Obsidian Veil Book One: tick-tock-tick-tock... time stops for no man

OBSIDIAN VEIL

tick-tock-tick-tock… time stops for no man!

Book 1:

Melina Casville’s life is almost perfect apart from a chocolate obsession that’s expanding her waistline, a tendency to talk to herself ... oh, and she’s recently attracted the attentions of a murderous stalker. What’s a woman to do when an evil entity comes a visiting? Not a darn thing! Not when she has more exciting plans diverting her attention, like the audacious invitation to perform all kinds of sinful naughtiness with the salaciously hot guy tucked-up in her bed. To paraphrase Baby Bear, Someone’s sleeping in my bed… pass me the handcuffs, I’m keeping this one.

Adamas Khalil has spent a lifetime concealing a secret, a child’s sordid memory that still lives and breathes within the man’s eroded psyche. Only one obsession has kept him from leaping headfirst into insanity: Melina Casville. He intends to love her, heart, body and soul. But what’s a guy to do when the woman adores her chocolate more than the man? Simple… promise to show her that a double-chocolate-chip-cherry brownie isn’t the only treat that tastes delicious when dipped in chocolate-fudge-sauce!

Hades Wolf a malevolent, shadowy figure resurrected back to life by the depraved, bloodied sacrifices of a self-proclaimed disciple. A sorcerer more powerful than Merlin and wickeder than the devil, Hades feasts upon the yummy flesh of mankind with scrumptious delight, yet still hungers for more. Over a century he has obsessively awaited his beloved’s return. But what’s a monster to do when a rival protects the woman like a warrior of ancient times? Destroy the repugnant bastard who dares lay claim to her! Hades resolve is unassailable. Hades intends to own Melina, heart, body and soul; like a pet she will learn to obey his every command. This time Hades will not be defeated. This time she will return his love!

Warning

The novella in its entirety is a work of fiction and, due to its content and subject nature, is intended for the mature audiences only i.e. 18 years of age and over. This novel contains: sexual scenes; strong language; images and acts of violence; and subject matters some may find offensive and/or of a taboo nature. Please do not read if you are easily offended.

OBSIDIAN VEIL

tick-tock-tick-tock… time stops for no man!

Paranormal Romance

~ Book 1 ~

Angels Amongst The Tombstones Trilogy

By

Roisian A. K. Shaam

DEDICATION

My many thanks to my best friend for the commercial advise, creative support and so many generosities that can never be repaid. May life bring you nothing but happiness, health and success.

And my beautiful friend, Gail, for her positive attitude, her lovely smile… and for introducing me to the X-Men & most especially Hugh Jackman… be still my beating heart!

And like many would-be-authors, my thanks and respect to my English teacher from Secondary School, Mrs Weisman, who still graded my work even when I’d exceeded the instructed word count, and her encouraging remarks.

Last but never least, my deepest love, and respect and thanks to my mum, for passing down her creativeness and self-confidence. And for allowing me to read those romantic stories despite the reading matter being a little too mature for my innocent minds. What can I say, what doesn’t harm you, makes you more creative.

God bless you all and fill your lives with love and laughter.

~ CHAPTER ONE ~

Divinity Emerald Virtue, multi-millionaire playgirl, philanthropic celebrity and media sweetheart, was dead.

Lovers, friends, business associates, and even mere acquaintances were simply inconsolable. In fact, some had believed the stunningly attractive socialite to be an immortal goddess who’d forsaken the heavens in order to suffuse their insignificant earthbound lives with her vitality and vivacity. The ultimate proof of her mortality had shattered that belief and left many devastated.

Except for Melina Cassville: In the three weeks since the pronouncement she’d tried her damnedest to feel a smidgen of grief, but the part of her heart that had once been obligated to Divinity remained pitifully hollow.

With determined effort, Melina put aside her morose thoughts, promising a scrupulous psychoanalysis of her defective emotions at some later date. Instead, she closed her eyes and momentarily indulged in one of her favourite, delicious fantasies: being dunked into a colossal bowl of velvety-smooth, chocolate-flavoured ice-cream.

The luscious daydream counteracted the sweaty, oozing grunginess that engulfed her from her stocking-encased toes to the follicles of her now uncontrollable frizzy hairstyle. All compliments of a blasting-hot summer’s day. July’s predicted heat-wave had finally arrived, mid-September, like a blistering discharge directly from the Devil’s nostrils.

Her eyes flew open as an utterly unexpected roar of thunder vibrated her eardrums. The ruckus was immediately accompanied by a frigid gust of wind that snapped and snarled at her heels. Disorientated by the simultaneous assault, she noted with perplexed amazement that the dazzling summer light had waned. Mountainous globs of storm-laden clouds veiled the sun. Continuous bellows of thunder pleated a sky misted a smoky translucence.

As if the wind had taken on form, chilled fingers raked over her scalp before entangling in the red silken scrunchy binding her hair. After a moment’s resistance the scrunchy was ripped away. Her length of wavy hair unravelled, causing the unleashed mass to whip at her face with stinging force.

A third, even more ferocious expulsion, shoved Melina flush into her companion.

What the fuck is your problem? Mr Grimes gingerly pushed away from the solid rosewood door of Divinity’s ostentatious mansion that Melina had accidentally caused him to head-butt. With a twist of his upper body, he shoved her away as vigorously as the elemental force that had caused her loss of equilibrium.

I’m sorry… the wind… lost my footing. Breathless, she teetered on black high-heels before righting herself.

Melina swiped her clammy face with the back of her hand. It came away moist and streaked with the purportedly smudge-proof foundation she’d applied earlier that morning. Bizarrely, she couldn’t take her eyes off her hand as she realised the sweat coating her knuckles and still bubbling upon her upper lip, wasn’t a result of the soaring temperature.

"I have known fear and I choose not to fear," she whispered. The quote, from inside a thirty-year-old, stale fortune cookie she’d found wedged between the floorboards in her bedroom, had become her life’s mantra.

Flicking back her dishevelled hair, Melina did what she always did when confronted by circumstances that dared blight the parameters of her reinvented life.

Ignored them.

It looks as if we’re in for a nasty storm.

On a beautiful day such as this? I think not, Mr Grimes stated, barely sparing her a glance over his shoulder.

She pointed upwards. Take a look at… but not so much as a wisp of fluff blemished the clarity of the cobalt-blue sky.

The air was now still. Too still.

No leaves stirred on the gnarled, centuries-old yew trees that stood to attention like a battalion of broad-shouldered, mean-tempered bouncers guarding the thousand acre estate. No birds twittered. No insects buzzed. The blades of grass adorning the verdant lawn had ceased their summer salsa.

And now that the lurid parties, rowdy music and boisterous laughter had come to an end, the magnificently restored, eighteenth century Virtue mansion—framed in the background by the famed undulating hills and vales of Bath—appeared lacklustre and sombre. Even the curvilinear granite sculpture of Pharzuph astride a she-wolf with Griffin wings; the fallen angel of fornication and lust; defender of the mansion from intruders and detractors, seemed to be paying homage to her deceased mistress. However, the black veil thrown over Pharzuph’s stone head made her appear brutally merciless instead of sorrowful.

Melina returned her attention to Mr Grimes, who, for the last fifteen minutes, had been absentmindedly thumbing through a bunch of keys. That one. She indicated a gold bar decorated with emeralds.

Mr Grimes scrutinized her through gold-rimmed spectacles sliding down his sweat-beaded aquiline nose. As if surprised to find her there, he blinked rapidly in confusion. His stubby, blond eyelashes appeared almost invisible in the sunlight. Oh… of course... yes… if you say so.

Rolling her eyes, she held back an unladylike snort. Not only did he know precisely which key fitted the lock, he’d used it almost everyday for thirty years. As well as being Divinity’s financial and legal advisor, he was but one amongst a surfeit of lovers.

Are you all right? she asked, noticing the sudden white-knuckled intensity of his grip around the key.

I simply cannot believe Divinity is dead.

I know. Lots of people seem to be just as stunned.

Humbug! Their loss is but a dewdrop compared to my ocean of grief. He presented a woeful image when his ear pressed against the wooden surface of the intricately carved front door. Shush. Listen. I can almost hear her enthralling voice… her enticing laughter. The hushed slither of sumptuous satin lingerie as she disrobes. His almost poetic words ended on a pitiful whimper. I suppose you’ve always known of the intimate nature of our relationship.

A little, Melina prevaricated. According to Divinity, though slight in stature, once shed of his garments, Mr Grimes was a rampant mongrel-of-a-dog; snuffling, gnawing, his long, wet tongue lapping at every available orifice. His lust threshold off-the-scale, he could allegedly fornicate for hours without respite.

Indeed. Divinity mentioned you were once her most treasured confidante.

For the first time, Melina noticed how much older Mr Grimes appeared. His bloodshot eyes were ringed by deep grooves of stress; his unshaven cheeks shadowed by several days’ growth. Incongruous to his stature and profession, he supported a waist-length, platinum-blond mane; habitually salon-styled and sleek, the mass now appeared straggly and matted. His blatantly expensive designer attire, hung limp on a haggard frame that had lost considerable weight over the weeks since Divinity’s death.

As a rule—thanks to a highly-paid personal trainer, a Thai masseuse who made home visits twice weekly and regular Botox treatments—he was usually able to pass himself off as being in his late thirties. He now looked every one of his fifty years.

I never really gave a damn about her other lovers... those disgusting, filthy, dirty, whoring gigolos. My heart and body, even my profession, were all dedicated to Divinity. I worshipped her not her money. Fierce eyes met Melina’s. Not that I regret one iota of the time I devoted to her. Only, now, I’ve come to realise, I’m absolutely alone. No friends. No family. No one to share my grief with. I never bothered to even ask the name of my housekeeper of two decades.

At times, Mr Grimes’ intent gaze made Melina’s skin prickle. And she detested that pompous tone he used when talking to her. Nevertheless, stepping forward, she placed a comforting hand upon his forearm. She’d personally experienced the demoralizing curse of loneliness and wouldn’t wish it upon anyone. If you ever need to talk…

Abruptly he yanked his arm out of her reach. Well, let’s get this over with. No doubt you wish to return to the revelry.

Melina shook her head in both denial and amazement. Divinity had pre-planed the celebration of her own death with an extravagant affluence that was fairy-tale-like, tear-jerking sentimentality and gaudy-to-the-extreme.

The funeral service held earlier that afternoon at the local Methodist Church, had been graced by four hundred official mourners from all four corners of the globe. The tally didn’t take into account the paparazzi, news presenters and camera crews. The general public had also congregated to witness the awesome spectacle of Divinity’s casket arriving in a glass carriage drawn by twenty horses—their coats dyed an emerald-green. From the carriage roof, three semi-clad, well-oiled hunks had showered freshly-minted gold commemorative disks into the crowd.

There had also been bodyguards and personal assistants. And in case of emergencies, a multitude of trained medical personnel on hand should that some VIP became hysterical with grief.

For the attending entourage was far from ordinary. Present were royal representatives from several nations and dignitaries from countries who were currently in conflict. Eight cardinals, several bishops, numerous billionaires and multi-millionaires had mingled with A-list celebrities and the highest-of-the-high in the music industry, from opera to heavy-metal; many of whose climb to stardom had been bankrolled by Divinity.

An Arabian sheik, a mere teenager at that, had yowled in grief while illegally chain-smoking Havana Cigars throughout the service. Fortuitously, he’d received copious comfort from his thirty concubines. The pungent, sickly-sweet aroma circulating the enclosed building had attested to the fact that he’d been sucking on a little something extra other than traditional tobacco.

A seventy-year-old African prince, resplendent in a swirling cloak of gleaming peacock feathers, had arrived with his own fanfare of drums. In honour of his deceased ex-lover, his flamboyant person glittered with emeralds embodying him from the crown on his head to the gems adorning his glass slippers. Rumours had even circulated that one of the cardinals was in fact a cigar-smoking, former American President in disguise.

Most important, the guests of honour and true loves of Divinity’s life—her godchildren. If anyone had missed the presence of her one blood-relative they’d all expected to attend without fail, no mention was made of it.

The mourners were currently whooping-it-up at a private party; celebrating Divinity’s life in the style that she’d lived: Expensively. Lavishly. Outrageously. Vociferously.

The elaborate post-funeral, no-expense-spared function was being held in a grand hotel that catered to the elite. Where, the private accommodations had once witnessed many of Divinity’s illicit liaisons. Lunch had been served on platters of gold piled high with appetizing delicacies. The tears and vintage champagne were flowing liberally by the time Melina was escorted away by Mr Grimes on an apparently important matter.

According to the party bulletin board, the festivities had merely begun. Before the guests became overly inebriated, a film on a cinema screen was to be shown: a recording by Divinity with personal messages to all her friends and lovers. To be ensued by an evening banquet fit for a god on Mount Olympus.

Wanting to put the fun back in funeral, Divinity had also pre-arranged numerous licentious party games with equally lascivious prizes