Haunted Mansion Beating Heart Bride Novels & Stories

Béatrice The darkness in the bedroom is a velvet veil, thick, almost liquid. It is perfumed with the faded roses of the wedding bouquet and the warm cedar of the dark wood dresser. I perceive his silhouette near the bed, a larger, wider mass than in the fleeting memories of family gatherings. My heart pounds a rhythm of panic so violent against my ribs that I feel nauseous. Each beat screams: impostor, traitor, unworthy sister. I am a ghost borrowing my sister's flesh, a shadow in her silk dress.

I nodded once, the fabric of the coat smelling of him—sandalwood and power—before I turned and stepped out into the night. — The Silas mansion was a tomb of white marble and secrets. As I walked into the living room, the grandfather clock ticked with a heavy, rhythmic thud that sounded like a countdown. Elena was already there, sitting on the velvet sofa as if she were the rightful queen of a kingdom I had built. As soon as she saw me, she stood up, her movements fluid and practiced. She walked toward me with a porcelain smile that didn't reach her eyes. “Oh, you’re back… here I was thinking you won’t come back home… So where did you go?” Elena said, her voice dripping with a fake, sisterly

CORALINA'S POV The heavy thud of the oak doors echoing through the registry hall is the only sound that remains after Maximus is dragged out. The silence that follows is thick, pressurized, and smelling faintly of the ozone his desperate Alpha scent left behind. I stand at the altar, my fingers curled so tightly around my bouquet that the stems of the white lilies begin to bruise. My heart is hammering against my ribs, a frantic, jagged rhythm, but it isn’t the heartbeat of a bride. It is the adrenaline of a survivor who has just watched her past be forcibly evicted.

Don't yield. ‎ ‎But I couldn't let her die. Not after we had just started to trust each other. ‎ ‎"I understand," I whispered. ‎ ‎"Good." Magnus signaled the guards. "Open the doors." ‎ ‎The massive oak doors of the Chapel groaned open. ‎ ‎The sound of the organ washed over us a thunderous, gothic melody that vibrated in my chest. The sanctuary was packed. Hundreds of wolves from the Bloodmoon and Iron-Claw packs filled the pews. They turned as one to watch the bride.

“Do it without a scratch or rip, right now, or I will beat your husband to death in front of you.” The sound of Camilla gasping for breath is the only noise in the room as Beatrice stares, not seeming to comprehend.

he declared. I sighed, reluctantly following him as he pushed open the door. The moment the door creaked open, a swarm of bats spilled out into the night air, their screeches echoing through the empty halls of the mansion. I instinctively ducked, letting out a small scream as they brushed past me. Damien barely flinched. “Come on,” he said, already making his way inside. “Hugh would’ve loved to see this,” he remarked casually. I trailed behind him, too afraid to be left alone in the dilapidated mansion. Every creak of the floorboards under my feet felt amplified, each shadow seemed to move, and my heart raced with every step.

I returned to my room to grab my diamond tiara from my nightstand and slid it in front of the messy, wavy updo the hairstylist gave me. A louder creaking sound echoed, and I yelped, turning around, but no one was there. Is this place haunted or something? I've never heard creaking in a mansion of this size, especially one mainly built of concrete and brick. I clutched my bouquet and went back out into the hall. Still no one. What the Hell was going on? The eerie darkness was not helping in the slightest. I began to make my way over to the stairwell when I froze. I didn't think this through. I should have gotten dressed in one of the guest rooms downstairs.

I woke to the sound of a heartbeat that wasn’t my own. It was a slow, heavy thrum that seemed to vibrate through the very mattress, a rhythmic pulsing that I felt in my own marrow. My eyes snapped open, the morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the master suite, casting the room in a hazy, golden gloom. For a moment, I forgot. I reached out, my hand brushing against skin that felt like heated marble. Then, the memory of the night before crashed over me. The claws. The fangs. The terrifying, beautiful distortion of the man I had married.

The idea of this monster touching her or owning her made my soul feel like it was on fire and then, something impossible happened as I felt a thump in my chest. I slowly placed my hand over my heart. I was shocked. My heart was beating. It was slow at first, then faster. Thump. Thump. Thump. How was this possible? Wasn't I dead? Wasn't I supposed to be a hollow shell with no soul? Dracula heard it too. He had super hearing, and the sound of my heart beating made him freeze. He let go of Ariana’s neck and turned to look at me with a dark frown.

The day before my wedding, I discovered my fiancé's close female friend had turned the church into a bloody haunted house. When I confronted my fiancé, Yves Laurent, he blamed me for making a fuss. After I called the wedding off, he suddenly regretted it. - I never expected that Yves Laurent—who always seemed so honest and steady—could harbor such a grim, macabre taste. Our wedding was tomorrow. The whole city's respectable families would be in attendance; if they saw a horror-show themed ceremony, they would mock me without mercy.