Copyright Information
THE MONSTER'S GROWL
by Roh Morgon
Published by Dark Dreams Publishing
December 2011
Copyright 2011 Roh Morgon
All rights reserved
Cover photo by Eti Swinford, courtesy of Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Bruce Gray and Roh Morgon
https://www.darkdreamspublishing.com
Publisher's Note
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, or incidents are the product of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
The Monster's Growl
About the Author
Other Titles
Excerpt from Watcher: Book I of The Chosen
Copyright and Publisher's Information
The Monster’s Growl
Carly buried her face against the broad, leather-coated back, the night wind snatching at her hair and ripping tears from her eyes. The thunder of the black Harley drowned out even her thoughts as Janos twisted the throttle to pass a line of traffic. The bike lunged forward and she tightened her grip around him while red taillights streamed by at lightning speed. Blinding headlights flashed off the big bike’s mirrors as they shot past the cars and leaned back into their lane.
Adrenalin pumping through her in rhythm with the engine as they sped down the highway, Carly thought back to earlier in the evening.
~ ~ ~
The big blond biker was the hottest thing that ever walked into the little bar on the edge of town. When he sauntered over and put his quarters on their pool table, he altered everyone’s game. Marsha grew quiet and began playing serious for a change, and Deb lost her bored-with-everything attitude, shooting as though her life depended upon it. The clack of the balls against one another was the only sound that broke the desperate silence in their little corner of the bar.
But Carly managed to beat them both, and when the biker shoved his quarters into the table slot, her heart was pounding. He straightened, his chest and shoulders straining against the black t-shirt beneath his denim cutoff vest, and she realized that all three of the girls – herself included – were holding their breath. None of them could take their eyes from him as he racked, his arm muscles rippling while he deftly flipped the balls into their proper places. When he pulled the rack off, his steel blue eyes looked up into hers. She nearly dropped her pool cue.
"Are you ready?" he asked, a mysterious smile playing about his full lips.
She gulped and nodded, then proceeded to shoot the worst game of her life. She couldn’t quit staring at his biceps as he shot, nor at his chiseled face framed by shoulder-length blond hair. The excited whispers of Marsha and Deb behind her only made it worse. And when it was her turn – forget it. Even though he stood silent, holding his stick in front of him as he watched her attempt to shoot, her awareness of him and his quiet confidence completely blew her focus. She missed shot after shot, and it seemed like only a matter of minutes had passed before he called the pocket and sunk the eight-ball.
But all thoughts of losing evaporated when he asked her if she’d like to go for a ride. She didn't even hesitate as she stammered her acceptance. She barely had enough presence of mind to turn, weakly smile, and wave to her friends as he held the front door open for her.
Carly stood back and watched, wide-eyed, as he gathered his hair into a ponytail and shrugged on his black leather jacket. He straddled the big chopper and with one powerful kick, the metal beast roared to life, startling her with its throaty growl. The deep pounding of the pistons as it idled both excited and scared her, but not as much as Janos' smile as he invited her to climb on behind him.
She struggled onto the rumbling monster and was shocked at the vibration drumming between her legs. Having nothing else to hang onto, she gingerly placed her hands on the sides of his waist. He reached down, grabbed her arms, and wrapped them tightly around him.
"Are you ready?" he yelled over his shoulder, a half-smile tugging at his full lips.
She nodded and he grinned, revving the bike several times. He reached down by his leg, yanked the shifter, and the metallic monster lurched into flight. She clung to him, thrilled and terrified at the same time, as he raced through the gears, each shift threatening to tear her from her precarious seat. She became lost in the storm of their passage as her world shrunk to the sound of Harley thunder and the rush of the clawing wind.
~ ~ ~
Carly shook her head, questioning her rash decision. She’d never done anything this impulsive. She usually had trouble just giving a guy her phone number. But to leave with a guy she’d barely met? Not like her. Not like her at all. She smiled at the thrill that ran through her as she contemplated her ride on the wild side. Maybe that’s because no one this intriguing had ever asked her before.
The rumble of the engine slowed its tempo as Janos braked to turn off the highway onto a dark country road. Carly felt the first stirrings of doubt as he guided the bike through a series of lonely, tree-lined curves. After several miles, he downshifted again and turned into an unlit driveway. As the pulsing gallop of the engine echoed into the night, her heartbeat sped up, half in anticipation and half in fear. He pulled up in front of a darkened house, shut off the engine, and leaned the bike onto its kickstand. The silence that assaulted her ears was almost painful after the incessant roar of the big Harley.
Her nerves stretched taut as Janos made no further movement. The engine and pipes snapped and popped in the languid air as they cooled, and with a creak of his leathers, he finally stirred. He patted her arms that were still clamped around his waist, and feeling stupid, she released her death grip on him. He stood and shifted forward, allowing her to set a foot onto the ground and swing her other leg over the back of the bike.
She hugged herself and moved back as he dismounted and pulled his leather gloves off. Without another word, he turned and walked up the porch steps. Carly glanced around into the encroaching night, then biting her lip, followed him. He was holding the door open, waiting for her. The mysterious look in his eyes had been replaced with something else – something primeval. But instead of this scaring her, it triggered images of him naked above her. Electricity running through her veins, she quickened her pace and walked past him into the dark house.
Carly flinched at the loud snap of a switch and the dim yellow glare from an overhead light. As she turned to look at Janos, he smiled and walked up to her. He reached out and smoothed her hair, his blue eyes locked onto hers. She felt helpless in the steely fire of his gaze and offered no resistance as he began to undress her.
Stepping back from his handiwork, he stood and thoughtfully surveyed her naked body. As his eyes reached hers, she recoiled at the raw hunger in his expression. Darts of fear shot up her spine as his once-blue eyes changed color, becoming blood red.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his broad smile revealing the deadly fangs behind those full lips.
Her scream shattered the quiet of the night as the cooling Harley settled into silence.
The Monster's Growl is a short-short story from the Monsters in the Machines collection. More information on the other stories in this collection can be found in Other Titles by Roh Morgon.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roh Morgon discovered the magic in stories at an early age, both in books and the ones she made up in her head. Her years spent in the lofty mountains of Colorado and the stark plains of Wyoming, the red canyons of central Arizona and the rolling hills of California, provide some of the diverse s
tages upon which her characters re-enact their lives.
Roh currently shares her home in California's Sierra Nevada foothills with three mustang horses, two crazy herding dogs, and a very patient husband who frequently reminds her of the need to eat and sleep. She writes fantasy and horror for middle grade, young adult, and adult readers.
You can find Roh online on her website, www.rohmorgon.com, her blog, musings of a moonlight writer, and on Facebook.
OTHER TITLES BY ROH MORGON
THE CHOSEN
Watcher: Book I of The Chosen (see Excerpt)
Sunny Martin's been a monster - or so she thinks - since the night she was drained of her blood and left for dead, but when she falls in love with Nicolas, the mysterious leader of The Chosen, she discovers a startling truth behind her savage nature which may force her to choose between her heart and the last remnant of her human soul.
Runner: Book II of The Chosen (Spring 2012)
Sunny Martin faces her worst fears when her choice between two worlds means the death of someone she loves in this sequel to Watcher.
The Last Trace
Trace Tasman's life as a mountain man in 1842 Montana takes an eerie turn when he encounters a strange, red-eyed woman in this tale of a hunter becoming the hunted.
MONSTERS IN THE MACHINES
Short Story Collection
The Seduction
The first time Erica saw the black, low-slung sports car, she felt its sensual pull deep in her soul – but when it began whispering promises to her, she thought she was losing her mind.
Hellbound Train (Spring 2012)
A gambler's winning hand in a high-stakes game may cost him more than he's willing to pay.
Available from
https://www.darkdreamspublishing.com
Predator. Killer. Monster.
The words echo in Sunny Martin’s head each time she looks in the mirror. Since the night she was torn from her car and drained of her blood, Sunny’s fear of the hungry beast within her is rivaled only by the fear of exposure.
Her lonely struggle to survive on the edge of the human world leads Sunny to the mountain peaks of Colorado where she meets Nicolas, the enigmatic leader of a hidden society.
Their passion, tainted by betrayal, violence, and murder, reveals a shocking truth behind Sunny's savage nature and drives her toward an agonizing Choice between her heart and the last remnant of her human soul.
WATCHER EXCERPT:
I watch my daughter, the sunlight dancing across her long dark hair, cradle her swollen belly and kneel to place the flowers on my empty grave. Pink carnations this time ... last year was red roses; the year before, golden mums.
Her shoulders quake with her sobs and, swallowing, I fight to stifle my own. Her lips move as she whispers to the flower-strewn ground, but I'm too far away to hear her precious words. Throat tight, I struggle to remain still, hidden by the large eucalyptus at the other end of the cemetery.
She caresses my name etched into the grey granite, tracing the letters one by one before wiping the tears from her cheeks. Her fingers touch her lips, then the top of the cold hard stone.
My own fingers clamp against my mouth and smother the impulse to cry out to her.
She looks so much like me – the me I used to be. Tall, willowy, she's become a woman since I disappeared five years ago and soon, to my surprise, will become a mother. The inferno of emotions ignited by her pregnancy threatens to devour me and I do not think I can remain quiet much longer. For once, I hope she will end her visit soon and leave.
She stands and turns toward her car. A breath of summer wind lifts a few dark strands of her hair and they float for a moment, waving goodbye.
Her scent reaches out to me and triggers memories of our brief life together. Seventeen years was not enough – not enough time to share with her, to hold her and teach her and tell her how much I love her. In a flash of anger I curse the evil creature that stole me away, leaving my daughter to finish growing up alone, and leaving me ... leaving me no longer human.
My chest heaving, I watch her drive away, then step between the markers and cross the lawn to my grave. Once again, I read the inscription on my headstone:
Sunshine Collins
Beloved Mother and Best Friend
October 10, 1969 –
Trembling, I rest my fingers where hers last touched, press them softly against my lips, and whisper, "I love you, Andrea."
SUNDAY
"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you ..."
Wincing, I try to block out the song from the party in the back room of the bar and reach down into the cooler for three bottles of Bud. I twist them open and set the beer on Sally's tray.
"Thanks, Sunny!" Sally grins, her blond curls bouncing as she turns and walks away.
Birthdays.
I ... hate them. My daughter's twenty-second was yesterday, and I couldn't be there to share it with her, anymore than she can share mine with me.
It's pretty hard to celebrate birthdays with a dead person.
A filthy comment and raucous laughter rise above the club din and my pity party evaporates. I look up in time to see which foul mouth spews the next obscenity – and realize its target is Sally.
Oh, hell no. Apparently their earlier warning wasn't strong enough.
The buzz of voices and clink of ice in glasses fades as I move out from behind the bar and step to the table where Sally is standing, her mouth and eyes wide.
I glare down at the jerks sitting at the table.
"You need to leave." I wait, but they make no movement. "Now."
The spike-haired punk, pale eyes shining with an unnatural glint, tips his chair back and makes a show of drinking his beer. His two buddies glance at him and guzzle the last of theirs.
An empty bottle slams down on the table.
Everyone in the bar jumps, turns to look, and a shroud of silence descends over the room. The chair legs thud against the wooden floor as he rocks forward. He wipes his mouth with a tattooed hand, then springs to his feet, knocking the chair over. Pierced lip curled into a sneer, he steps toward me and tenses as though he's going to swing.
I lean forward, nails ready and low at my side, and stare him directly in the eye. As the pink haze drops over my vision, a growl slips out, just loud enough that only he can hear.
His blue eyes widen as he looks into the faint red of mine and, blanching, he freezes. Fear dances across his face and he slowly lowers his fists. He drops his gaze, shifts back, and lets out his breath. As he glances around at the watching crowd, he scowls and curses, then shoots me an ugly look. But he avoids meeting my eyes. One look at the beast peering out of them must have been enough.
Lenny trips and swears as he comes out from behind his end of the counter. The punk straightens his jacket as he stares past me toward the approaching bartender.
"Let's bounce. This dump is killin' my buzz." He leans sideways and spits on the floor.
Chairs scraping, his buddies stand, then follow him as he turns and saunters out the door.
A collective sigh weaves through the room once the doors swing shut. I close my eyes and try to breathe calmness back into my body as the crazed beast within rages in frustration.
"Oh, Sunny. Girl, I thought he was gonna hit ya," says Lenny, a few feet behind me.
"It's a good thing he didn't." Relief crawls in as I raise my eyes to cleared vision.
Because if he had tried, it would have been all over. Everything I've built here. The stable life, the friendships – all gone in an explosion of red violence.
Shaken, I turn and head back to the bar. Sally stops me as I step behind the counter.
"Thanks, Sunny. I'd had enough of those creeps." The perky little waitress smiles up at me, her soft brown eyes bright with unshed tears. Her first week here hasn't been easy.
"You're welcome. You don't need to put up with that crap." I glance at her, flash a quick smile, and force the beast to quiet down and myself to relax. Appar
ently Sally, who was closest to the table, hadn't noticed the scarlet that briefly flamed in my eyes, so hopefully neither did anyone else.
Except, of course, the spike-haired punk. A chuckle escapes my lips.
"All right folks, show's over," Lenny announces from his end of the bar.
The nightclub resumes its normal clamor as people talk and laugh about the little standoff. Someone feeds the jukebox and Queen's 'Champions' floats through the air.
"Good job there, Sunny." Walking past me, Lenny grabs a bottle from the back shelf.
"No problem." It could've been, though. A big one.
"But I shoulda handled it. You might've been hurt." He stops. I can feel his eyes on me.
"I can take care of myself. You don't need to worry about me." Emptying the red slush of a strawberry daiquiri into a wide-mouthed glass, I grit my teeth and shake my head.
The only thing he should worry about is me losing it and tearing up his bar.
~ ~ ~
The fresh, sea-laced air is a welcome relief from the stale smell of alcohol and humans. I take another deep breath as the bar door closes and step into the night. Glancing around at the Santa Cruz fog settling in, I head for the little black BMW at the far end of the parking lot.
Though the rest of the evening was quiet, I haven't been able the shake the tension that began vibrating through me the moment those jerks walked into the bar, nor completely calm the beast they triggered with their abuse of Sally. It's still restless, and is now joined by its partner, the cold hunter. Together they prowl inside me, anxious for the hunt.
The rasp of an ignition echoes through the fog.
My body flinches and I take a sharp breath, then laugh and shake my head.
Damn, I'm jittery tonight.
From the other end of the near-empty parking lot an engine rumbles, accompanied by the crunch of tires on asphalt. A casual look over my shoulder reveals a green Ford pickup cruising in my direction. With three guys in the cab.