Free The Phantom and the Psychic: A Paranormal Erotic Tale by Sophia Jones Page B

hurt you, but Blessed Mother of God, you know I’m here.”
    After long moments, she recovered from his touch, and stood, stepping away from the divan.  Her anger melting away, she answered, “Yes, I can hear you, and I can feel you, but I can’t see you.”
    “I gathered as much,” the phantom replied from very nearby.  He’d followed her.
    “Tell me your name.”  Knowing a spirit’s name gave a person power over them.  She knew he wasn’t the initial, looming evil she’d sensed upon entering the castle, but he could still be dangerous. 
    “I am Dominicus Romano.  During life, I was a servant of the church .”
    Alyssa snorted.  “That’s quite a mouth you have on you, for a priest.”
    “I was not a priest.  I was a solider for the church, six hundred years ago.”  Voice heavy with repentance, he continued, “But aye, madam, I have no excuses for my sorry behavior.  I’m a damned soul, and the worst of my hell is boredom.  Forgive me for entertaining myself at your expense.”
    She couldn’t see him, but imagined him bowing.  She took in the heavy regret in his tone … and believed him.  How many souls had she helped to find closure through the years?  Dozens.  They all spoke of the endlessness.  Of their eternal, listless existence, devoid of human interaction and love.  She imagined herself in his situation, here in this castle for six centuries.  Trapped.  Alone.  Unable to move on and find any peace. 
    She responded, “Apology accepted, though you have to know, I’m truly here to help Mr. O’Toole.  I would never exploit him.  That’s not who I am.” 
    “I believe you, madam.”  H is answer was quiet.  Solemn.
    “Call me Alyssa, please.”  She found herself wanting to hear him say her given name.  Though his words regarding Mr. O’Toole had enraged her, his other comments in that deep, sensual baritone had affected her.  She was honest enough with herself to admit they made something stir hot and low in her belly.  Anger evaporated, and another primal emotion took its place. 
    “ Very well, Alyssa, then you must call me Dominic,” the phantom entreated in a husky rasp. 
    A smile touched her lips .  "Your English is excellent."
    "The priests I once worked with were from England.  And this castle has been owned by many people through the years, people who spoke a variety of languages.  I listened, and learned.  Not much else to do."
    Mr. O’ Toole returned before she could respond.  The castle owner held up a large metal key.  “Here we are, Alyssa.  I don’t mind telling you, though, the thought of going into that room terrifies me.”
    She turned to the old man.  “It’s okay, Mr. O’Toole, if you’d rather stay in the hall.  I promise not to spend much time there.  I just need to do a quick walkthrough to get a read on the place.”
    “I may be afraid , dear, but I’m not a coward.  There’s no way I’m letting you in there by yourself.”
    She nodde d, and took his arm as he offered it.  The two made their way down a long hallway, cobbled brick beneath their feet, high stone archways overhead.  She thought it very likely Dominic followed them, but she couldn’t know for sure since she heard no words from him.  They passed a half a dozen doors before Mr. O’Toole stopped in front of one, and reached in his pocket for the key.  
    Even before the gentle old man had the door all the way opened, she felt the cold, dark entity inside.  It was a consciousness.  It watched them, there at the doorway, and waited ...
    She shot out her arm to block Mr. O’Toole before he could enter the room.
    “Now see here, girl, I already told you …”
    “No, Mr. O’Toole.  Ne ither of us is going in there.”
    Her fear must have been evident on her face, in her tone, because Mr. O’Toole froze, then stepped back.
    From behi nd her, Dominic spoke, concerned. “What is it?”
    He r voice wavered as she answered.  “I knew it was bad, but I