Paranormal Erotica Read online

  PARANORMAL EROTICA

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  The Alchemist’s Apprentice – Rose de Fer

  The Candidate – Rhyll Biest

  Laura May’s Candy Man – Giselle Renarde

  Demonbound – Ellen Heights

  The Man at the Window – Elizabeth Coldwell

  The Girl in the Stable – Scarlet Rush

  For One Night – Torrance Sené

  Otherworldly Seductions – Kathleen Tudor

  The Best of Both Worlds – Morgan Honeyman

  Taste the Blood of Dracula – Chrissie Bentley

  More from Mischief

  About Mischief

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  The Alchemist’s Apprentice

  Rose de Fer

  Auren knew from her master’s frown that the potion hadn’t done what it was supposed to. It had smelled foul, like zombie flowers, and it had tasted even worse. But she’d obeyed without question when he gave it to her to drink.

  Although she was always curious what new magic she was participating in, it wasn’t her place to ask and wouldn’t be for quite some time yet. When Valtiori was feeling generous he shared his thoughts with her, and sometimes taught her how to mix simple potions. But she had learned early on not to ask, and his riding crop had reinforced the lesson.

  The first two years of apprenticeship involved building a relationship of absolute trust and obedience with one’s master. An alchemist had to know his secrets would be safe with the one who sought to learn them. So in the beginning an apprentice was merely an experimental subject, one to test spells and potions on. It was a dangerous business, meant to prove the mettle of the one seeking instruction and weed out the timid or unworthy. For Auren it was exhilarating. She loved the uncertainty, the frisson of risk involved in every new experiment.

  She’d always been adventurous, often even reckless. And her decision to train as an alchemist instead of becoming a temple priestess like her sisters had been accepted with disappointment and confusion by her family. Most baffling of all for them was her choice of teacher.

  Valtiori was not renowned for his kindness. He lived by himself high up on the mountain. He rarely ventured down to the village and when he did he never exchanged pleasantries. He conducted his business briskly, with cold politeness, and went on his way as soon as it was completed. There was always a ripple of unease whenever he appeared and a palpable sense of relief when he left. The townspeople spoke of him in whispers.

  Auren had loved him from the first moment she saw him. His scarlet robe swirled about him as he strode through the marketplace, examining calcinators and alembics and other tools of his trade and finding them wanting. He finally found a seller whose wares didn’t seem to disappoint him and he spent some time checking the glasswork for imperfections. The seller took a step back from his table, as though repelled by the sheer force of Valtiori’s presence. The alchemist had an energy about him, a quality of authority that had made Auren tremble as she passed by behind him, unable to tear her eyes away.

  She stumbled over her own feet and Valtiori turned his head slightly, to regard her as he might a tiny mouse that had scampered through his dining hall. His eyes were the arctic blue of glaciers, piercing and compelling even in their complete indifference to her. She felt pinned to the spot by his scrutiny. A little throb of heat went through her and she imagined that he could see right through her dress, right through her skin and even into her very thoughts.

  At last he turned his attention back to the table to inform the seller that his work was just acceptable. Auren felt abandoned, released from the bondage of his gaze. With a heavy heart she went about her own business, feeling morose and sullen for days afterwards.

  Something had passed between them in that single glance, something profound. She’d seen her fate in it. At first she dismissed her feelings as girlish fantasy, something Valtiori would be amused by. Or, worse, disdainful of. But then she recognised the moment for what it was. Destiny. They were meant to be together, as mentor and protégée, as master and servant.

  Something hot and hungry coiled in her belly, sending tendrils of pleasure through her limbs and into the damp hollow between her legs. It was a sensation she had never experienced before. She suddenly understood what her sisters had been trying to explain to her through their bashful giggles. They’d often teased her for her dreamy submissive nature and they’d tried to describe the feeling of lust, the burning in one’s loins. They told Auren she should submit herself to the palace to be a pleasure slave, that it would suit her more than temple work. And she had considered it. Until she locked eyes with Valtiori.

  The very next day she’d followed the long winding path up the mountain to the grand and forbidding house on the cliff. Valtiori had opened the door to her timid knock and regarded her sternly as she lowered her head and asked him in a meek little voice to accept her as an apprentice. She was sure she’d seen his lip curl slightly in a hint of a smile as he told her to come inside.

  The house was both austere and luxurious, with rich dark wood furniture and lavish soft rugs. She was taken to the laboratory, a vast room lined with high shelves that contained books, jars, bottles and boxes of raw ingredients. A scattering of dried herbs and dead insects covered one table where liquids bubbled and steamed in several glass containers. A barrage of strange smells assaulted her and her eyes were soon streaming with tears, blinding her with pain. That she bore it anyway was her first test, Valtiori had later told her.

  She was given a pallet in a corner of the room to sleep on, humility being one of the things expected of any apprentice. When she slept it was often with a heavy book in her arms, names of plants and their uses swirling through her dreams as she struggled to memorise them all. Valtiori would ask her about them in the morning and she would invariably confuse morticlaw with mandrake or moth venom with butterfly semen and he would tell her icily to raise her skirt and place herself across the table.

  He was a harsh taskmaster but in truth she savoured every stinging kiss from his riding crop. The punishment had a strange alchemy of its own, transforming pain into pleasure. She felt herself grow hopelessly wet each time she was made to expose herself and she couldn’t help the way her hips rolled in response to the pain. She absorbed it, felt nourished by it, and she found herself craving more. On rare occasions she even made deliberate errors to earn a whipping. She suspected she wasn’t fooling her master, however, as these contrived punishments were always distinctly more severe.

  The first time he poisoned her he gave her no warning at all of what to expect. She wasn’t even sure that he knew. But the burning sickness the potion induced kept her away from her duties – and her studies – for an agonising period that felt like years. Delirious, she stood apart from herself, watching herself as she lay wrapped in blankets by the fire and confessed her love for her master, her undying loyalty and her shameful lust. He listened quietly, without speaking, until she wondered if she had in fact died and become a ghost. But no, he responded to her words with kindness, telling her to sleep, to dream.

  And he was there in her dreams, undressing her, stroking her, examining every feverish inch of flesh and kissing away the bruises from her most recent chastisement. His fingers sought the dewy slit that hungered for sensation, tickled the sensitive little bud just above it. Her body was an experiment itself, he told her, his to play with. She gasped and spread her legs wide, eager for his touch, desperate for every new sensation, even if it was only a dream.

  Then his fingers were inside her, his palm pressed hard up against her sex. Colours burst behind her eyes and she ground her hips against him to increase the stimulation. Her nipple
s stiffened into taut little pebbles and he swept his fingers gently back and forth across them, sending jolts of ecstasy through her.

  She was there, in the moment, and at the same time she floated above the scene, watching. She knew her master’s ways intimately, knew each little twitch of an eyebrow or slight curl of his lip. And she had never seen him so tender before, so gentle and loving. He kissed her, pressing his warm lips to hers and enfolding her in his arms. He reached down to unfasten his trousers and she sighed with bliss as the warm hardness of his cock at last pressed against her cunt.

  Yes, he called it her cunt, spoke the word in his deep silky voice. Auren had never braved such a rude word, such a frank description. It was something only pleasure slaves and their masters were allowed to say. Perhaps this was another transformation, then. From village girl to apprentice, thence to pleasure slave.

  He dabbed her cunt with a slippery ointment he’d taught her to make from orchid nectar and honey. A single grain of pepper gave it the spicy tingle she felt spreading through her as he eased himself inside her inch by slow inch, filling her completely. She closed her eyes as she surrendered to him, wrapping her trembling arms and legs around him and clinging tightly as he fucked her. His apprentice, his subject, his slave, his lover.

  She lost herself completely when the pleasure reached its peak. Her body seemed to implode with the force of blissful sensation, leaving her panting, exhausted and dazed. She closed her eyes and basked in the diminishing little pulses, mesmerised by the sense that she was floating. When she opened her eyes some time later she blinked in confusion at her surroundings and realised she was back. Back in the world and back inside herself. She was curled up by the fire and Valtiori was sitting at his table, writing something in his leather-bound journal. Glancing down, she saw she was still wrapped in the blankets, still clothed in her nightdress. Had it all been a fever dream? She had never found the courage to ask.

  The memory had warmed her on cold nights when she lay alone on her pallet, kept from sleep by the distance between her and her master. She had never seen inside his bedchamber but she couldn’t help fantasizing about how it might look, what it might contain. A big comfortable bed, certainly, which she could slip into without waking him, to curl into his arms as a cat might do. But of course she had never dared. Such presumption might anger him enough to turn her out.

  Now, as this newest potion numbed her tongue and made her eyes water, she had the sudden terrifying thought that he could do much more than that if she ever truly displeased him. It was not unheard of for apprentices to perish as a result of the experiments of lesser alchemists. If he ever wanted to be rid of her it would be easy enough to achieve. No one would question such an ‘accident’. But even as she played the fear out to its morbid conclusion, to her sisters dabbing their eyes at her graveside, Auren knew her master did truly care for her. And it wasn’t her place to imagine herself occupying a grander station in his life than she already did.

  Valtiori muttered a curse under his breath and for a moment Auren feared he had read her mind. He peered closely into her eyes, not liking whatever he saw. Or didn’t see. He took her hand and laid it in his own, as though measuring her palm. Auren trembled as the contact made her pulse quicken.

  With no idea what he was looking for, Auren was powerless to help. The potion had done something to her, that much was certain. But unless he asked her directly, she knew she was not to offer observations.

  He turned away then and went to his desk, where he began writing something in his journal. Notes on the failed experiment, presumably. Theories on what ingredients were missing from the potion that would make it work.

  Auren listened to the scratch of his quill on the page and wondered what he had been trying to do to her. She had fantasies, of course. In one of her favourites she imagined him turning her into an animal, a little cat perhaps. One that could sit in his lap. He could stroke her soft fur as she purred and rubbed her head against his hand.

  She thought she could actually feel the vibrations of a purr as the numbing sensation spread from her tongue to her lips and down her throat. Then her body began to tingle. It was surprisingly pleasant and she closed her eyes as the sensation began to scurry through her veins and into her hands and feet. One sleeve slipped from her shoulder and she reached up to cover herself, surprised at the heaviness of the material. Her skirt seemed to be dragging the floor as well. She lifted her leg to kick free of it and her foot came out of her shoe with surprising ease.

  Opening her eyes, she was startled to see the polished wood of the table leg entirely filling her field of vision. Confused and disorientated, she looked down at herself in time to see her dress pooling around her like a mountain’s worth of fabric. She must have made a sound then because she heard her master’s chair creak as he turned to look at her. When he spoke his voice came from somewhere far above.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said, sounding pleased, ‘it has worked!’

  Auren’s fear vanished at once as she realised what had happened. She was not a cat, but she wasn’t much larger than one. And she was getting even smaller by the second.

  The floor shuddered with heavy footsteps and Valtiori towered above her, godlike in his sudden new stature. He was smiling.

  Naked, Auren clutched at the fabric of her dress, trying to cover herself. But it was too heavy to lift. Her underthings had slipped away as well, too large to fit her tiny frame. She wrapped her arms round herself, blushing to the roots of her hair.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, little one,’ Valtiori said softly.

  His voice sounded so different to her tiny ears. It was deeper and more resonant and it threatened to make her bones vibrate if he spoke too loudly. She peered up at her master, feeling more helpless and at his mercy than ever before. She pressed her legs together, sending a hot little pulse through her sex.

  Valtiori crouched down and held out his hand. She struggled free of the pile of clothing and climbed into his palm, trying in vain to shield her nakedness. She wrapped her arms around his thumb as he lifted her up off the floor. It was like being raised into the heavens and her stomach swooped at the dizzying sensation. He set her on the table and stood back to admire her.

  ‘Put your hands at your sides,’ he said. ‘Don’t try to cover yourself.’

  A hot blush burned her face and she averted her eyes. But she did as she was told, forcing her trembling arms down by her sides. She felt her nipples stiffen in the cool air, as though tightening under his scrutiny. It was all she could do to stand there, tiny and helpless and exposed, as he peered down at her as he might a captured butterfly.

  He picked up a magnifying glass and held it above her. It was the size of a cartwheel. She cowered for a moment before he sharply told her to be still. Then, in a cool and dispassionate tone, he instructed her to turn this way and that, to raise her arms and lower them again, to arch her back and bend in different postures. She was exactly the same as she had been before, only much, much smaller. And utterly helpless.

  Valtiori laid the glass aside and made some notation in his journal. She watched, mesmerised, as the feathery tail of the quill waved in the air high above her, like a tree in the breeze. He caught her fascinated gaze and a cryptic smile spread across his features. Then he lowered the feather to her and brushed it across her naked skin.

  Auren gasped at the silken caress, blushing as she felt her sex grow wetter. Her new size made everything different and wildly exciting. Boldly, she jumped up, grabbed the shaft of the quill and held on to it tightly as he lifted it – and her – up off the table. A bead of black ink welled at the tip of the quill and splashed on the table far below her. Auren hung suspended in the air for a moment before letting go and dropping back down. She stumbled and landed on her side, crying out in dismay at the cold shock of ink.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ Valtiori said, making no attempt to disguise his amusement. His eyes gleamed like twin moons. ‘Look what you’ve done to yourself.’

  She scr
ambled to her feet, brushing impotently at the ink and succeeding only in making herself dirtier.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ she mumbled, wondering if he could even hear her mouse-like squeak.

  ‘It’s quite all right, my girl,’ he said, ‘but we can’t have you looking like that, now can we? Unfortunately, you’re rather too small for the bathtub …’

  He looked around for a moment and then took a small bowl from one of the shelves. He poured in a little water and then crumbled some herbs over it, stirring the mixture with his finger until the dust had dissolved. ‘This should do.’

  Auren squirmed with embarrassment as her master picked her up and deposited her in the bowl. With his finger Valtiori gently rubbed at the ink on her skin. It came away easily and the water turned cloudy as it dissolved. He admonished her when she wouldn’t hold still and she did her best to obey. Then his finger slid up between her legs and he gently rubbed her sex. She gasped at the intense stimulation and lay back in the bowl, clutching the sides for support. He stroked her slowly and deliberately, sending shock waves of pleasure through her body.

  ‘So many wonders to explore,’ Valtiori mused. ‘I do wonder if the alteration in size has affected you in other ways?’

  Auren felt light-headed as she gazed up at him. His eyes danced with a playful light she had only seen once before. In her dream. And then she knew it hadn’t been a dream at all.

  Valtiori flattened his palm and she climbed into it. With a scrap of cloth he dried her roughly, then examined her closely under the magnifying glass to be sure he hadn’t missed any ink. Auren’s sex throbbed insistently as he teased her legs wide apart and prodded her gently with his finger. She couldn’t help the sudden image of what his cock would look like to her tiny self. Could she wrap her arms and legs around it and squeeze it tightly? Could she tease the head with her tiny hands and feel it twitch and harden beneath her? The thought made her even wetter and she was sure that he could see it through the glass.