Copyright Information
THE SEDUCTION
by Roh Morgon
Published by Dark Dreams Publishing
December 2011
Copyright 2011 Roh Morgon
All rights reserved
Cover photo by Anna Omelchenko, courtesy of Dreamstime.com
Cover design by Jeff Ambrose 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.
The Seduction
She spotted it from clear across the parking lot. Low, shiny, black. It beckoned her.
Come to me.
Captivated, she walked closer, admiring its sleek lines, its wedge-like shape. She stopped next to it, her breath indrawn. Her eyes traveled slowly along every curve and angle, finding no flaw.
I am yours, it whispered.
She walked around the back of the steel beast, admiring the wide flair of fender beneath the sloping rear window. The taillights formed graceful arcs, red bracketed in chrome, like two crimson eyes, and she nodded.
I am yours.
Working her way along the other side, her eyes narrowed above her smile as she observed the tapered nose. When she moved to the front of the machine, she took a sharp breath and held it, trapped in the wicked gaze of the almond-shaped headlights. Her eyes drifted downward and widened at the sight of the clear-lensed foglights. Low on the bumper, they reminded her of a pair of curved daggers, the points angled inward and down.
No, she thought. Fangs. They look like fangs.
A chill ran through her.
Come. Be with me.
Startled, she backed away from his alluring demand.
No, she thought. I can’t afford a new car right now. Especially one like this.
But she couldn’t deny her attraction.
Come. Touch me.
She tore herself from its magnetic stare. Against her will, she stepped around to the door.
Her fingers curled all the way around the handle and she smiled as it nestled comfortably in her palm, and when it pulled out instead of up, her smile broadened. She’d always disliked handles that pulled up–they were so awkward when her arms were full.
The door swung open with little effort and the scent of fine leather drifted out, seducing her further.
Come. We were meant to be.
She lowered herself into the deep, contoured seat. Her pulse sped up as she settled into its rich embrace. It fit her body perfectly, as though it were made just for her. Chills ran through her again she snuggled against its firm hold, soft but strong.
Ah, my sweet. You see?
She reached up to stroke, then take hold of the leather-wrapped steering wheel. It fit just right, molded to support her hands in her favorite position. The sound system and Bluetooth phone buttons were strategically-placed around its rim, ensuring her hands would never need to leave their resting spot.
I am yours.
Her gaze drifted over controls and gauges situated to help keep human eyes on the road. It fastened on the leather gearshift knob begging to be touched. Oval-shaped and inset with a shiny chrome plate, it pressed against her small hand, smooth and firm. It fit perfectly.
She closed her eyes, caught up in the dream.
A tap on the window broke the spell and she jumped as a salesman leaned down and peered in at her.
Dangling from his hand was a key.
The door opened, and a few quick words later, he was sitting in the passenger seat and, in the ignition, was the same key.
Her hand shook as her fingers slipped around it.
Yes. Let me sing for you.
The black beast rumbled to life with a deep-throated growl, its 3.8-liter engine sounding much lower than she would’ve expected from a car of this type. Her blood answered his call, racing through her veins as her heart beat faster and faster. She smiled, then placed her trembling hand on the gearshift. With a final caress, She slipped it into gear.
The low-slung car surged forward, surprising her with its raw power. More respectful of its sensitivity, she eased out of the driveway and into the street.
This was unlike anything She had ever experienced. The suspension was stiff but comfortable, without the bounce and sway of a sedan. The steering was tight, responding to nothing more than a squeeze of her hand.
Faster. Let us race the wind.
She turned onto the freeway. Her heart hammered in anticipation.
Flinging her inhibitions aside, she jammed the pedal to the floor and the monster roared.
They were doing 100 by the time they reached the end of the onramp.
Holy crap, she thought as she looked at the speedometer. The salesman beside her coughed and squirmed in his seat. She backed off.
Faster, my love, faster.
The freeway in front of her was empty, and with a glance in the review mirror to check for cops, She gave in to his demand, and went for it.
They screamed up the asphalt, the white dashed lines blurring alongside. Her heart pounded as wave after wave of adrenaline coursed through her. She ignored the babbling salesman. She was drunk on danger and speed.
110. 120. 130.
Yes! Yes! We are as one!
The ecstasy was beyond anything she’d ever imagined. But she felt a stab of pain at the loss of her innocence as she realized she was forever changed. Nothing would be able to match this.
As reality asserted itself, she relaxed her foot. They slowed to a 75-mile-per-hour crawl, then exited the freeway. She glanced at the white-faced salesman and bit back a grin.
Now, my love, let us dance.
Paying no attention to the protests beside her, she turned the car back onto the freeway.
She laughed at how easily they moved from lane to lane with nothing more than a tightening of her wrist. They were perfectly matched and their graceful waltz between the other cars was smooth, effortless. They were in and out and gone before the drivers even registered their presence.
You see? We were meant to be.
Too soon, they were back at the dealership. The salesman dripped sweat as he scrambled out.
Alone at last, my love. I am yours. Take me.
She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent, memorizing it. One hand cupped the gearshift knob as she ran her other lightly over the steering wheel one last time. She swallowed her regret and slipped outside.
NO! You cannot leave me. I am yours!
She stepped away, then with tears in her eyes, turned to gaze upon him once more. The way he crouched–low, stealthy, his lines promising speed and power, his perfectly-balanced stance athletic and confident, his intense almond-shaped stare, and his fangs, his fangs–etched into her mind, and she knew she’d never forget him.
With a deep sigh, She turned her back on him, and walked away.
NO! My love…
~~~
The days crawled by. He haunted her every waking thought and stalked every dream. She fought his desire, her desire, as she stared at computer screen during the day and TV screen at night.
She found herself driving by the dealership, wondering how she’d gotten there. She could see him on the showroom floor, waiting, like a black spider perched in his web.
My love, please…
She’d hit the gas in denial and speed up the street.
I can’t do it, she thought.
But even as She fled, she felt relief that he hadn’t turned his fierce attention to someone else.
Week a
fter week, she fought his call.
I am yours.
She had a nice, sporty sedan that was almost paid off, and she was looking forward to freedom from car payments.
I am yours.
But slowly, She began to succumb to the idea. She rationalized it, focusing on research and math to justify even the possibility.
I am yours.
She met others, in red and yellow, silver and grey, with 2.0 Turbo and 3.8 six-cylinders, in stick and automatic.
I am yours.
Yet she always came back to him. None of them compared to the black devil who’d stolen her heart.
I am yours.
Her resistance crumbled near the end of the third week. After a long, anxiety-ridden night, She got into her sedan, her mind and body numb from lack of sleep.
And then she was standing in front of him.
I am yours, my love. Come, let us be as one again.
She felt disembodied as she watched herself fumble with paperwork and scrawl illegibly across document after document. A check and a handshake sealed the deal.
Reality settled in and a shudder wracked her body. This will be draining my account every month for the next seven years, she thought. What have I done?
She stepped outside and forgot all thoughts of contracts and payments when she looked at him. She walked around him, slowly, like she did the first time they met, and her heart felt as though it would burst.
Her fingers trailed along the handle and then she pulled it, opening the door. His rich leather scent filled her nostrils and she drank in his essence. Drawn into his embrace, she slipped into the deep contoured seat meant only for her and smiled. One hand found its place on the leather-bound steering wheel, and the other…the other inserted the key. Her key.
He roared in triumph and she grinned. As his web settled around her, She heard a low chuckle.
Now…you are MINE.
The Seduction is a short-short story from the Monsters in the Machines short story 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 stages 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, Goodreads, and Twitter.
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 (novella, December 2011)
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 Monster's Growl
Another boring night at the small-town bar turns interesting for Carly and her friends when a mysterious biker puts his quarter on their pool table.
Hellbound Train (January 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
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. Apparently 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.