Title Page
SLAVE OF DARKNESS
By
Francesca Lewis
Publisher Information
Slave of Darkness first published in 1998 by
Chimera Books Ltd. Published as an eBook in 2010 by Chimera Books Ltd
www.chimerabooks.co.uk
Chimera a creation of the imagination, a wild fantasy
Digital Edition Converted and Published by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
New authors are always welcome, or if you’re already a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would love to hear from you.
This novel is fiction - in real life practice safe sex
This eBook is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. The characters and situations in this eBook are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.
Copyright Francesca Lewis. The right of Francesca Lewis to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Chapter 1
‘I simply can’t believe it’s ours, can you?’ Marianne asked Steve, as she watched the removal van drive away.
‘It’s going to take some getting used to,’ replied her lover. ‘It’s damn quiet here.’
‘But don’t you see? That’s just what I need,’ she exclaimed excitedly. ‘It was incredibly generous of Great-aunt Dorothy to leave me this house. Just think, it’s only three miles away from Haworth.’
‘What’s special about Haworth?’ asked Steve.
‘It’s where the Brontë children grew up. Don’t you know anything?’
‘You’re the literary one,’ he reminded her, slipping an arm around her slender waist. ‘I’m afraid books and computers don’t mix that well.’
‘You do like it, though, don’t you?’ persisted Marianne. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t. I’ve got this feeling I’m going to be so happy here.’
‘I take it you mean we?’
Marianne laughed. ‘Of course I do. I wouldn’t want to live here if we weren’t going to be together, and I do know how much you like London. But this will be a wonderful place for me to write my new book. I mean, look at the views.’ Marianne waved her arm in the direction of the Yorkshire Dales, the purple and yellow colours of the heather clear even from the courtyard of the house.
‘I can see that,’ agreed Steve. ‘I suppose as I’m away so much it’s more important the place suits you than me. It needs a lot doing to it, though.’
‘Luckily the advance on my new book will see to that,’ said Marianne. ‘It couldn’t have come at a better time, and it’s wonderfully atmospheric here. What better place could there be for writing a romantic novel about destructive passion?’
‘I’d have thought destructive passion was the same whether it took place in London, Manchester or the wilds of Yorkshire,’ said Steve.
Marianne shook her head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. From the moment we walked into the house I felt quite different. It was almost as though I was back in the old days.’
‘Then it’s a pity you’re not writing an historical novel.’
Privately Marianne agreed. It was strange, but what she’d said to Steve was true. When they’d first looked round the house, long before they actually moved in, she’d been able to picture every room as it might have been two hundred years ago. Not only that, she’d felt as though she belonged there, as though the house suited her and welcomed her. She realised she was being fanciful, that it was probably the result of an overactive imagination, but it was still comforting. She’d really felt as though she’d come home.
‘It’s damn cold here, too,’ said Steve, wrapping his arms around himself. ‘This house is so exposed. I had no idea your aunt lived in such an isolated place. Come to that, I had no idea the house would be this large. Quite honestly, we don’t need all the rooms.’
‘Not now,’ Marianne agreed. ‘But in the future we might.’
‘You mean when we get married and have a family?’
Marianne’s pale blue eyes widened. ‘No! When we have servants.’
Steve looked at her in astonishment. ‘What the hell do you mean, servants?’
Marianne felt as astonished as Steve looked. She had no idea why she’d said such a thing. ‘I don’t know,’ she confessed awkwardly. ‘It must be the atmosphere here; you can tell some of the rooms were originally for servants.’
Steve shook his head. ‘I think I liked you better in London. At least there you kept your imagination in check.’
Angry at herself, Marianne glared at Steve. ‘But for my imagination we wouldn’t be able to afford to decorate the house. Don’t knock it, Steve.’
He sighed. ‘Maybe it would have been better if we couldn’t afford it. The house would fetch a fair bit if we sold it. God, I’m freezing.’
Marianne felt a sense of disquiet. Steve worked as a self-employed computer analyst/programmer, travelling round the country helping develop programmes for small businesses. Together they had always made a good pair, his common sense and her imagination fitting together to make one complete person. Suddenly their differences were working against them. She caught hold of his hand. ‘We’d better go in if you’re cold.’
‘At least we brought our own bed with us.’
‘We can’t go to bed yet; there’s too much to be done,’ protested Marianne.
‘I don’t want to sleep.’ Steve’s voice was heavy with meaning.
Marianne hesitated. The truth was she wanted to get busy on the house, wanted to start arranging the furniture and making lists of all the things that needed doing, but that made no sense. Normally she’d have wanted Steve, too. ‘You’re insatiable,’ she said, sounding far too sharp.
‘I thought that was why you liked me.’
‘Not always.’
‘I’d never have guessed,’ Steve remarked, leading her across the courtyard and through the front door of the L-shaped house. Their bedroom was one of four, and the largest. It was the only bedroom that had enough room for their king-sized bed.
‘I wonder who used to sleep here?’ said Marianne, as she started to take off her clothes.
Steve looked surprised. ‘I don’t suppose anyone did. The second bedroom’s where your aunt slept, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, I didn’t mean then,’ said Marianne.
‘So when did you mean?’
‘When the house was first built.’
Steve stared at her. ‘What on earth made you think of that?’
Marianne blinked. She wondered if she was going mad. ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly. ‘The thought just suddenly came to me.’
‘When was this house built?’ asked Steve.
‘Seventeen ninety-something, I think.’
‘In that case, a lot of people have slept here over the years. I hope you’re not going to try and find out the names of all of them?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Look, do you want to make love or don’t you?’
Marianne didn’t know what was the matter with her. Steve was already naked, lying on the bed, his eyes on her as she stood in her jeans and bra on the other side of the room. She could see he was aroused but she
was finding it difficult to get in the mood. ‘Of course I do,’ she assured him.
‘Come on then,’ he said encouragingly, patting her side of the bed. ‘It’s not the thought of this house belonging to your great-aunt that’s putting you off, is it?’
‘Nothing’s putting me off,’ she said hastily. ‘I suppose I’m a bit tired, that’s all.’
‘I’ll soon change that,’ Steve told her.
Marianne finished undressing and lay down next to him. As usual, Steve started by caressing her breasts. Within a few seconds his hand was moving between her thighs, and she knew it wouldn’t be long before he entered her. She often wished he was a more imaginative lover, that he’d spend more time over foreplay, but he always made sure she had an orgasm, and in that respect she knew she was lucky. In any case, she wasn’t as keen on sex as Steve and it didn’t bother her too much if it was over quicker than it should be.
To her surprise, Steve seemed to realise she wasn’t fully aroused and he moved down the bed a little, his hands under her hips, and started to kiss her belly and the tops of her thighs. He hardly ever did this, but she loved it when he did, and she started to squirm with rising excitement. Encouraged, Steve spread her legs wider and Marianne reached down to caress his hair in a gesture of tender affection as his tongue began to trail along the creases of her thighs.
Marianne’s breathing grew more shallow and she felt herself becoming damp. Then, as Steve’s fingers parted her sex lips, she gave a low moan of delight as she felt the first stirrings deep within her. Soon, as Steve continued to use his tongue on her damp flesh she was gasping and groaning, the tension growing within her body...
But then, just as the first delicious contractions were threatening, she saw someone standing in the corner of the room!
With a cry of horror she twisted away from Steve, burying her belly and breasts in the bed as she tried to hide her nakedness.
‘What the hell...?!’
Marianne lifted her head and glanced nervously over her shoulder. There was no one there. The room was quite empty and all she could see was Steve, a look of astonishment on his face. ‘I-I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I... I thought there was someone here.’
‘Here? In this room do you mean?’
‘It must have been a trick of the light.’
‘For God’s sake!’ Steve sounded thoroughly annoyed.
‘I’ve already said I’m sorry,’ said Marianne miserably. ‘It gave me a terrible fright.’
‘You gave me a terrible fright, twisting away like that. I thought either I’d hurt you or you were annoyed with me.’
Marianne didn’t know what to say. She sat up, wrapping her arms round her knees. ‘I don’t know what happened,’ she confessed.
‘Use your common sense; how could anyone have got in?’ he asked incredulously. ‘I thought you were enjoying yourself.’
‘I was,’ she assured him.
‘It doesn’t seem to have taken much to distract you.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again. ‘Look, let’s leave it for now and try later on.’
‘Oh, great,’ said Steve. ‘And what am I supposed to do with this?’ He touched his erection.
‘I don’t know,’ retorted Marianne.
‘What you mean is you don’t care,’ Steve sulked. ‘You didn’t really want to make love in the first place, did you?’
‘Not at first, no, but what you were doing was gorgeous,’ she said quickly. ‘Look, Steve, I really am sorry, but I was sure there was someone standing there.’
‘Probably the first person who ever slept in the room,’ he said sarcastically.
Marianne got up and started to pull on her clothes. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on,’ she said shortly. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘No, I don’t want a cup of tea. I want you.’
‘We’ll make love later, when we go to bed,’ said Marianne, attempting to placate him. Steve didn’t reply but she knew there was no point in their continuing now. The mood had been broken and, anyway, she still had the peculiar sensation that they were being watched.
Marianne made herself a mug of tea and ate a large slice of chocolate cake, but even when she’d finished Steve hadn’t come down to join her. She realised he was sulking and wished she could turn back the clock and make things right again. It was so important that he liked their new home. Right from the start, from the moment she’d heard about her inheritance, Steve’s lack of enthusiasm had been clear, but although he’d initially suggested selling the house he’d accepted Marianne’s wish to live there with very little argument. Just the same, she felt it was important to make him as happy as possible, and this had been a disastrous beginning.
She still couldn’t work out what had happened to her. Everything had been going perfectly. In fact, she couldn’t remember when she’d last been as excited – and yet the figure in the corner had been so clear. It wasn’t even as though it was night and she could blame shadows. It was true that the corner of the room in which she thought she’d seen the figure was in shadow but now, refreshed by the tea and with her common sense returning, she simply didn’t know how she could have thought anyone had been watching them.
‘You’d better get a grip on yourself,’ she said aloud, starting to move some of the boxes around, glancing at the labels on them to see what they contained and where they needed to go. Despite what had happened, she didn’t think it would be long before Steve joined her, but half an hour passed and there was still no sign of him.
As it was a lovely April afternoon she decided to go outside and take advantage of the wonderful view. The house took up two sides of the courtyard with a wing on the right-hand side. On the left-hand side, slightly separate from the house, there was a grey brick outhouse and also a stable where she assumed that at some time horses had been kept, probably in order to provide transport in such an out of the way spot.
It was surprisingly cool because of the wind, but as she crossed the courtyard to the outhouse she realised that the brick building offered some protection, and the rays of the sun were warm on her face. Marianne loathed spiders and she peered through the single tiny window to see if the place was full of cobwebs. It wasn’t; indeed, it looked as though her aunt might have used the place for storage and so she lifted the latch on the wooden door and pushed it open.
As her eyes adjusted to the gloom she moved into the centre of the room, wondering what it had originally been used for. The door swung to behind her and, as she turned to leave, she felt something pricking at her ankles. Glancing down, she was startled to realise there was straw on the floor and she bent down to brush it away from her feet. It was damp and smelly. She wondered how on earth she’d missed it when she first walked in. Opening the door to let in a little light, she returned to see exactly how much mess there was, and felt her jaw drop in astonishment because the floor was now clean. There was no straw anywhere.
‘I must be going mad,’ she said aloud, looking around to see if there was anything at all that she could have mistaken for straw, but there was nothing. The place was immaculate, having at some point been swept clean, with all its shelves dusted and only a small box of gardener’s tools remaining.
She remembered her great-aunt mentioning her gardener and how he’d helped her create the wonderful display of flowers at the back of the house, which needed far more attention than an elderly lady would have been able to give. ‘But there was straw,’ Marianne said to herself. ‘I felt it.’ And yet the building remained resolutely clean and comparatively modern.
Turning to leave, she noticed something strange. In the wall, set in the brickwork about eighteen inches off the floor, were two metal rings approximately two feet apart. They looked very old and she couldn’t imagine what they’d been used for. Hesitantly, she reached out and touched them, terrified that these, too, would prove to be an illusion, but the metal was
cold beneath her fingertips and definitely existed.
Outside in the courtyard again, Marianne felt totally disorientated, unable to make out what was happening to her. She looked at the large rambling house with its narrow windows and flat, rather unprepossessing front. The lace curtains at the windows were filthy; they were at the top of Marianne’s list for things that needed replacing. As she stared at them, to her terror, they started to change. Slowly they vanished and in their place were dark crimson drapes of a heavy material. The windows themselves looked different, darker and dirtier. She looked away, blinked, and then looked back. The dingy lace curtains were there once more and the crimson brocade curtains had vanished.
Marianne was very scared. She wanted Steve, needed to feel his comforting arms around her, but she knew she couldn’t tell him what had happened to her while he’d been upstairs. He’d think she had gone completely mad and she wouldn’t be able to blame him, because she couldn’t think of any sane explanation herself. She ran into the house and up the stairs, then gave a cry of fright as she collided with Steve, who was standing at the top.
‘It’s only me,’ he said, still sounding irritable. ‘Not the stranger in the corner, I’m afraid.’
Marianne pressed herself against him. ‘Please don’t keep talking about that,’ she begged him, her hands moving over his chest.
‘Hey, what’s this?’
‘Take me to bed,’ she begged, desperate for something to blot out the terror of what had happened to her.
‘I’ve only just got up.’
She pressed herself hard against him, squashing her breasts against his chest, and he reacted as he always did to any advance she made. ‘If you insist,’ he laughed and, picking her up, he carried her into the bedroom. Hurriedly they both took off their clothes and this time it was Marianne who was initiating everything.
She pushed Steve on to his back, kissing him on the lips before slowly circling his nipples with her tongue, something she knew he loved. As the tiny points hardened on his chest she felt him hardening between his thighs. She couldn’t wait to feel him inside her now, and lifted herself above him.
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