Ghosting the Griffin: Monster Between the Sheets: Season 2, page 1
Ghosting the Griffin
Monster Between the Sheets Season 2
Violet Rae
Ghosting the Griffin by Violet Rae
Published by Violet Rae
www.authorvioletrae.com
Copyright © 2023 Violet Rae
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions, contact: violet@authorvioletrae.com
Cover by Elle Christensen Clover Book Designs
Editing & Formatting by Violet Rae
This book is dedicated to Piper Cook and Fern Fraser. Thank you for your unwavering friendship and support. So grateful to be on this journey with you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Bonus Content
Chapter 1
Xander
The wind whistles in my ears as I navigate the skies with the powerful beat of my wings. I glide down, using the resistance of the air to slow my descent gently. As I prepare for landing, a mix of anticipation and calm settles within me.
A subtle vibration travels through my body as I land softly on the dirt road, reaffirming my connection to the earth. I fold my wings against my back, neatly tucking them into a hidden groove. This seamless transition allows me to move and interact with the world freely and blend in with my surroundings. Having my clothing purpose-made to accommodate my wings costs me a small fortune, but it's cheaper than constantly replacing my wardrobe.
Traveling under the cloak of night is my favorite time to fly, when I can glide on the slipstreams as the cool air bathes my body. The night would be chilly for most, but the pelt covering my body ensures I don’t feel cold. Not the way I used to when I was fully human.
The moon appears from behind the clouds, casting its silvery glow over the guest house at the end of the weed-strewn gravel driveway. From this angle, the simple clapboard house slumbers lost and lonely in the eerie moonlight.
A sudden kinship for the place envelops me, which is crazy. It’s cold and empty, yet it tugs and pulls at me, demanding something of me—what, I'm not sure yet.
Stories swirl around town, overblown tales of ghosts who haunt this guest house. It's the last place I should be, considering the tight rein I keep on my "gift," but my friend, Gregor, talked me into this renovation project. He and Jace are the two real friends I have in this town, and there's not much I wouldn't do for them.
Coming to look at the place under cover of darkness suits me and means I’m less likely to run into anyone. Screaming Woods has become far too fucking "peopley" for me since the influx of tourists and homebuyers wanting to gawk at the "monsters.”
I’m most comfortable staying close to my cabin, protectively camouflaged deep in the woods—or I was until Gregor persuaded me to help him overhaul the guest house he ran with his sister before... well, before everything went to shit in a heartbeat.
To say Screaming Woods isn't your average town would be an understatement. The "monsters" created by a Halloween punch gone wrong now happily co-exist with humans. Some have even found love, like Gregor. He was transformed into an ogre that fateful night and, like me, withdrew to the woods to live a solitary life—until Arya came along. Now, they're expecting their first child. Gregor still likes solitude, but he's not as reclusive as he used to be, and he and Arya regularly visit town, usually for supplies for their baby.
The Frankenpunch also did a number on me. Sprouting wings, feathers, and talons was no walk in the park, but at least I don't have Jace's problem. He was transformed into a satyr with a bonus—a boner. Having a perpetually perky penis sounds like fun, but the poor guy can’t get any relief unless he finds his “fated mate” and declares their love for each other. Good luck with that. Love is overrated. Been there, done that, and had my heart ripped out.
As I draw closer, the moonlight hits the base of the guest house, revealing the peeling paint, rotten boards, and a porch overtaken with grass and weeds. When my foot hits the bottom porch step, a chill crawls up my spine, causing my wings to twitch even though they're tucked away.
It's as if the guest house constricts and takes a deep breath like it’s been waiting for me. Like my fate awaits me beyond the warped front door. Which is fucking ridiculous. It's an inanimate object. Houses don’t breathe, yet the urge to turn and fly from this place is intense. Not because I'm afraid of things that go bump in the night. No, it's because my instincts scream that my life will never be the same once I step over the threshold.
I walk up the remaining steps and stand on the weather-beaten porch. Paint peels in slivers from the wood cladding and coats the porch floor, and the tall windows on either side of the door are caked with grime and dust. What did this place look like before it was ravaged by the elements?
If it were up to me, I'd repair any structural damage, replace the broken windows, and give the exterior a fresh coat of white paint. I'd install outdoor lighting and a swing to relax with a beer while the sun sets.
Shrugging off my fanciful thoughts, I open the front door and step inside. My enhanced vision allows me to see the interior easily. I'm in the foyer. A reception desk sits between a split staircase that rises on either side to the upper level, where the bedrooms are presumably located. The place looks relatively undisturbed, with a few pieces of furniture scattered around, covered in white sheets, and a chandelier hanging from the ceiling.
There's something odd about the light that I can’t put my finger on until I realize that nothing is casting a shadow. The strange light gives the space a sepia-toned hue like a faded photograph. The interior is decorated in drab shades of gray and cream.
Things happened here—dark things. I know it the same way I know my name. I should've listened to the internal voice that told me to fly far from this place. But I couldn't. As soon as I saw the guest house, it drew me up the gravel driveway like a fish reeled in on a line.
A creak has my eyes flying to the right-hand staircase. The banister is broken in several places, but that's not what catches my eye.
A woman slowly descends the staircase. She's wearing a white nightdress, and her legs and feet are bare. She flickers in and out like an image on a TV screen as if fighting through an invisible barrier and into reality. Is she real? Ghost? Wraith? Or a figment of my imagination?
Fuck, she's beautiful. Otherworldly.
Long, glossy black hair. Ocean-blue eyes that seem to pierce me to my soul. Her nightdress blends almost perfectly with her alabaster skin and does nothing to hide her generous breasts and rounded hips. She reminds me strongly of someone, but I can't grasp who.
My body seems to recognize her, too, if my stirring cock is any indication. I must be a sick fucker because I'm getting a boner from a damn ghost. My reaction isn't something I can control or explain, but everything in me screams that I know this woman on a fundamental level.
I turned my back on all this ghostly woo-woo shit when Lucia, my fiancée, left me a month before our wedding. Looking back, my "sight" was always an issue between us. She couldn't deal with me seeing things others couldn't.
We were visiting a friend of my late father's, who invited us to the Halloween party that altered the course of so many lives. Lucia didn’t drink the fucked-up concoction that changed the rest of us, but my being transformed into a griffin was the final straw for her. She didn't want to be with "a monster who sees dead people." Her words. They hurt like a motherfucker. She carved up my heart and handed it to me on a plate before she left without a backward glance.
Returning to my old life was impossible after that, so I stayed here among others who suffered the same fate.
And now I'm being pulled back into a world I've tried so hard to deny. I knew there was something off about this damned place when I saw it. And the ebony-haired beauty before me is proof that my instincts were right.
When her hand grips an area of unbroken banister, she loses her transparency and becomes corporeal. Her feet are soundless on the floor as she walks toward me, and her hair flows behind her as if suspended in water. I can’t take my eyes off her. She’s terrifyingly beautiful.
My wings twitch at my back, itching to unfurl to their full span, a protective instinct since I was transformed. I thought I'd buried the part of me that saw spirits deep, unwilling to let it consume me. I refused to see the ghosts wandering aimlessly in Screaming Woods and ignored their pleas for help when they realized I could sense their presence. I lost too much to my so-called gift, not to mention the Frankenpunch.
But this beauty has slipped beneath my walls and unearthed my secret. Something tells me there will be no burying it again. Much as I've denied it, I'm as far from "normal" as it gets these days.
I force myself to meet her eyes. "Who are you?”
The woman jerks in surprise and halts a few feet away. Her eyes widen in shock. "You... can see me?"
My gaze narrows on her, and I nod slowly.
"You are the first person to see me in y
Her eyes hold mine, and the loneliness I see in those ocean-blue depths makes my chest ache. A sense of familiarity tugs at my mind again like a loose thread.
“Who are you?” I repeat.
Her expression is distraught. “The only things I remember are my name and that I am cursed. Everything else is gone, shrouded in gray mist. I know the memories are there, but I cannot access them. I do not know why I am trapped here. But I know you can see me when no one else can.”
I pause to absorb her words. "What is your name?"
"Galina Oborin."
Galina? Oh, shit. Now I know why she seems so familiar. She has the same accent, blue eyes and ebony hair as her brother.
Galina is Gregor’s missing sister.
Chapter 2
Arya
A memory pulls at my subconscious. I know this male, but I cannot grasp how.
He is like no man I have ever seen. His high cheekbones and strong forehead are framed by a glorious mane of golden-blond hair, giving him a leonine appearance.
Brown feathers gilded with gold trail down the strong column of his neck and disappear into the tailored black shirt he's wearing with ripped jeans. Do those feathers extend across his wide chest? Or is the rest of his body covered with the velvety pelt of his muscular arms? Both feathers and fur shimmer as if lit from within.
He is huge, the epitome of strength from his broad shoulders and barrel chest to his powerful legs encased in jeans. His hands are massive, their latent strength evident as he flexes them at his sides.
His stunning physique would make many men envious. I may be trapped somewhere between life and death, unable to touch or be touched, but I can still feel things. Looking at him causes my nipples to tighten and a throb to spark between my thighs—stirrings of desire I never experienced in life.
I realize I’m ogling him, and if I could blush, I’m sure my cheeks would flame with embarrassment. Lord knows what he must think, but I have not seen anyone in... I frown. I have no idea how long it has been since I last saw another living being apart from this oddly-beautiful looking man. I feel like a starved woman suddenly offered a banquet. And this man is the most delectable morsel I've ever seen.
But Xander is not the only mythical creature living in this place. A huge, gray-skinned ogre visits him here from time to time. There’s a familiarity about him that I cannot quite place.
"Who... What are you?" I stutter.
His striking silver eyes meet mine. "My name is Xander. I'm a griffin."
"A griffin? Isn't that a mythical creature with the head of an eagle and the body of a lion?" She tilts her head to peer behind me. “No tail?”
"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you drink a fucked-up punch at a Halloween party. Turned me into a fucked-up griffin."
"Halloween party?" I stagger back as the words trigger a memory. Children. Laughter. Music and dancing. Twinkling lights in a town square. Drinking a concoction that made me wondrously giddy, and then... nothing.
"Are you okay?" Xander asks, reaching out instinctively to steady me. His fingers are tipped with razor-sharp talons, and I watch in fascination as they retract at will.
I know his hands will clutch at thin air. I haven't been touched or able to touch anyone for years. But I'm shocked as his hands grasp my arms firmly for a split second before passing through me, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake. The sensation is... stimulating, infusing every cell in my body with energy.
Xander rears back like he's been electrocuted. "Jesus, what the fuck was that?"
"I... You can touch me?" My voice is breathy with wonder. A thrill of hope races through me. Perhaps a remnant of life still flows inside me because that too-brief contact made me feel... alive.
"It was like an electric shock," he says, looking at his hands as if they hold the answer.
Oh, how I want those hands to touch me again! My heart aches to repeat the connection with another after so many long, lonely years.
Xander stares at me intently. "What the fuck just happened? How can I touch you if you're dead?"
"I do not think I am dead, not in the way we understand it. But I am cursed to a kind of half-life," I say quietly.
"Cursed?"
I shrug. "Yes. I am neither alive nor dead but stuck somewhere in between. The truth is, I do not know what I am.'
"Who would want to curse you?"
"Again, I do not know. Most of my memories are gone. I know I was happy before this and had a family who loved me, but it is a deeply rooted "knowing" rather than a tangible memory. I am trapped in this house, and I do not know why, but this place feels like a part of me. I think whatever happened to me occurred here."
Xander's silver eyes soften with something like sympathy. "Are you... alone?"
"Other spirits linger here, but they are hazy and indistinct as if they passed long before me and have almost faded into insignificance. I... think I am heading for the same fate because, with each passing day, I fade a little more. I am unsure how much longer I have until I disappear completely, lost to the ether, reabsorbed into the energy of the universe."
Xander's eyes bore into mine as if trying to see into my soul. "Why me?"
I drop my eyes from the intensity of his gaze and shrug. "It is obvious you have the Sight. You are all to see spirits, ghosts, wraiths, whatever you wish to call them. Those who have not passed on. Perhaps–” I lift pleading eyes back to his–"you can help me."
"Help you what?" he asks skeptically.
"Move on to the next life. Find peace. The idea of simply fading into nothingness terrifies me."
Xander's brow furrows as he contemplates my words. A war is being waged behind those silver eyes. Finally, he says, "I'll try. But I'm not making any promises."
"Thank you," I whisper.
Xander nods, his eyes flickering over my form. "We should try to find out what happened to you. Maybe if we can uncover the truth, it will help you move on."
I nod eagerly. "Yes, but how?"
Xander pauses, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I have an idea. I know someone who may be able to help."
"Who?"
"Dr. Karloff."
My teeth worry my bottom lip as an image of an older man with disheveled hair flashes through my mind. "I know that name. Is he the one who made the Frankenpunch?"
"Yes. You remember?"
Amorphous memories tickle my mind before blowing away like smoke in the wind. "Just vague images. When you mentioned the Halloween party earlier, it triggered a memory. Of dancing in a town square with children laughing and music playing. And then there was chaos and lots of screaming."
"That was the Halloween party where those of us who drank the punch were transformed."
Was I a victim of the punch? While others were growing wings, claws, and horns, was I unfortunate enough to be transformed into a ghost and trapped here for eternity?
“I…I think I was at that party and drank the punch. Do you think it turned me into this?" I gesture at myself. "Is that why I am forced to relive my death every night?"
"Who knows? The Frankenpunch has affected everyone differently. One guy was made invisible, and I can't see him. But I can see ghosts. Dead people. And if you're not a ghost, not dead, what are you?" He frowns and pauses. "Seems strange that we were at the party but didn't see each other. Although the whole town was there, so I guess it's not surprising,” he says, answering his own question. He shakes his head, sending his golden mane swirling around his face. "Something doesn't add up. My gut tells me there's more to this than you drinking the Frankenpunch."
I shiver at the dark implication in Xander's words. "What do you mean?"
