by Roh Morgon
If I kill this man, I kill the last remaining shred of my humanity. And I will completely forget them, and those little black curls and bright blue eyes, and my existence in their lives. And I realize I can’t bear the thought of that.
“I can’t,” I whisper as I stare down at the limp body.
“You must,” he insists, his voice deepening in anger.
“I can’t,” I repeat. At least not yet.
Something in Nicolas snaps, and with a roar he reaches down, picks up the man, and sinks his fangs into the bloody wound I left. As he drains him, a rush of raw power screams deep within my core, a dim echo of the wild force racing through Nicolas.
Lifespark. I stagger with the impact of its energy, and I’m only feeling it secondhand as it explodes through every cell in Nicolas.
My vision turns momentarily white, and Nicolas throws his head back and inhales sharply, and a triumphant groan erupts from his chest.
As my vision clears, Nicolas lowers his head and stares at me. His eyes are completely white, and the expression on his face is the most inhuman thing I have ever seen.
He snarls and heaves the flaccid body across the room as though it were garbage. It crashes into the wall with a sickening thud and slides down, leaving a bloody smear.
I stare at him, reeling and shocked beyond words. I’ve not seen this Nicolas before, this alien cold-blooded murderer.
“He would have died regardless. He would not have recovered from the loss of blood you inflicted on him. So you see, you killed him anyway.” His voice, along with his words, is cold and cruel and punishing.
I feel the horror flood through me again. I killed. A person. A human being.
Nicolas, glaring at me, wipes the blood from his face, his expression beastly and furious.
“And it was a waste, because you did not take his lifespark. You essentially killed for no reason. And now, you will have to do it again.” His words are merciless, and I recoil in further revulsion.
And a new realization hits me.
The one I love is truly a monster, and he is making one of me.
Oh God.
Nicolas, I will do anything for you, anything to be with you.
Except this.
This . . . I . . . will . . . not . . . do.
CHAPTER 63
The black ribbon of asphalt stretches before me into the night. The BMW is heading north, the direction in which I pointed it several hours before. I gassed up in Denver, and then again in Wheatland, Wyoming. I bought a few maps and figure I can make to Casper before needing gas again. I’m hoping I can get there and into a hotel before dawn, before the sun takes me down.
Nicolas’s rage followed me into the parking lot before I had the presence of mind to seek the stillness. It was difficult to find and hold on to as our emotional vortex spun wildly out of control. But I knew that shutting off the flow was the only way to keep him from finding me.
And search for me he will. I feel that with every vein in my body. I grip hard onto the stillness, using it to safeguard me from both him and the hurricane of emotion that threatens to pull me apart.
The empty black hole has returned, eating me from the inside out. But I learned to cope with it before, and can learn again. In the meantime, my quest for survival is enough to keep me somewhat distracted from its pain.
I just don’t know what will distract me from craving the blood of human beings.
It’s doubtful I can return to my old life of bartending. I can only envision a scene out of a horror movie, or the memory of a certain night in a club in the Springs, when a bar was bathed front to back in human blood.
So for now I’m heading back into the wilderness. There’s lots of it in Canada, and it might be far enough away that Nicolas can’t track me down.
They have grizzly bear up there, and the hunter thrills at the thought of the challenge they will bring.
It’s been six months since I left the West Coast. A sick laugh escapes as I recall the events that triggered my flight to Colorado. They pale in comparison now and seem like something from a child’s dream. Nothing like the nightmare I left in the shadow of Pikes Peak.
But part of me starts to argue that it wasn’t all a nightmare, that I found something I thought to be impossible in this life. And I slap that part down and shove it back into the black box. My memories—the memories of what I lost—are too full of pain and regret to deal with right now. I grab the stillness, and relief flows through me as the gut-wrenching emotions smother under cold detachment.
I pull into the parking lot across the street from where she works, or at least where she did work. Hopefully she still does, because I don’t have the patience to sit outside her house. Those days are over.
But I need to see her, need to reassure myself that my human life was not just another dream.
Tugging the brim of my baseball cap lower, I grimace at my reflection in the car window. My disguised self glares back in the form of a punk street kid—pierced and tattooed and wearing ragged clothes. The piercings will heal as soon as I take out the jewelry, and the tattoos will fade by evening. The tats aren’t very good—I was never much of an artist. But they’ll do the job. I put on my sunglasses and head to the building.
It’s noon and the lobby is crowded. My jaw clenches as the fragrant chorus of human blood hits me. Even though I gorged on several deer last night, this may be harder than I thought.
Walking past the staircase to the far side of the elevators, I stop and casually lean against the wall as though waiting for the doors to open. Andrea’s always preferred stairs, and I’m hoping to catch sight of her as she comes down the wide stairway. I watch the other workers as they descend in twos and threes, deep in their conversations.
The elevator next to me opens, and people brush past me as they exit. I’m trapped between them and the wall at the end of this short hallway, and without warning, violence coils in my muscles.
I need to get out of here. Coming inside was not only risky, it was stupid.
Waiting until the last of the lunch goers leave the elevator, I start to follow them to the front door.
And then I look up, and she is standing at the bottom of the stairs, not twenty feet away, staring directly at me.
Oh shit.
I dart into the elevator, nowhere else to go. The doors begin to close, and I let out my breath. And then a slim hand shoots into the rapidly shrinking gap, followed by a slender arm, and her shoulder wedges into the opening. The doors rebound, and she steps inside.
She stands, facing me, and says, “Hello, Mom.”
Dedicated to
all of the outsiders
struggling to find their place
in the world
and to
my one love
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First of all, I’d like to thank my initial beta readers: Lex, Janine, Lil, Dette, Will, and Vanessa. Without their enthusiastic responses and encouragement, I doubt I would have ever shown Watcher to another soul. My writers group, the Fresno Sci-Fi & Fantasy Writers, provided valuable feedback that helped me improve both my storytelling and my craft. Thanks especially to Toff, Mellie, Ed, Earl, and Chris, who suffered through my early drafts and provided me with tips and insights to make the story better.
I also received advice on a number of technical elements and would like to recognize those experts: Bill Moffatt, Park Ranger at the Tule Elk State Natural Reserve, California State Parks; Craig Stowers, Deer Program Coordinator, California Department of Fish and Game; Jeff Lawson, Physical Therapist, whose knowledge of hunting and physiology helped me with the hunting scenes; and the staff at Pikes Peak Ranger Station.
Thank you to my friends who put up with my obsession to write and publish this story: Jeanne, for traipsing through the Pikes Peak area with me during several monumental periods in my life (I still can’t believe we found the castle!); Marcy, who endured endless phone calls while I prattled on about this book; Vicky, for giving her rapt atten
tion to my oral versions of the story while we worked out in the gym; Cynthia, whose support and encouragement kept me moving forward; and of course, my TM friends Kim, Kirsten, Britten, Tierza, Dette, and Jess, who share my love for all things vampire and introduced me to sisterhood.
I’ll never forget our wild rides in Annabelle, Kim’s silver convertible Mustang, and setting off car alarms in the Riverpark parking garage.
Many thanks to the editors whose suggestions not only improved this book, but contributed toward my ongoing development as a writer: Melanie Smith, Christopher Wood, Sharon Campbell, and Diana Cox.
This wouldn’t have been possible without my family. Thank you to my parents, Bill and Joan, for your lifelong love and support; and to my son Nate and my daughter Alexis, for encouraging my writing and being such awesome kids, and for giving me the best job in the world—parenthood.
And finally, thank you to my husband, Bruce—my one love—for your patience and understanding, and for always being there for me.
I couldn’t have made it without you.
SECOND EDITION NOTES
Many people have been on this journey with me since it began. Their continuing support and interest in my writing, and this story in particular, keep me moving forward through the gauntlet of publishing and the tribulations of life in general, and I thank them.
This edition is for them, and for all of the new readers who may follow in their footsteps.
The primary changes to Watcher are due to the meticulous efforts of professional editor Jodi Renée Lester. Her detailed comments on proper comma usage, sentence structure, and general grammatical rules not only improved this book, but my writing itself. My deepest gratitude goes to Jodi for her thoughtful instruction and patience, her willingness to spend hours talking on the phone with me, her dedication to Sunny’s story, and most of all, the friendship that’s evolved working on the Chosen project.
Previous readers will be surprised (pleasantly, I hope) with smoother dialogue, expanded scenes, and new scenes. And, most apparent, a new, professionally designed cover. My thanks to Milo, Kim, and Darja at Deranged Doctor Design for your work on the Chosen series covers. And a big thank you to Jodi Lester, Lex Feit, and Kirsten Starkweather for your valuable feedback on the series’ new appearance.
And lastly, I’d like to thank my family once again for their unending belief in me and their support. None of this would be possible without you.
MUSIC PLAYLIST
Music plays an important part in my stories. From melancholic melodies to crashing crescendos, it enhances the mood and emotions in every scene. Many times I’ll discover a song that belongs to a specific scene after the scene has been written, then I’ll play the song over and over during subsequent editing sessions, using its energy to bring more life to the page.
One of the most influential music artists on the writing and editing of Watcher was Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails. Trent believes in artists sharing their talents and generously makes his tracks available for download on the NIN remix site. The resulting blend of Trent’s music with that of various remix artists can be amazingly beautiful and moving. Along with Trent’s instrumental originals and his own remixes, these songs created much of the background tone for Watcher.
Justin St. Charles is an artist I discovered on the remix site. His haunting version of NIN’s “Leaving Hope” is the theme song for Watcher, and several of his own quiet instrumental compositions are featured on the playlist as well. He can be found at: http://soundcloud.com/justinstcharlesmusic/.
Enjoy.
* 04.04.10 Piano – Justin St. Charles
* The Red – Chevelle
* Corona Radiata – NIN
* 11 – Hyneria Moss Soundscape
* 04.08.09 Piano – Justin St. Charles
* Black Orchid – Blue October
* The Four of Us Are Dying – NIN
* Bosendorfer Morpher (Unheard) – NIN/As Serious As Your Life remix
* Leaving Hope, Still – NIN/Justin St. Charles remix
* Gone, Still – NIN
* Dracula’s Return – Transylvania 1847
* The Frail – NIN
* Luna – Hyneria Moss Soundscape
* When He Thinks of Her – Justin St. Charles
* Black Heart Inertia – Incubus
* La Serenissima – Loreena McKennit
* Night Ride Across the Caucasus – Loreena McKennit
* Right Person, Right Place, Wrong Time – Justin St. Charles
* Quicksand – Incubus
* Every Right Things Fall – Hyneria Moss Soundscape
* I’m Looking Forward to Joining You Finally – NIN/Justin St. Charles remix
* 8 Ghosts – NIN
* Ripe (With Decay) – NIN
* Hurt, Slowly – NIN/Justin St. Charles remix
* Dig – Incubus
* Everything We Could Have – Hyneria Moss Soundscape
* Love Hurts – Incubus
* 34 Ghosts – NIN
* Soul Sleep – Justin St. Charles
* Shampoo – Elvis Perkins
* Another Version of the Truth – NIN/Enrique G. Müller & Kronos remix
* 23 Ghosts – NIN
* La Mer (Version) – NIN/Jerome Dillon & Keith Hillebrandt remix
* The Mark Has Been Made – NIN
* 24 Ghosts – NIN
* This Bleeding Heart – Justin St. Charles
* A Familiar Taste – The Social Network
* Penetration – The Social Network
* Eventually We Find Our Way – The Social Network
* Slipping Away – NIN/Trent Reznor & Alan Moulder remix
* Erased, Over, Out – NIN/Hyde, McDowall, Balance, Christopherson (Coil)
* Right Where It Belongs – NIN
* Hurt (Quiet) – NIN/Trent Reznor remix
* 26 Ghosts – NIN
* Early Exit – Justin St.Charles
* Adrift and At Peace – NIN/Vika Yermolyeva remix
* Zero-Sum – NIN/Stephen Morris & Gillian Gilbert remix
* In This Twilight: Fennesz – NIN/Fennesz remix
* In Motion – The Social Network
* 1 Ghosts – NIN
* Right Where It Belongs v.3 – NIN/Justin St. Charles remix
* Eraser – NIN
* A Warm Place Instrumental – NIN
* Nothing Else Matters – Metallica
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Roh Morgon discovered the magic in stories at an early age, both in books and in those she made up in her head. As a child growing up in a remote Southern California canyon, she explored the wild hills barefoot with her brothers and rode her horse bareback at top speed. A wicked youth spent hitchhiking across the West and perched on the backs of Harleys eventually gave way to soccer mom duties and full-time college studies—at the same time. In her spare moments, she learned how to herd cattle, swordfight, and plant an arrow or a knife in a target—not necessarily at the same time.
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 the Sierra Nevada foothills with three mustang horses, two crazy herding dogs, and a very patient husband who reminds her of the need to eat and sleep. She writes fantasy and urban fantasy for middle grade, young adult, and adult readers.
If you would like to read other works by this author or be kept up to date on new releases, please visit her website at www.rohmorgon.com.
And if you enjoyed Watcher: Book I of The Chosen, please feel free to leave a review on Amazon.
BOOKS BY ROH MORGON
THE CHOSEN SERIES
WATCHER
BOOK I OF THE CHOSEN
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 l
eader 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
(Fall 2017)
Sunny Martin is on the run from a monster—the monster within herself. When murder and betrayal end her affair with the mysterious leader of The Chosen, Sunny must face the death of someone she loves, and face the love of someone she fears—an outlaw Chosen even more dangerous than the one who broke her heart..
THE GAMES MONSTERS PLAY
A NOVELETTE OF THE CHOSEN
When corporate spy Colin O’Neill receives a personal invitation from Katarina Habsburg to join an elite high-stakes game, he fears his cover is blown. With his time running out, Colin must choose between finishing his mission and making his escape before the game’s end in this chilling tale of industrial espionage.
THE LAST TRACE
A NOVELLA OF THE CHOSEN
Trace Pierre Tasman’s simple life as a mountain man in 1842 Montana turns into a living nightmare when a beautiful but vicious she-demon begins stalking him. This is the beginning of Taz’s story.
Available on Amazon
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 within her soul—but when she began succumbing to its whispered promises, she didn’t suspect she might be losing much more than her mind.
THE MONSTER’S GROWL
