help you out of the hole and take you to a hospital.”

  At once, the woman’s head snapped up, and she cried hysterically, but her voice was tiny. She lunched forward, and began to claw at the walls, trying in vain to escape, and then fell hard onto her side.

  Was it the mention of the police that caused the sudden frantic behavior?

  Again, Micki doubted her own sanity. Yet, if she really was still sane, and she wasn’t dreaming or hallucinating, the woman’s violent movements were going to cause the vault to collapse on top of her and bury her beneath the rubble.

  “Please, let me help you. The vault is going to collapse on top of you and kill you. You need to get out. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t allow anyone else to hurt you. I have a very warm cottage, just a short walk from the graveyard. You will be safe, I promise.”

  The woman crawled into the corner and cowered. In the beam of the flashlight, Micki could make out two, large blue eyes, full of fear.

  She could not even imagine what this poor woman had been through, and how she ended up in a hole beneath a collapsing grave. This couldn’t be happening. It was too unreal.

  “Please,” Micki implored. “It is so cold, and you might be injured. I can’t leave you here. You must trust me, and let me help you, or I will have no choice but to call for the police.”

  What she did not say was she likely would have to telephone the police regardless.

  The woman tentatively reached out to Micki. Even before their hands touched, she could see her trembling fingers. “Good girl,” Micki spoke gently, and grasped her hand. “Let’s get you out of this dirty hole, and into my nice, warm cottage, and I will make you a cup of tea.”

  Although the hole wasn’t very deep, it wasn’t shallow, either. She was strong, but she wasn’t sure she could lift this woman out of the hole on her own.

  She had to try.

  “Okay, hold on tight to me, and use your feet against the wall to push upward. I will pull you out.”

  Micki’s hand slid to the woman’s forearm to avoid dislocating her wrist. With one mighty pull, the woman’s torso was out of the hole and face down in the mud. Micki inhaled deeply and dragged her out the rest of the way. It wasn’t a great feat of strength – the poor girl was merely bones covered with skin, long hair, and dirt.

  She stood and tried to help the woman to her feet, but the woman kept slipping on the mud, and her knees buckled over and over. Above, the grey sky continued to roar with thunder and drench them in icy rain.

  Some spring, it was more like winter.

  Micki managed to get the woman upright, looped one arm around her bony shoulders; the other around her torso. “Lean against me, and I’ll help you.”

  The girl shuffled along with Micki, her feet bare. When they got to the cottage, it felt nothing short of a miracle to get inside. In the light of the kitchen, she saw the truly sad state the woman was in. Her heart beat wildly through her skin. Not only was she rail thin and barefooted, her hair was in long strings, and her dress looked from another era. A lot of women liked the vintage look. But the fabric was torn and crumbling. The dress literally was disintegrating.

  Had she been held captive somewhere and escaped?

  Now didn’t seem the time to ask. The woman’s blue eyes darted around the kitchen, her hands balled into fists at her side. She should telephone the police at once, but the woman seemed so fearful when she mentioned the police earlier, so perhaps now was not the time. She did not appear severely injured, and was not bleeding, so the call could wait.

  “Why don’t you sit for a bit, and I will make you a nice cup of tea?” Micki led her to a kitchen chair, and gently pressed her shoulders downward until the woman was sitting.

  Micki removed her raincoat and boots, the slick kitchen floor now covered in her muddy boot prints and the woman’s foot prints. The mud could be mopped away later. She started the kettle to boil on the stove. She placed a lemon blackberry tea bag into a cup and drummed her fingers on the countertop as she contemplated the situation. It was almost like a dream. To find a disheveled woman hiding in a broken crypt during the worst storm of the year was unlikely indeed.

  One thing was certain, the woman was so dirty, and she could not roam around the cottage without a bath and fresh clothing. Approaching the suggestion of a thorough wash could happen after the woman had calmed and finished her tea.

  The kettle whistled, and Micki narrowly avoided scalding herself as she poured the boiling water. Using a spoon, she swi
rled the tea bag, a fragrant cloud of steam rose from the hot water. Grabbing an ice cube from the freezer, she dropped it into the cup to cool it quickly. In the woman’s state, she was likely to burn herself.

  “Here you go, I hope you like lemon and blackberry.” Micki strove to sound cheerful as she placed the tea cup on the bright red placemat.

  The woman only stared into the cloudy tea.

  “Let me help you.” Micki held the cup to the woman’s pale, dry lips. “Take a sip, please. You’ll feel better.”

  The woman complied and took a small sip. As soon as she swallowed, she coughed hard.

  “It’s okay, just breathe,” Micki encouraged, and she laid a gentle hand on her back. Every vertebra poked out. When her coughing ceased, Micki again held the cup to the woman’s lips. This time she swallowed easier.

  “Good girl,” Micki praised.

  The woman then took the cup into her own hands and drained it at once.

  Micki sat down. Maybe now that the woman was safe and had something to drink, she would be willing to speak.

  “My name is Michaeleen Bennett. Everyone calls me Micki.” Well, maybe not everyone, she thought. The truth was, since moving to this isolated area, she rarely spoke with anyone except a friendly hello here and there when she ventured into town for errands and groceries. Even during Sunday church services, she sat at the very back of the church to leave first. Maybe it was her own fault she wasn’t more social, but it was easy to get caught up in a solitary lifestyle. “What is your name?”

  Silence was the only response. She wasn’t ready to speak yet, Micki guessed. Or maybe she still wasn’t processing what had happened to her. Her big blue eyes darted all around the kitchen like she was waiting for a monster…or a policeman, to jump out from around a corner.

  “You are safe here,” Micki assured. “Nothing or no one will hurt you.”