The Ultimate Erotic Short Story Collection 29 - Paranormal Edition: 11 Steamingly Hot Erotica Books for Women

by Susan Woodward

  I pulled away from Joseph and raced towards my baby. I pulled him into my arms and he giggled. A sigh of relief escaped my lips when I saw that he was unharmed. The ground shook under us and I held to the stand of the gong to keep my footing.

  My eyes grew wide in terror as the ground began to split apart. I ran away from the gong yelling for Joseph to follow. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I was afraid the ground would swallow us whole. Once I was a considerable distance away I looked over my shoulder and became paralyzed with awe.

  Breaking out of the ground were the largest fae I had ever seen. Their wingspan alone would equal more than my small height. They held swords and arrows made of tree and stone in their large hands. The Fae Warriors wasted no time in flying towards the invaders. I watched in horror and awe as they quickly cut down the enemy who seemed weak in comparison.

  I'm not sure how long I stood rooted to the spot clinging to Joseph and our baby, but I didn't dare move until one of the Fae Warrior's spoke.

  “We are victorious!” His voice boomed around the world.

  A grin of relief spread across my face and I let out a joyous laugh. The Fae Warriors were returning to their slumber spots and the ground closed over them, but I stopped one of them.

  “What were they?” I asked.

  “They were the children of technology. They always seek to destroy our kind.” He said gently.

  I realized the man I was speaking to was the owner of the voice that had declared our victory. I was mesmerized as he continued to speak.

  “They are born of things you have yet to discover, little one.” He smiled down at me. “Things that take away the natural creativity of the human race. They were able to get in because the gatekeeper had been banished.”

  I shook my head. “I'm not the gatekeeper.”

  The Fae Warrior grinned down at me. “No, you are not. The little one you hold in yours arms is though, and when you were banished so was he. Only the gatekeeper can sound the gong and wake us.”

  I had more questions but he was already walking away. My curiosity may have gotten the better of me, but my heart dropped when I saw the Summer Queen and her entourage approaching. Joey may have saved them, but I had broken even more rules than before.

  “Oh, Belladonna!” The Summer Queen said wrapping her thin airy arms around me and Joey. “My dear child! Oh, thank you!”

  I blinked and patted her back awkwardly. “I'm sorry for bringing Joseph here, but I didn't know what to do!'

  “Oh, that is such a little rule.” She said blushing. “We can overlook it, really.”

  I frowned at her. “I guess we have to leave now, don't we?”

  “You can't leave before the party!” She said looking shocked that I would suggest such a thing.

  “But I'm banished. How did they see me at all?” I asked her.

  “Once here you were no longer banished. The fae can see anything that moves in their world.” The Summer Queen said smiling.

  I was surprised at how friendly she seemed. She had always been so mean to me, but I guess after you have a baby that saves the world people have to be nice to you.

  Joseph and I stayed for the party. Poppy made a fuss about how cute Joey was and I ate real food for the first time in over a year. The flavors danced on my tongue and I never wanted to the party to end. Joseph wouldn't eat anything, because of some silly human story that says if a human eats fae food they're never able to leave. I asked the Summer Queen about it, and she said she's never heard of such a thing.

  When we finally get home Joseph falls into bed exhausted. After he's asleep Joey and I go back outside. The Summer Fae have taken their spot and are working hard to catch up. Things are so much more dead than usual because of their delayed arrival. I work alongside of them teaching Joey how to use his dust. He doesn't produce much yet, but I can tell that he enjoys helping. I don't know what we'll do when it comes time for our people to leave again, but for the moment I'm happy. I have my people and my Joseph.

  ***

  [Hope you liked the story and don't forget your 8 complimentary books, which you may find a download link to on the last page of this collection, just after the 11th story ends. Now, on to the next story!]

  A Woman Scorned

  by

  Molly Ellis

  The year was 1692, the town Hallow and the crime murder!

  Hallow was a town shrouded in mystery. The people were wildly superstitious and fearful of everything and anything that they could not explain. It was said the devil walked among the people and seduced the women, implanting his corrupt seed in their wombs so that they gave birth to his daughters.

  Witches were the daughters of Satan. In all of Harlow nothing was feared as much as a witch was and it wasn’t because they flew around on brooms, or were hideous to look at, they were revered on account of their unique ability to speak things into existence. There wasn’t any need for spells or special magic potions to drink because those were the substance of fairy tales. Witches possessed inordinate power, by mere thought, they could move objects from as small as a mustard seed to as great as a mountain.

  But as with all workers of the devil, witches had their weaknesses. Salt strewn across the threshold of a house prevented a witch from entering, it also inhibited their power and fire destroyed them. It was rumored that only fire could destroy the wicked heart of a witch and the stone throwers of Harlow were quick to believe.

  For years the witches of Harlow lived peacefully with the people of the town. Witches were the most feared and blamed for the horrific deaths of Anna Belle Walcott and her unborn child. The mother was decapitated and all her limbs removed and rearranged to create a perversion of her living form.

  The unborn baby that grew inside her was cut out from her. Without a body or any shred of the child’s remains, the baby was presumed to have met a fate worse than her mother. It was unclear why Anna Belle was killed in such a cruel way, but when she angered Patricia Lark; a young woman famously known for practicing dark magic, the witch warned that she would meet a fate so blood curdling that for centuries to come people would talk of it with fear and reverence.

  It was the first time in the town’s long history of peace with the witches that blood was shed. In the wake of Anna Belle’s untimely demise, the people retaliated. It was time that the fear ended and the town cleansed of the demonic scourge.

  The Mayor of Harlow was a fair and just man. A Catholic and fervent believer in Christ, he ordered that the witches be given a fair trial before any blood was unjustly shed. A declaration was made giving the witches fair warning to all practitioners of the dark craft that if found guilty of causing injury or death to any living soul would be arrested forthwith and tried by a jury. The decree specified further that no arrest would be made without a credible witness.

  Mere days after the mayor’s declaration, Patricia Lark was brought to face trial for her crimes. With over ten witnesses to attest to having overheard her threat to Anna Belle before she perished, the verdict was a resounding guilty! Patricia Lark was the first witch to be covered in salt and burned at the stake. Her death marked the beginning of a series of trials and executions of the witches of Harlow.

  With dark magic outlawed and the death toll rising, the number of witches in Harlow dwindled. Some of the women fortunate to be spared the trial fled the town while others met their fiery deaths until Harlow’s dark shroud was lifted and the town was freed of the dark scourge. September 6, 1712, was the day the last witch burned. Although it took two decades, Harlow was finally free.

  Two years after the trials started a hunter made a startling discovery in the dark dank forest. He was about to collect his kill, a large white stag that he had been hunting for days, when he heard the cries of a baby. He followed the shrill cries of the infant that trailed out of the bushes a few meters away. It was the middle of the night; the moon was large and glared at the earth below. The air was damp and cold. He could not imagine that the child would have much lon
ger to live in such circumstances.

  He had to find its frail body and take him to safety. He came upon a thick dark cluster of shrubs to gaze upon the helpless babe swaddled in the skin of the deer he had just killed. It was a new born baby girl. Humbled by his alarming find, the hunter took the child to his cabin and raised her as his own. The hunter was William Cunnings and he called his daughter Abigail. It was William’s last hunt. From the moment he cradled the crying babe, his desire to eat flesh was stricken from his heart.

  Even as a baby, Abigail was stunning, her hair was long and black as coal and she had eyes that were large and catlike. Her pupils were emerald and the natural dark pigment that traced her lids made her striking orbs pop even more than they already did. If William looked too intently at them he would feel as though he were being spelled. Abigail Cunnings was always a peculiar child. William knew that there was something remarkably odd about the little girl he found in the woods.

  Her birth was shrouded in mystery and as she grew William soon discovered that she was incredibly gifted. She was as enchanted as the forest that gave birth to her and as majestic and rare as the white Stag whose skin concealed her as a babe. Abigail would stand outside her father’s cabin and whistle a haunting melody that would draw the birds that flew over head to her side.

  William never knew where she learned the song that seemed to lull the animals that were nearby. Although well behaved, when Abigail wanted something, William always felt a compelling force, weighing so heavily on his heart that made him give in to her every desire.

  In her sixth year of life, William found his daughter cradling the limp frame of a young robin that had fallen to his death out of its nest high in the ancient oak that stood a few meters away from the cabin. Moved to tears by the touching melody she sang, weeping as she did, to its body before kissing it goodbye, William prepared to comfort his heart broken daughter.

  But suddenly the little bird’s wing began to jerk frantically, flitting and fluttering into a frenzy of flaps, until it sprang back to life within the crescent of her palm. Abigail tossed the creature into the air, allowing the resurrected bird to fly freely back to the sanctuary of its nest. Since the moment he found her in the woods, William held the suspicion that there was something extraordinarily supernatural about her.

  Witnessing her miraculous resurrecting kiss, William felt assured that his suspicion was warranted. When he heard of the witch trials on one of his visits to the town to buy stocks for the house, William knew instinctively that he would have to do his best to protect his daughter’s secret. As Abigail’s strength and power increased, William cautioned his daughter, never to reveal the truth of her gifts to anyone. Abigail trusted her father explicitly, obeying his every command without reservations. She knew he only acted out of love.

  For eighteen years, Abigail and her father lived peacefully in his cabin until the trials ended and he was sure that it was safe to take her to the town of Harlow to live. Soon after moving into the town, William grew ill and died, leaving Abigail alone to cope without him. Even with her tremendous gifts, Abigail never thought of herself as odd, but as she began to mingle the people in the town, she quickly realized how vastly different she was. Abigail soon found herself in the company of a young precocious nun by the name of Martha Ford.

  As Abigail sat near her father’s tomb stone carefully arranging the flowers that she had bought to dress his final resting place, she heard laughter coming from a young man clad in a black robe. A stiff white collar broke the monotony of the dark fabric and she knew instinctively that he was a priest. Abigail was astonished to see the young man kneeling before a tomb, laughing to himself as he did. Convinced that he was indeed mad, Abigail cautiously approached to get a clearer view of the chuckling clergy. Abigail was careful not to break even the smallest of twigs as she neared.

  “I know she is in a better place, but my heart still aches. So when it hurts to cry, I laugh!” Fr. Marcus uttered without so much as blinking to a startled Abigail.

  Fr. Marcus was blessed with a sixth sense and he felt Abigail’s presence nearing him from the moment she abandoned her roses. Abigail held her face and gasped, thrown by his unique intuition.

  “My name is Fr. Marcus, but you can call me Marcus!” he continued, shifting his frame slightly to relieve the pressure on his knees.

  Still in shock, Abigail held kept her hand firmly plastered across her face. Her heart pounded with such force her body shook.

  “My dear there is no need to fear me, I am a child of God same as you” his gentle voice uttered reassuringly.

  “I’m Abigail!” she offered, shaking nervously.

  “Oh! The Cunnings girl” Marcus exclaimed excitedly.

  Abigail was puzzled as to how he could have known who she was, since this was her first encounter with him. Marcus rose to his feet and spun his robust frame around to focus his glazed over orbs on a bewildered Abigail. Completely blind, Marcus stretched out his hand to greet her. Abigail was nearly floored and before she could state the obvious, he spared her the awkward confession.

  “We are all gifted in some form or the other!” he confidently remarked.

  Although not a day over twenty years old, the young priest spoke as though he were an elder. As a child Marcus soon realized that he had the gift of foresight. His sixth sense afforded him the ability to know an individual before even meeting them. Abigail listened intently as Marcus related his remarkable life history and quickly realized that they shared one thing in common. They were both orphaned as babes.

  Marcus was fortunate to have been found by the kind sisters that prayerfully roamed the halls of the town’s only Abbey. Naturally as he grew under their care, on his eighteenth birthday, he chose to give his life in service to the God, he revered for having saved him from certain death.

  In his youth, Marcus met the young and wildly attractive Margaret. Sister Margaret was a ferocious blonde forced to become a nun by her oppressive parents at the tender age of fifteen. Desperately wanting to preserve their daughter’s virtue, John and Ashley Stein goaded a rebellious Margret into the restrictive life. In spite of her initial protest and without any devices to stir her errant heart, she soon settled in the trappings of her chastity.

  One day as she paced the open court of the Abbey, praying quietly to herself behind the gates, by pure chance, she laid eyes upon the strikingly handsome Marcus as he wandered beyond the gates. Instantly taken with him Margaret felt as though she’d been struck in the heart by cupid’s arrow. Cautious not to alert the sisters nearby, Margaret did her best to mimic the sound of a sparrow to catch the attention of the fascinating stranger beyond the gates.

  “Sister you should be careful not to earn your share of penance” the young man uttered as he approached the peculiar sparrow.

  Margaret blushed, tucking the untamed fibers of her cherry blonde locks safely under the arm of her headdress. In time, she came to know the young priest to be, falling every so deeply for his charm. Learning almost immediately of his unfortunate blindness, Margaret counted him blessed to have such impeccable intuition. Undeterred by his circumstances, Margaret’s affection for him grew until she could no longer bear the burden of it on her heart. Just as the young seminarian was about to take his vows, Margaret stole the chance to confess her love, before it was too late, unburdening the contents of her conflicted heart. But soon after she laid bare her soul to him, Margaret felt the crushing blow of his rejection.

  “Perhaps my dear, you shouldn’t be a nun” Marcus replied reproachfully, rebuking Margaret into a sobering state of scorn.

  At his numbing words, Margaret’s heart hardened and her love turned as bitter as aloes.

  Shortly after the awkward and enlightening encounter with the clairvoyant Marcus a deep and sincere friendship blossomed between them. Abigail caught herself retracing the fine lines of his august face. In spite of his pale blue eyes hidden behind the inhibiting cloudy veil, Abigail thought selfishly that his choice to deny hims
elf the pleasures of the flesh was incredibly unjust. Abigail was taken, with the young priest and soon found herself unable drag herself away from his side.