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This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Design: Joey Walnuts

Spell of Appalachia © August 2009 Molly Wens

eXcessica publishing

All rights reserved

Spell of Appalachia

By Molly Wens

Chapter 1

The soul grows weary. There were some who never suffered the long-term effects of emotional exhaustion, those who have known little unhappiness. They were the lucky ones, traveling through life, blissfully unaware of tragedy and pain, of the horror that hides behind a brave smile. Those who knew that torment could only hope for something, for some place that would offer them solace and give rest to their disillusioned minds.

Such was the case for Onida Burke. She needed the quiet of this mountain retreat to calm the desperate craving that gnawed at what little remained of her dwindling spirit. The cavernous void that prevailed echoed with the screams of that inner voice that silently cried out for something unnamed. The aching chaos of it warred with the reverberant, whispery stillness of the mountains that surrounded her sanctuary.

She inhaled deeply of the earthy dampness that surrounded this place. Anticipation for what might be ahead held her immobile in silent vigil. A small crumb of hope barely enough to feed her flagging resolve, kept her there in suspense. She prayed for those precious moments that were needed to sustain her—a necessity almost as essential as taking a breath.

This current visit—this escape—had begun no differently from her many previous trips. To get to this moment, clinging to the slim hope of one twinkling instant in time, she had forced herself to endure the immeasurable torment of anticipation in the long hours of darkness. Another seemingly endless vigil spent as a sleepless night found her standing upon the balcony in the pre-dawn mists. This was where reality and magic seemed to couple and clash. In the convergence was sired a realm where dreams ruled and mystical creatures stirred within the veil of the fog.

The cabin—her retreat—was huge and sprawling, made of native pine logs and oak paneling. It was built directly into the side of the mountain, and its great balcony overlooked the forested valley that stretched downward to disappear in the mists. She came here as often as time would allow.

In this world, she was no longer Onida Burke. She was no longer pulled in every direction by editors, agents, and publishers. No one knew her in this place. There was no scandal, no clucking tongues and pity-filled glances. Here, she was safe from the past, if not the memories.

Her soul needed the solace and peace that only this place could offer. The many long and secluded weeks she had spent here throughout the past years were all that kept the dark nightmares at bay. The seemingly magical healing powers of this sanctuary had quickly become vital to her sanity.

Wrapped in the soft cotton quilt she had inherited from her grandmother, she listened to the muted sounds of her hazy valley below. The quilt’s vibrant colors hailed the awakening day, urging it to burst forth into existence.

The resonance of her soul did not match the silvery music of the untouched morning; she was bone-weary and nearly crushed by the weight of what had happened almost two years before. That tiny ember of hope within, fading with each passing moment, threatened to suffocate as the awakening day approached.

She was lost in her musings when the air around her began to change. The sun had not yet brought in the filmy gray of dawn when an awareness crept along her spine and into her consciousness. It was a sensation that she had gratefully encountered on previous visits. She welcomed it now, voicing her relief in a faint sigh.

The hair at the top of her neck lifted, causing her skin to prickle. She tensed as a mockingbird trilled in the darkness. It was impossible to tell from which direction the bird called, so thick was the mist. This setting was becoming familiar, but it still never ceased to astonish her. Onida knew she was not alone.

He was suddenly there, soundlessly formed from the vapor that surrounded her. The power of his presence announced his silent passage into the physical plane. Before the first touch of his hands, the radiant heat emanating from his body warmed the back of her quilt. It was almost tangible in its intensity, this surreal energy that encompassed his presence.

Onida was afraid to move, fearing that the mere motion of her body would cause him to disappear as he had done so many times before. She knew it was him. No one else could invade her cognizance with such captivating urgency. It had to be him. Still, she dared not move.

As if by sorcery, the quilt lifted away from her shoulders and fell in a pool at her feet. The crisp morning air nipped at her through the thin white satin of her sleeveless nightgown. She shivered slightly, but soon became oblivious to the chill. It seemed an endless moment before there was actual physical contact. Was it really physical contact, though, when she could not be sure whether this was a living man, a phantom, or an invention of her lonely mind? When his hands finally settled upon the bare skin of her arms, his touch was cold as death and hot as the fires of hell. She responded with a rush of breath hissing through her parted lips.

The pain of the past months lay forgotten like the quilt at her feet. Her mangled soul ceased to ache as her body warmed under his touch. The two men lying in those graves weren’t tormenting her at present. Raw guilt no longer devoured what was left of her spirit. She had ceased to care, if only for this moment. All that mattered now was this haunting apparition, the one who held his tense body just inches from her own, whose hands rested so deliberately upon her flesh.

He had been here before. He had always seemed like an invention conjured by her mind when her need was greatest. But his touch had grown so lifelike. Was he real or not? It was a question she had never been able to answer. These meetings had been so few and fleeting, but all that mattered at present was that he was here now.

Her body’s need for him had become so great that there was no stopping it from melting under the heat of those amazing hands. She leaned back into him. A low moan escaped her lips as his arms slowly encircled her, his palms grazing her nipples through the thin cloth of her nightgown along the way. Again, there was a shiver working along her spine. Her need burned with the same fire as his touch.

He pulled her deeper into his embrace, the stubble on his face grazing the soft skin of her cheek. The pure potent essence of him intoxicated her senses; the smell of woodlands and rivers, of wind, rain, and morning dew.

The tip of his tongue traced the line of her jaw. Her knees began to buckle, and he supported her as if she weighed no more than the air from which he was formed. The sensation of his scalding flesh against her exposed back brought the obscure realization that somehow he had managed to remove her nightgown. She was past wondering, though, and cared little about the “how.”

He lifted her, carrying her to the bed inside the room off the balcony. As he laid her down, she caught her first glimpse of his luminous face. It appeared to glow with an extraordinary inner brilliance. His eyes burned with a passion that she knew must have been mirrored in her own face. She wanted to know him, his body, his heart, his mind.

His lips touched hers in a damnably fleeting kiss. Her mouth quivered, crying out for more. There was a challenging light in his shimmering eyes as he bent to offer a second kiss. This kiss was scorching, searing her very soul with its intensity.

He appeared to glide upward to hover over the bed before he descended to settle on top of her, the full weight of his body pinning her to the feather-packed mattress in delicious captivity. His hands roamed her body with the same frenzied hunger that she had only experienced in his arms.

His thumbs scraped her nipples and the flesh that surrounded them. Soon his mouth followed, adding fuel to the fire that he stoked so passionately. The flames curled in the pit of her belly and spread wildly throughout her being. This wraith, whose teeth so skillfully nipped at her breast, was her lifeline. She clutched his hair and arched against his mouth as moan after moan broke from her throat.

His mouth and hands wandered lower, exploring the pale skin of her rib cage and soft belly. Moist, hot kisses rained sweet torment upon her impassioned flesh. The fire only slowed in descent for a moment as he paused to savor her navel with his tongue.

His hands traced a path of flames along her hips as he resumed his downward quest. Her cry of pure pleasure pierced the stillness of the morning when his tongue found the cleft between her legs. He lifted her thighs, spreading them and pushing them up away from his head. His tongue, his lips, and his teeth worked together to create sensations that drove her to some primitive level deep within her subconscious, where only this tormenting pleasure existed.

So wrapped up was she in these supernatural sensations that she failed to realize the moment his mouth left her and his granite center found her. Her legs were about his ribs and her nails dug into the flesh of his back as he entered her, impaling her flesh in one powerful motion. His manhood was alive inside her, pulsing and pumping while driving her to the brink of a frantic state where only his body existed for her.

A desperate shriek burst into the pre-dawn air as the first wave of endless orgasm shook her. It was soon joined by his loud, feral growl as he joined her in climax. He drove into her harder and harder until finally, he collapsed over her, sated and emptied.

She remained immobile on the bed, all control over the muscles of her body lost to the complete fulfillment of his lovemaking, his unearthly, yet heavy, body panting on top of hers. Sapped of all strength, she could only yield to the power of the emotions that penetrated to her marrow. She felt a single tear escape her eye. He kissed it away, a tender gesture of endearment. Then his lips embraced hers, reaching to her very center. She prayed it would never end.

She voiced her disappointment in a moan as his lips left hers. He stood and looked at her in the first shadowy light of misty dawn that came in through the door. A burning smile crossed his lips—a smile that seemed to promise so much more.

Then he was gone, swallowed by the hungry mists of the mountain as they swirled over him. She sat clutching the soft cotton of the bed sheet against her breasts, watching as his body dissolved, the outline of him flying apart and dissipating into the surging fog.

“Don’t go,” she whispered.

Her shaky legs threatened to give way when she tossed the sheet aside to stand. It took all her strength to stumble out the balcony doors and into the clearing mists. He was nowhere to be found, just as always. All that remained was the fading song of a distant mocking bird.

The damp and chill of the dawn air finally drove her inside. She bent to retrieve the forsaken quilt along her way. If she had felt alone before, it was nothing compared to this acute hollowness that overpowered her now. A blackness settled on her soul that might have frightened her had she the strength to care.

She wrapped the quilt around her nude body and curled up in the center of the big feather bed. The cotton sheets still held his scent. She breathed deep of his fragrance. Dark emptiness tightened its grip on her. The woman knew that he would not return to her again this visit, and suddenly her refuge held no solace for her anymore; it was time to go home to try to face her life once again.

1Chapter 2

It had happened again. He knew as soon as he woke up, and because every muscle in his body felt as if it had been stretched to its fullest. He knew because he awoke naked. His cock, slick and wet, still throbbed as if it had just been joyously buried in the body of a woman.

He was too old for wet dreams, although that would have been the most logical explanation. He had never been known to sleepwalk, but even though it was mainly a malady afflicting youngsters, it had been known to start in later years, given enough stress. He nearly laughed as the ludicrous notion of being abducted by aliens for breeding experiments crossed his mind. The press would have a field day if it ever got out that he, Liam Cannan, the CEO of Cannan Enterprises was entertaining such ideas. In truth he had no idea what had been happening to him.

It first started less than two years ago. He had awakened at dawn in this very same condition. He had memories of a dream, or that’s what he had told himself at first, that it was an incredibly vivid dream. He normally did not remember the conjurings of his sleeping mind, but this one stuck in his memory; it was a dream that, in part or in whole, had been repeating these many months.

It was always the same woman. A woman he had never met or seen, at least not in the waking world. She had a beauty that was rare—chestnut hair that curled around her shoulders, and deep brown eyes that had fire behind them—a fire that could kill a man where he stood, or melt him into a blissful pool. Her skin was that of china, soft to the touch and the shade of fine paper.

Her body . . . he had seen her body in dream after dream. It was the body of a woman that men have desired for eons. Her breasts were full and round, with large, pointed nipples that stared her victims straight in the eye. Her rib cage made the perfect bridge from her magnificent breasts to her softly rounded stomach. Below her waist, she had an ass that called to him, an ass that screamed to be kneaded. Her legs were shapely and long. They met with the thinnest line of pubic hair. In his dreams he often had the occasion to see even more. Leave it to say this was a woman that he would have pursued to the ends of time in the real world, if only she existed.

All of the dreams took place in the same general location. One he had never seen while awake. It was a cabin in some backcountry, peaceful and secluded.

The dreams all started in different ways. There were times when Liam would see the woman in the cabin. Sometimes she would see him approach, other times not. But he would always approach. He could never stop himself from touching her. Sometimes she would be in the woods, walking, or lying on a blanket writing in a notebook. There were times he would find her in the stream nearby.

One thing the dreams all had in common was that he always wanted her. It was a want that went deeper than passion, deeper than sex. He wanted to become one with the woman. He wanted to know her and for her to know him, but for some reason, he never had a voice in the dream. Instead he used his body to try and communicate his desire. He would walk up behind her sometimes and gently stroke her shoulder or her face. She always seemed to feel his touch, even if she didn’t acknowledge his presence.