Shadow Spirit: A Steamy Paranormal Romance (Shadow Sisters Book 1)

Preface

The ominous clouds swirled in the dark and stormy sky, foreboding in their intensity. Shards of lightning cracked through the heavens, casting eerie, momentary illuminations on the darkened earth below. The skies were split with the keening wails of the banshees as they rode through the night. Their cries pierced through the roar of the wind—a sound both mournful and terrifying, a harbinger of imminent doom of the one who had been damned.

Out of the tumultuous sky, three shadowy figures emerged, riding a spectral chariot pulled by fire-breathing steeds that galloped along a ghostly path that wound through the very air itself. At first the banshees appeared as beautiful young maidens draped in ethereal gowns but as they came closer their aspect shifted from maidens to crones—precursors of death, draped in tattered, flowing garments that fluttered behind them like ghostly banners. Their faces were withered and pallid with otherworldly eyes that glinted with an eerie light. Their mouths were blackened caverns emitting the sorrowful piercing cries that had long been associated with death or doom.

As they descended from the heavens, the banshees moved with both grace and urgency, their spectral horses leaving trails of fire and mist in their wake. Their dire mission was to capture the soul of the one damned by their descendant and release it into the Shadowlands to wander in darkness forever. The cold air that preceded their approach was the very essence of their presence, draining warmth, hope and life from all they encountered.

The eyes of the mortals were riveted to the soul of their victim as it emerged from the body to which it had been bound, failing to notice the blackness that eluded them all as it abandoned the doomed soul and entered another—a wolf that was slinking away. But that was not the purview of the banshees who encircled the dragon-shifter’s soul, their wails reaching a fevered pitch, drawing it irresistibly towards them and away from the mortal plane. Gathering the soul close, their haunting cries were almost tender in their finality—both mourners and collectors of the departed.

The soul screamed in agony, wailing and desperately pleading to escape its fate. With their charge in tow, the banshees whirled their chariot around, disappearing into the clouds which evaporated behind them. As they disappeared from sight, the sky and landscape returned to its previous state, but an eerie silence lingered, a reminder of the spectral visitors who had come and gone.

Strode’s soul now pled for mercy, but there was none to be found on the edge of the Shadowlands. The banshees opened the ornate gates to the expanse before they forced his soul inside to wander in the darkness forever.

“Do you think she’s aware that she has only banished the soul of the dragon-shifter and not the darkness that had possessed him?” asked one.

“Doubtful. The evil saw the bringers of light and had already found its new host,” replied the elder. “They have no idea of the power and magic that the wolf has gained.”