Spooks & Specters: A San DeLain Short Story Collection

Chapter One

NERVES DANCED up his spine as he stepped into the crowded ballroom. The air was thick with anticipation and the soft murmur of voices.

The room was awash in gold tones and crystal, with guests adorned in elaborate costumes and masks, their identities hidden, adding to the mysterious setting. People. Soooo many people. Why was he at this masquerade ball again? Oh. Right. This was where the movers and shakers of San DeLain had gathered for the evening, and since he was part of that set, he felt obligated to come. But it was for a good cause.

They were raising funds for an LGBTQIA+ charity, and at ten thousand dollars a plate, their donation should be substantial. That didn’t mean, of course, he didn’t dread the evening. Silly, vapid women with cunning eyes draped themselves over him. Being an old pro at this, he carefully extracted himself from their clutches. Contrary to popular belief, he was not on the menu.

Unfortunately for the ladies, they lacked the equipment necessary to capture his interest. Unfortunate for him, the men were also frivolous and superficial, ready to betray a person without a second thought.

Such was the nature of high society.

He longed for a strong man, someone who would prioritize him. Someone who would offer him the world and treat him as he deserved. Someone who wasn’t afraid to do what was needed to be done, no matter the cost.

Forget the hero. Give him the ruthless and dangerous monster.

TIME MARCHED slowly on as he chatted up the other guests. As he spoke to a wealthy banker, a chill ran up his spine and nailed him in the back of the head. The murmur of the crowd faded away as the feeling of danger rose around him.

Cautiously he looked around.

Music filled the air as couples glided across the dance floor. In a moment that seemed almost destined, the crowd split. A stream of moonlight from a nearby window bathed a stranger in its glow.

Fierce.

Intimidating.

Dark and dangerous.

He had hair as black as night and eyes like burnished coal. They looked into his soul, seeing all of his closely guarded secrets. He was dressed as a dashing rogue, his black eyes a sharp contrast to the golden demon mask with horns that spiraled above his head. His breath caught. Whoever he was, he was an incredibly sexy demon.

But even that wasn’t an adequate description. The stranger was so much more. In fact, this was his dream man, and there he was, standing across the room from him. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be held in those strong arms and kissed incessantly. His heart beat faster.

In response, the stranger’s lips twisted into a smirk, and he raised his champagne glass in an elaborate toast.

He gulped. There was… there was no way the other man could have possibly known what he was thinking. Such abilities didn’t exist outside of fiction books.

Besides, he was too far away, and his face was partially covered with the mask he wore. There was simply no way this beautiful demon could see the blush that covered his face or hear how his heart hammered.

Right?

He was jostled, his focus abruptly diverted. Murmured apologies floated to him as the one who bumped him drifted off. Turning back, he searched for his sexy stranger, but the crowd had closed ranks, and the other man was lost to his gaze.

Need prodded him to go look, to find his sexy demon.

His?

He hadn’t met the man even, and yet his writer brain had already claimed the stranger as his. Instead of embarking on such folly, he drained his champagne and set it on the tray of a passing waiter.

This was ridiculous. This was real life, not one of his romance books. People didn’t lock gazes from across a crowded room and fall in love. Things didn’t happen like that, at least not for him.

He needed to snap out of it and get back to doing what he came here for—networking.

AS THE night unfolded, there were moments when the itch between his shoulder blades was nearly impossible to ignore and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

But no matter how he searched, he couldn’t find who was staring at him. Nor did he see his handsome stranger again.

His feet hurt from the constant dancing, and his cheeks ached from smiling so much. Networking and rubbing elbows with the rich and famous were a pain in his ass. But it had to be done.

Dinner had passed, and with it, his patience dwindled. He’d received more propositions than he could count. Yet the one invitation he truly desired had not arrived. The enigmatic figure in the mask had vanished.

It was as though he had disappeared into the shadows.

With dinner concluded, he departed the ballroom and made his way to the secluded moonlit garden. Sighing, he sat on a stone bench. The masquerade ball’s lively buzz persisted in the distance. Here, away from prying eyes, he removed his mask.

In the quiet of the garden, the moon cast its silvery glow through the leaves of ancient trees. Each ray of moonlight was like a delicate thread, weaving through the foliage, creating a tapestry of light and shadow on the ground below.

The leaves filtered the light, diffusing it into a luminescent haze that bathed him in an ethereal glow.

Finally, he could breathe.

The light of the moon, cool and serene, seemed to hold the whispers of the night and the secrets of the stars. Promised peace was what it offered.

He shook his head—these flights of fancy were ridiculous. He was there to do a job, not chase shadows. What he should do was return inside. No deals were going to be cut out here, that was for sure. At least not the ones he was interested in. Still, he hesitated. How long had it been since he’d taken a walk in the woods at night under the gentle light of the moon?

It called to him.

He missed the rustle of leaves underfoot, the distant call of an owl, and the soft whisper of the wind through the trees that created a sense of peace. Standing, he walked through the manicured garden toward the woods. Before him, the moonlight filtering through the canopy created a silver path to guide his steps… if he dared to enter.

It was said that those who walked this trail at night never returned the same. Legend spoke of an ancient being who guarded these woods, a shadowy demonic figure who moved silently between the trees.

He’d dismissed the rumors as nothing more than silliness. But now that the woods were before him, he wondered if there was some speck of truth to the speculation.

Did he dare to tread this path? He knew the tales of this wooded area well. But he craved excitement, and some primitive part of his brain urged him to take a chance. How could he write daring characters if he himself never took any chances?

Determined, he started down the path.

As the night deepened, a dense mist settled over the ground, and an eerie stillness enveloped the woods. The stars peeked through the branches, adding a touch of magic to his journey.

In the heart of the forest, where the thick canopy blocked out the moon and stars, he found a forgotten path. Warnings sounded in his head. He’d heard that those who had traveled this path had reported hearing whispers that seemed to come from nowhere, a soft murmuring that insisted they turn back.

The warm air carried the earthy scent of moss and the fresh aroma of pine, while the occasional rustling in the underbrush reminded him that he was not alone in this nocturnal world. His brain started to spin multiple scenarios. It was both a blessing and a curse of an author. All he needed now was some flickering lights, like ghostly lanterns, that led deeper into the woods.

He stepped onto the path, reminding himself that he wrote romance, not horror.

As the path wound deeper into the woods, the trees seemed to close in, their gnarled branches forming twisted shapes that resembled outstretched hands. Suddenly a thick fog obscured the way forward. Before his very eyes, the forest revealed its most haunting secret—a clearing where the trees dared not to grow.

In the center stood an ancient oak, its bark blackened by time and its limbs bare, as if scorched by fire. Was this the domain of the forest spirit, a sentinel who watched over the woods? Or just a burned patch of land?

Those who’d managed to return claimed that when the moon was just a sliver in the sky, a figure could be seen stalking the land—a warning to those who trespassed in the spirit’s realm.

Looking up, he saw that the moon was just that—a sliver.

He should not have come here. This place was not meant for him. He thought to retrace his steps, but the path had vanished, leaving only endless woods and underbrush. A shiver of unease crept up his spine. Amidst the silence, a voice, as soft as rustling leaves, whispered his name. Seized by fear, he fled, crashing through the underbrush.

There was a presence here, a heaviness that was felt rather than seen. Menace clung to his steps, making it hard to run. His breath sawed in and out of his lungs as something pursued him through trees—something huge. Harsh pants echoed behind him, tempting him to look to see what chased him.

He knew better. The rule was to never look back, to never make eye contact, for that was when the spirit took hold, ensnaring you in the woods forever. It was said the figure was never the same, that it took the form of your deepest fears, a manifestation of the darkness within your own heart.

He heard the beating of wings against the air currents. A primal scream of anger echoed through the night in front of him, just as something sharp sliced through his suit jacket. A gust of wind stirred the decaying leaves, tossing them into the air as he was knocked to the ground. Rolling, he tucked himself into a fetal position and prayed to whatever gods might be listening.

Grunts and growls.

Snarls and screams.

Inhuman sounds surrounded him as a fierce struggle unfolded nearby. Paralyzed, he could only lay there and whimper, his body refusing to obey his desperate commands to flee. The chilling sounds were a haunting reminder of the folly that had led him to this forsaken place. Each whimper that escaped his lips felt like an admission of his impending doom.

The darkness of the woods was oppressive, a tangible force that weighed heavily on his chest, making each breath a laborious task. The struggle nearby grew more intense, the sounds more frenzied, a symphony of chaos that played with his sanity.

What madness had driven him to venture into these woods? He was fully aware of the rumors of this place. But now, as fear gripped him, it seemed his desire for adventure was rather foolish.

The only adventure he sought now was the chance to get out of there in one piece and to escape the clutches of the unseen terror that lurked just beyond sight.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the sounds, to find some inner sanctuary where the terror could not reach. But it was futile. The ungodly sounds pierced his defenses, worming their way into his very soul.

Then something changed.

The sounds became more distant, and something told him this was his chance, his only chance, to escape. With a newfound resolve, he pushed past the fear that had claimed his body. Inch by agonizing inch, he willed his limbs to move, to drag himself away from whatever fought nearby. It was slow, excruciating progress, but with each movement, hope flickered brighter within him.

He would not succumb and become yet another whispered tale of warning. Scrambling up, he bolted anew. His heart hammered in his chest, a desperate rhythm. Branches lashed at his face and roots tripped him, but he pressed on.

Then silence. Eerie and complete.

Disturbed, he darted behind a tree. Chest heaving, he listened to the sound of flapping wings coming closer. Then something heavy landed.

Austin.

Auuuustin.

Something called his name.