The Phantom and The Psychic: A Paranormal Erotic Tale
“Are you my psychic?”
The petite, curvaceous brunette arched a slender brow and graced the man with a smile. “I’m a psychic, yes. You must be Mr. O’Toole. I’m Alyssa DeAngelo.” She stretched out her hand to the elderly castle owner, her bewitching smile still in place.
O’Toole fumbled with the ornate handle of the heavy wooden door before he managed to clasp her hand in his.
Dominic shook his head, surveying the scene with equal parts amusement and disdain. Old fool’s clearly smitten.
“Come in, Ms. DeAngelo, come in.”
Through the open entranceway, Dominic savored the glimpse of blue Italian sky and lush green hills visible beyond Castello Rocha’s paved courtyard before O’Toole ushered his guest in and hefted the door shut. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be free of this infernal castle!
Enclosed in the dark interior once more, he turned his attention to the woman.
“Please, Alyssa’s fine. Ms. DeAngelo is my grandmother.” Her voice was rich, husky. The kind of melodious, sinful tone that would have given him a cockstand centuries ago.
“Well, if your grandmother is as fine a lass as you, then she must be a beautiful woman indeed,”said O’Toole with a flirtatious grin.
Dominic snorted. “Say what you mean, O’Toole. You’d like to plant yourself between those luscious thighs and die a happy man.”
Neither the man nor the woman acknowledged him. No surprise there, though unexpected disappointment stabbed through him.
“Bah, some psychic you are,” he muttered, his tone dismissive and angry. A part of him had hoped ...
She laughed. “Mr. O’Toole, how does an Irish sweet talker like you end up owning a castle in Italy?”
The old man’s merry eyes turned wistful, then sad. “Through my beloved. We always talked of moving to Italy one day. Buy a hotel, kick back and let the tourists make us rich.” His voice broke, and Alyssa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He continued, “Well, my Mary, she passed away before we could make any of that happen. But there was the insurance money, and nothing left for me at home ...”
She finished where he faltered. “So you bought this beautiful, old castle to honor the dream you two shared.”
O’Toole nodded. “Aye, this beautiful, old, haunted castle.” He looked undone, his body slumped in defeat.
Hand remaining on his shoulder, she led him through the dark foyer and into the somewhat brighter great room. Still sullen, Dominic followed, hovering behind the pair. Muted sunlight crept in from a dozen large, dusty windows, revealing high
arched ceilings, elaborate crown molding, and an immense chandelier. She guided the old man to a maroon divan, then sat down beside him.
In a gentle voice, she asked, “Do you have any more information on the murders?”
O’Toole shook his head,“No, just what I emailed you. It started with my very first guest. Young, healthy lad. Found him dead the next day, his door still locked from the inside. Had to bust it down.”
“Right, no marks on his body, no signs of a struggle in his room,” Alyssa confirmed. “The police said it was a heart attack.”
“Aye, and then a woman, exactly the same thing, in the same room a few weeks later. Two people dead of heart failure. That’s when I closed down for the season. Maybe forever.” Despair laced his words.
She reached for O’Toole’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m here to help.”
Dominic interjected, voice heavy with scorn, “I’d like to give you something to grope, you fraudulent wench. Sure you’re here to help ... to help relieve the old bastard of the last of his money.”
She turned O’Toole’s weathered hand over, and traced her pale little fingers over the deep grooves and fine lines. “Did you know palm reading isn’t about predicting the future?”
O’Toole shook his head, seeming content with his hand resting in hers. And why shouldn’t he be? Dominic looked back through time, to his days of flesh and blood. When was the last time I held a woman’s hand?
She continued, interrupting his musings. “It shows the past. See here? That’s your heart line, your love line. Yours is deep and long. I can see how much your Mary meant to you.”
Dominic harrumphed, inexplicable anger filling him. “I’ll give you deep and long. How‘bout my hard cock pounding into you, punishing you for being a wicked woman who takes advantage of helpless old men?” He moved from his place behind them to materialize in front of the woman. “Look at you wench, in that scrap of scarlet fabric. Why, it barely covers your arse!” His gaze trailed up her long, shapely legs to the place the material stopped, high on her thighs. Instead of disdain, longing washed through him. Disgusted by his own neediness, he dragged his eyes to her face ... and felt his heart break.
“Christ, such beautiful brown eyes,” he muttered in a whispered rasp. Dominic reached out a phantom hand to caress the woman’s cheek, only to pull away in utter shock.
He’d felt ... something. Heat. Delicate silkiness. God’s teeth, I haven’t had the sensation of touch is six hundred years!
Alyssa jerked her head up, and for a moment it seemed she stared right at him. Dominic froze, a burning, elated hope shooting through him. Could it be? But no, her gaze wasn’t focused on him, but through him, and soon enough she dropped her head, continuing to speak to O’Toole.
“And see this line here? It’s your life line, and from it I can see you’ve had a long journey, a determined journey. You’re not a quitter, Mr. O’Toole.” She released his hand and stood, pacing back and forth in front of the grand stone fireplace. “After reading your emails, I wasn’t sure if I could help you. The deaths could have been natural, just horrible, tragic coincidences. But the moment I walked into this place, I could feel evil lurking here.”
Still shaken from earlier, Dominic choked out a bitter laugh. “Evil? That’s going a bit far.”
O’Toole gasped at her announcement. “Yes. Yes. I never would have bought the place, if I’d known its history.”
She nodded. “Can you take me to the room?”
Worry settled over O’Toole’s features. “Are you sure about that, now? Could be
dangerous.”
Alyssa smiled. “We should be fine. After all, both occurrences happened at night, while the victims slept. And let’s not forget, they were alone.”
O’Toole dipped his head in a hesitant nod. “I’ll need to retrieve the skeleton key. I've had the room locked up tight, since the last, uh, occurrence. Pardon me, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” She gave him a nod and another soft smile, and she returned to her place on the divan.
Once O’Toole’s back disappeared around the corner, Dominic settled in beside her. He had to touch her again, to see if that first experience had been real, even as he cautioned himself not to get his hopes up. “Ah, just you and me now, wench. What shall we do to pass the time?” he asked, stretching out a hand towards her.
Alyssa turned to him. “Well Casper, for starters, we could work on your vocabulary. ‘Wench’is horribly outdated, you presumptuous asshat.”
The petite, curvaceous brunette arched a slender brow and graced the man with a smile. “I’m a psychic, yes. You must be Mr. O’Toole. I’m Alyssa DeAngelo.” She stretched out her hand to the elderly castle owner, her bewitching smile still in place.
O’Toole fumbled with the ornate handle of the heavy wooden door before he managed to clasp her hand in his.
Dominic shook his head, surveying the scene with equal parts amusement and disdain. Old fool’s clearly smitten.
“Come in, Ms. DeAngelo, come in.”
Through the open entranceway, Dominic savored the glimpse of blue Italian sky and lush green hills visible beyond Castello Rocha’s paved courtyard before O’Toole ushered his guest in and hefted the door shut. Christ, what I wouldn’t give to be free of this infernal castle!
Enclosed in the dark interior once more, he turned his attention to the woman.
“Please, Alyssa’s fine. Ms. DeAngelo is my grandmother.” Her voice was rich, husky. The kind of melodious, sinful tone that would have given him a cockstand centuries ago.
“Well, if your grandmother is as fine a lass as you, then she must be a beautiful woman indeed,”said O’Toole with a flirtatious grin.
Dominic snorted. “Say what you mean, O’Toole. You’d like to plant yourself between those luscious thighs and die a happy man.”
Neither the man nor the woman acknowledged him. No surprise there, though unexpected disappointment stabbed through him.
“Bah, some psychic you are,” he muttered, his tone dismissive and angry. A part of him had hoped ...
She laughed. “Mr. O’Toole, how does an Irish sweet talker like you end up owning a castle in Italy?”
The old man’s merry eyes turned wistful, then sad. “Through my beloved. We always talked of moving to Italy one day. Buy a hotel, kick back and let the tourists make us rich.” His voice broke, and Alyssa placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He continued, “Well, my Mary, she passed away before we could make any of that happen. But there was the insurance money, and nothing left for me at home ...”
She finished where he faltered. “So you bought this beautiful, old castle to honor the dream you two shared.”
O’Toole nodded. “Aye, this beautiful, old, haunted castle.” He looked undone, his body slumped in defeat.
Hand remaining on his shoulder, she led him through the dark foyer and into the somewhat brighter great room. Still sullen, Dominic followed, hovering behind the pair. Muted sunlight crept in from a dozen large, dusty windows, revealing high
arched ceilings, elaborate crown molding, and an immense chandelier. She guided the old man to a maroon divan, then sat down beside him.
In a gentle voice, she asked, “Do you have any more information on the murders?”
O’Toole shook his head,“No, just what I emailed you. It started with my very first guest. Young, healthy lad. Found him dead the next day, his door still locked from the inside. Had to bust it down.”
“Right, no marks on his body, no signs of a struggle in his room,” Alyssa confirmed. “The police said it was a heart attack.”
“Aye, and then a woman, exactly the same thing, in the same room a few weeks later. Two people dead of heart failure. That’s when I closed down for the season. Maybe forever.” Despair laced his words.
She reached for O’Toole’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’m here to help.”
Dominic interjected, voice heavy with scorn, “I’d like to give you something to grope, you fraudulent wench. Sure you’re here to help ... to help relieve the old bastard of the last of his money.”
She turned O’Toole’s weathered hand over, and traced her pale little fingers over the deep grooves and fine lines. “Did you know palm reading isn’t about predicting the future?”
O’Toole shook his head, seeming content with his hand resting in hers. And why shouldn’t he be? Dominic looked back through time, to his days of flesh and blood. When was the last time I held a woman’s hand?
She continued, interrupting his musings. “It shows the past. See here? That’s your heart line, your love line. Yours is deep and long. I can see how much your Mary meant to you.”
Dominic harrumphed, inexplicable anger filling him. “I’ll give you deep and long. How‘bout my hard cock pounding into you, punishing you for being a wicked woman who takes advantage of helpless old men?” He moved from his place behind them to materialize in front of the woman. “Look at you wench, in that scrap of scarlet fabric. Why, it barely covers your arse!” His gaze trailed up her long, shapely legs to the place the material stopped, high on her thighs. Instead of disdain, longing washed through him. Disgusted by his own neediness, he dragged his eyes to her face ... and felt his heart break.
“Christ, such beautiful brown eyes,” he muttered in a whispered rasp. Dominic reached out a phantom hand to caress the woman’s cheek, only to pull away in utter shock.
He’d felt ... something. Heat. Delicate silkiness. God’s teeth, I haven’t had the sensation of touch is six hundred years!
Alyssa jerked her head up, and for a moment it seemed she stared right at him. Dominic froze, a burning, elated hope shooting through him. Could it be? But no, her gaze wasn’t focused on him, but through him, and soon enough she dropped her head, continuing to speak to O’Toole.
“And see this line here? It’s your life line, and from it I can see you’ve had a long journey, a determined journey. You’re not a quitter, Mr. O’Toole.” She released his hand and stood, pacing back and forth in front of the grand stone fireplace. “After reading your emails, I wasn’t sure if I could help you. The deaths could have been natural, just horrible, tragic coincidences. But the moment I walked into this place, I could feel evil lurking here.”
Still shaken from earlier, Dominic choked out a bitter laugh. “Evil? That’s going a bit far.”
O’Toole gasped at her announcement. “Yes. Yes. I never would have bought the place, if I’d known its history.”
She nodded. “Can you take me to the room?”
Worry settled over O’Toole’s features. “Are you sure about that, now? Could be
dangerous.”
Alyssa smiled. “We should be fine. After all, both occurrences happened at night, while the victims slept. And let’s not forget, they were alone.”
O’Toole dipped his head in a hesitant nod. “I’ll need to retrieve the skeleton key. I've had the room locked up tight, since the last, uh, occurrence. Pardon me, I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” She gave him a nod and another soft smile, and she returned to her place on the divan.
Once O’Toole’s back disappeared around the corner, Dominic settled in beside her. He had to touch her again, to see if that first experience had been real, even as he cautioned himself not to get his hopes up. “Ah, just you and me now, wench. What shall we do to pass the time?” he asked, stretching out a hand towards her.
Alyssa turned to him. “Well Casper, for starters, we could work on your vocabulary. ‘Wench’is horribly outdated, you presumptuous asshat.”
