Their Haunted Eyes (A Ravynne Sisters Paranormal Thriller Book 4)

By Merabeth James

This is a haunting tale of lost love, betrayal, and revenge between a mortal woman and an immortal man...a vampire ...the very handsome, and the very sensual, Comte de Rochambeau. Inadvertently, the Ravynne sisters are drawn into the middle of their battle when they promise to investigate a property friends wish to buy for a haunted B&B of their own. Imagine their surprise when the property turns out to be a relocated French chateau rising above the isolated, black waters of a Louisiana swamp. Renamed, centuries ago, 'le Chateau de Sang', (the Castle of Blood,), the sisters promise to spend three nights there discovering if its evil reputation is well earned. A promise they very soon come to regret....

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merabeth James
• Release date: Jul 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005170318

Merabeth James

There are six things important to me...well, most important to me: To love unconditionally, to always keep a sense of 'wonder', to always be kind, to find joy in simple things, to never take myself too seriously, and to make sure I don't leave this earth with a list of "if only I hads".I've taken many 'leaps of faith' in my time and, so far, have landed on my feet or, in one case, on a dilapitated houseboat with my dog, and a lot of enthusiasm. I named her 'Sanctuary Annie' and hoped for the best. I knew nothing about boats, couldn't swim and wondered how long she would stay afloat. In the middle of the night, when my dog jumped up to join me on the antique Victorian bed I had moved on board, I would check to see if he was wet, knowing, if so, we were both in big trouble. But Sanctuary Annie hung in there, even surviving a hurricane, when others around her were not so fortunate.Living in the small marina, with the sea as my back yard, I found a profound sense of peace..and the love of my life....my Jim, captain of 'Wings', a beautiful racing sloop that flies across the water, when the wind fills her sails.I often think how much I would have missed out on, if I hadn't taken that leap of faith and followed my heart. Life is meant to be lived and I intend to keep on doing just that.

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This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters are entirely fictitious and do not represent any persons living or dead. Product-business-location names used remain the property of any and all trademark holders and do not represent an endorsement or association of any kind either expressed or implied. All Voodoo/Hoodoo rituals described are entirely a product of the author's imagination with no intention of disrespecting anyone's beliefs.

(copyright 2013 elizabeth repka all rights reserved)

Their Haunted Eyes

by

Merabeth James

Prologue - The Year 1788

Orange and yellow flames licked along the logs in the ornate fireplace where satyrs and nymphs were frozen in time on the marble mantel surround. It was the only light in the elegantly appointed room dominated by the four-poster, canopied bed where she lay waiting for him…her new husband of just a few hours…the very handsome Comte de Rochambeau. He was almost a stranger to her, she thought, chewing on her lower lip nervously. A strange, dark man she knew nothing about except for one delicious fact: He stirred her senses…made her restless and needful in a way she didn’t understand.

Rolling onto her back, she studied the shadows on the coffered ceiling as she continued to think about the recent events. The wedding had been on his terms only and not at all what she had expected. In fact, she began to think most of it had been a product of her imagination brought on by the strange tasting wine in the golden chalice she’d been told to drink. She shook her head as memories tried to force their way into her consciousness. She wouldn’t think of all that now. It was too late to think about anything except that he would be here soon and would expect what from her?

Her convent upbringing had left her woefully ignorant about what happened between a man and a woman. Some of the older girls had shared their ideas after lights were out, and the nuns had retired to their cells, but she had refused to listen to their often crude remarks. His kiss at the end of the ceremony had stirred her to her toes. Surely, she had nothing to fear?

The door opened quietly, and his tall figure draped in his familiar black hooded cloak stood there in the flickering firelight. He was wearing a silver Venetian mask that covered all of his face except for his mouth where a smile tugged at his sensual lips. The flood of images she had tried to forget rushed at her. The wedding in the dark garden under the full moon, the overpowering scent of the blood red roses, the strange black garbed guests in their masks, the priest who was not a priest at all but some nightmarish creature.

Mon petit amour, he murmured huskily, interrupting her thoughts, as he moved across the room with a fluid catlike stride and sat down on the bed next to her.

A shudder ran through her, and his smile deepened. Why the mask? she cried. Why any of this? I am a God fearing woman, and my wedding was sacred to me. Why do I feel ashamed…soiled…as though I have committed a grievous sin?

He laughed then and brushed a strand of pale gold hair from her forehead then leaned down pressing a kiss on her full, ripe mouth. It was a feather touch…nothing more, but it set her pulses racing wildly whether from fear or something else. She wasn't sure.

Reaching up, she tried to pull the mask away, but his hand captured hers. Don’t, my sweet. Our lovemaking will be so much more enjoyable. You’ll see, he had told her huskily as his hands tore at the thin ribbon holding her gown closed in front. Bending over her, his hot mouth found her rose tipped breasts where he bit and suckled greedily despite her cries of protest. He was hurting her and didn’t seem to care.

Cursing her hoarsely, he parted her thighs with one knee then thrust his steel hard shaft viciously into her, tearing her maidenhead. Stifling her scream of pain with one hand, his mouth found the hollow beneath her ear, and he sank his teeth into her throbbing pulse. Moving faster and faster, he pounded into her savagely while he drank her lifeblood. Unable to fight him any longer, eyes closed, she lay quietly beneath him as he brought himself to the edge of release. Suddenly, a sound in the hall stopped him cold. Panting…shuddering…cursing, he pulled out of her and rose quickly to his feet. Looking down at her lying there, her virgin blood staining her thighs, he told her coldly, Straighten your clothes, Madame. You look like a whore and with that he strode through a door cleverly concealed in the paneled wall.

Numbly, she had done as he said. Washed the blood from her body; changed her gown. The linens had escaped…or almost…just a drop long dried. They had told her at school that virgins bled, but they hadn’t told her how much it would hurt. Her fingers probed the small holes he had left in her neck that still throbbed painfully. Surely, that was not what they called ‘love making’. That had been the brutal savage assault of an animal. But why? Why did he hate her? He didn’t even truly know her yet.

It was nearly midnight, when he came again. She had fallen asleep by then, and the fire had burned low in the grate. At first, she thought she was dreaming as his warm tongue traced the femoral artery buried deep under the silky, milk-white flesh of her inner thigh. Yes, she was dreaming she decided. This didn’t hurt. This felt wonderful, and she sighed contentedly as she felt his hot breath fan the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs. Moaning in anticipation, she arched upward to meet him, but he lowered his weight on her pressing her into the sleep warmed linens. Dropping his mouth to hers, he kissed her deeply, and she felt a stirring deep inside…a coiling…tightening heat that took her by surprise. She had not felt that the first time. She heard him groan then, and she threaded her fingers through his night black hair.

Anne, I need you so, he whispered huskily in her ear, licking its whorls with his hot tongue. Nibbling lightly along the length of her throat, he slid between her thighs, and she stiffened in pain.

Please don’t hurt me again, she murmured.

He drew in a long shuddering breath then bolted from bed. Again? he ground out between clenched teeth. Are you telling me that someone was here tonight and taken my bride before me?

Not hearing an answer, he ran his fingers through his hair distractedly as he stalked to the fireplace and looked down at the meager flames. Returning to her side, his scorching gaze swept her body disdainfully as she scrambled to cover herself.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, he cursed loudly then seized her shoulders and shook her hard. Your throat…has he left his mark there as well?

Her trembling fingers found the bite mark. Yes, but…. she began to protest.

He lowered himself over her until his burning silver eyes were inches from her own. Tell me who it was, Madame. Give me any name but his.

Eyes wide with fear, she whispered shakily, "It was you. It was you who took me here in this very bed."

He laughed then. It was mocking and would have been more than a little frightening if she wasn't way past that by now. "How could you have not known it wasn't I? I hadn’t thought he would dare go so far. He left me nothing of my dream, and he knows it. Knows how very long I waited to have you. How I wanted our wedding night to be perfect, Anne…to be your initiation. I had planned to woo all your senses until you came to me as eager as your kiss was such a short time ago when the words were spoken, that made you mine.

No matter. It is too late to alter the course our paths have taken. I still want you...virgin or not…and I will take you now. The need to taste you…to bury myself deep in you hot flesh claws at me until I could howl like a ravening wolf. I must make you part of me forever in a way mere physical gratification can never do. You are my now tainted sacrament…my wife and countess. While I feed from you, I will pleasure you beyond anything you could ever imagine leaving you hungry for more until in time you become one with me forever, he told her huskily. I cannot stop it from happening, Anne, even though I pity you. I hate the fear I see in your eyes…hate how much you now must loathe me. Nothing matters but what I must do. And all because I made one fatal mistake in my very, very long life.

Looking up into his silver eyes, she felt her traitorous body begin to throb in anticipation even as a new wave of cold panic sliced through her core. In time, he had said, she would be one of what? And then she knew. A vampire. A being she had always thought a myth…a work of fiction and yet here he was. How could she let herself…a good, convent reared girl…become a vampire no matter how much her now pulsing, aching body wanted that very thing?

Suddenly, the memory of what had happened just hours before sliced through her like a sharp blade. It had been him! Despite the mask, she was sure of it. Could she give up her claim to humanity to become one of his kind? Fleetingly, she remembered their wedding guests and shuddered.

While you lie there considering all the ramifications, Anne, let me remind you of all you have to gain by being mine forever.

She both shocked and surprised herself by asking, Can’t we just…without?

Quirking up one dark brow, he shook his head and smiled wolfishly. She could feel the prod of his enormous erection against her belly as he bent down for a kiss. Firelight glittered on his sharp white teeth and a curious warm lethargy stole over her. She seemed to be melting…becoming boneless…unable or unwilling to resist. She would feed him. He would slake his hunger on her, and she would be his for eternity to do with as he would. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.

Sharp teeth sank into her throat, and she turned to offer him more…and more. Tomorrow she would have to do something about all this, she thought briefly, but then tomorrow was still a long, long time away. A moan welled up from deep in her throat as the pleasure he had promised invaded her throbbing, swollen, wet body.

CHAPTER ONE - THE PRESENT

Listen to this. ‘His sharp teeth found her fast beating pulse and her knees weakened’, Meg read from her perch on the window seat of Charlie’s tower room office. Why are women so fascinated with vampires of all things?

Sitting at her desk…hunched over her keyboard, a frustrated Charlie groaned as she toyed with the end of her silver blonde ponytail. What happened to ‘I’ll just sit here quietly and read and you won’t even know I’m around’? Besides, what about you and your vampire laird?

Meg sighed. You have to admit he was a hottie, and he was… Don’t smile like that.

Was I smiling?

Yes, which I might add is something I haven’t seen too much of lately. If I need to be more specific, not since…

Zack left, Charlie interjected. "I know. It’s thrown me off kilter, and, as you can see, my muse has skipped town. Usually, I can throw myself into my work, and now I don’t even have that.

Meg eyed her sister for a long moment. You didn’t tell him about the miscarriage, did you?

Charlie snorted. I didn’t want him to stay with me out of some misplaced sense of…whatever! He still had ‘one more thing’ to do, and I’m afraid he’ll always have one thing or another to check off his ‘to do’ list. I was like that once until I lost Paul. Then you needed me, though not half as much as I needed you to ground me and remind me of what really mattered.

Meg jumped off the window seat and wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders. Don’t mourn the 'might have beens', Charlie. Sometimes it’s all about the timing. Later on everything may fall into place for a happy ever after ending.

How much later, Meg? she asked with a catch in her voice. "I’m closing in on forty and there’s not that much time left for a family. Sorry. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. We are a family. You…me…and all the others rattling around this old house."

Why does this feel like a deja vu moment? Like we've had this conversation before? Not that it matters. I hear the same clock ticking, Charlie…or rather knocking. Unless I’m losing it, that’s someone pounding on our front door.

Charlie sniffed loudly and swiped her cheek with the back of her hand. I thought it was one of the ghost children up to some mischief.

"They have been devising some new ways to entertain our next guests." Meg told her with a smile.

Charlie sighed. The last time they did that we lost every guest in one very long night even the ghost hunter Lisha Drake, who…

Left with her EMF Detector clutched in her arms and screaming like a banshee, Meg finished for her. Hey, this isn’t getting the door answered, and whoever is out there sounds really pissed.

Even at a dead run, it took more than a few minutes to reach the front door where Freddie was already barking excitedly. Bouncing up and down, he spun in a circle just as a hoarse voice shouted angrily from the other side, Delivery! Open up! We’ll dump it in the drive before we come out here again.

Charlie yanked open the door just as a meaty fist began another assault. A tall, paunchy man in a kaki uniform stood there looking every bit as irritated as he had sounded. Look, lady. This is me and my associate’s last delivery for the day, and we would like to get home some time this century.

Charlie’s silver gray eyes narrowed. We aren’t expecting a delivery.

Expecting schmecting. You are the Ravynnes, right? A Charlotte and Margaret?

The sisters looked at each other in surprise. Mother! they both said on a sigh.

Bring it in, Meg told him. You don’t happen to know what’s in it?

Is that my job now? Delivery psychic? Just sign here and point to where you want it parked.

As they wheeled it past them, Charlie noticed one side of the crate had been crushed. Look, we’re not going to accept delivery of some mangled whatsit.

Not my doin’. Call my boss if somethin’s broke. Far as I can tell nothin’ rattles so it’s all yours, lady.

Moments later, they stood side by side studying the large crate plunked down in the middle of the entry hall. So, what do you think it is? Meg asked.

Beats me. She hasn’t responded to us in years beyond short chilly jabs either verbal or on her expensive note paper embossed with her initials.

Meg laughed. So soon you forget the Christmas cards signed ‘fondly’.

How could I? That’s the most warm and fuzzy she ever gets. I’ll go get something to open it and we’ll see what she’s sent.

While she waited for her sister’s return, Meg circled the new arrival and found Freddie busily sniffing the other side. He was about to lift his leg, when she snatched him up. I can well understand the impulse, my furry friend, she told him. "But peeing on your grandmother’s whatever isn’t an option."

By then, Charlie returned with a crowbar and pried up the top. Piece by piece, they excitedly stripped away the wrapping.

I think I know what it is! Meg cried.

Charlie laughed. I know what it is, but maybe it’s only wishful thinking.

Finally, the last of the bubble wrap had been removed and both sisters sat back on their heels and took a deep breath. It was exactly what they had both hoped it would be; the French ladies drop-front desk that had graced one corner of the attic all through their childhood. The one with the secret drawers they had found years ago.

Its floral marquetried front had been why their mother had relegated it to the attic. It is too gaudy, too frivolous, and too French to be incorporated into my household had been her reported pronouncement when it first arrived. Now it was faded and dull. Inlaid pieces were missing that had once cleverly concealed a hidden drawer that Charlie’s fingers now found and released.

It was filled with bits and pieces of their childhood…special treasures they had hidden there years ago. Meg pulled out a wooden clothespin doll she had made for Charlie’s birthday, when she was six years old. Charlie smiled at the candle stubs left over from her sister’s attic séances that they both had shared.

I never thought I would see this again…any of this. What do you suppose possessed her to send it to us? Meg asked quietly.

The front’s taped shut. Open it up. Maybe there’s a letter…note…something.

You open it, Charlie. The suspense is killing me.

So she did. Peeling back the tape, she lowered the drop front carefully and looked inside. An envelope with both their names penned across the front lay on the dark blue silk writing pad. Picking it up, she looked at her sister. You or me?

My turn I guess, Meg told her with a sigh. At least she remembers we still exist.

She has never forgiven us for accepting and loving Sage or forgiving Dad for his infidelity. I doubt that will ever change, but let’s see what she has to say.

Meg’s hands trembled as she tore open the envelope, then read:

Daughters,

This quite hideously over embellished writing desk, that has always fascinated you for no reason that I could ever discern, will be your total inheritance from this end of the family. It’s value, needless to say, has been greatly diminished by your reckless, childish horseplay and inept repair, but that is all in the past and best forgotten.

I have sold the house and all the furnishings. I will be traveling for a while with a friend and then settling down in Spain. The climate and the culture will be quite an adjustment for me, but I have been assured I will be happy there. Something I have not been for a very long time. If I took my unhappiness…my disappointment…out on you, I would apologize if there were a point to it. I will never waste my time or yours on sentimental drivel.

Your haunted B&B seems to be doing well if your letters are to be believed, Margaret. You might remind your sister that her gallivanting about is not what I expect of her and is certainly nothing to be emulated by someone as impressionable as you. Stay virtuous, though I believe that particular cow has long since left the barn so to speak.

Affectionately,

Mother

They were silent for a long moment as they both pictured the hapless cow headed for hell at full gallop. They began to laugh. Looking at each other, they laughed harder until, finally, a breathless Meg said, That misquote is udderly ridiculous. Maybe it’s this ‘friend’s’ influence whoever he or she might be.

Surely, you don’t think our mother would be shacking up with some man and then admonish us for whatever she was alluding to?

Meg grimaced. She would find a way to rationalize whatever she chooses to do while we can’t possibly be anything but whatever we’re not.

You do know you are making no sense at all.

Maybe not, but you know what I mean. Is ‘affectionately’ a step up or down from ‘fondly’?

I’d have to say they amount to the same thing and…

Meg jumped to her feet. Hey, that’s the phone, and Agnes is still gone. Don’t touch another thing till I get back!

Charlie watched her sister run down the hall to the closest phone then looked down at the desk and smiled. Rifling through the hidden drawer, she picked up one memory after another, bits and pieces of their childhood when they only had each other. They had been there for each other through sickness, thunderstorms, and teenage heartbreaks. Through all their triumphs and defeats. Just the two of them had been enough. Still was…most of the time.

Smiling, she hunkered down next to the desk and let her fingers explore the clumsy repair she had made at the age of ten. She had been trying to zipline across the attic by jumping off the stacked up furniture, and things had gone horribly wrong.

That could just as easily have been your leg that day, Meg told her from the doorway.

Charlie laughed. Like you didn’t encourage me and would have tried it next except you were…

Too chicken and maybe too smart. That call was from the Duschanes. You remember…mother and daughter? Stopped by for a one nighter and stayed four? Were interested in the paranormal and loved the idea of a haunted B&B?

Charlie nodded. I remember. They had joked about trying it themselves. Did they want another booking?

Actually, they want us to visit them. There’s a place they're thinking about buying, and they want our opinions of all things.

Our opinions?

Meg grimaced. Someone must have told them I’m a ghost magnet…probably Agnes…and they think I can tell them if the place is haunted.

Where do they want you to go?

Us…you, me, and Freddie, too. They live in New Orleans where it’s Mardi Gras time now and a lot warmer. Sounds exciting, doesn’t it? All they want me to do is walk around this place and give them my impressions. Say you’ll go…please…please…please!

Charlie laughed. I could be tempted, but I should stay right here and try to get some writing done.

"You said your muse skipped town or