Chapter 1
Morgan wasn't quite sure how she got there, but knew that she wanted nothing more than to remedy her situation. The dance club was hot, noisy, and crowded, filled with teenagers who were all a lot more outgoing than she could ever hope to be. From the moment she'd entered with three friends, she'd flinched at the loud music pounding from the speakers. Ten minutes later, her shirt was sticking wetly to her back and she was starting to get a headache. And her friends were nowhere to be seen.
'Some friends they are,' she complained to herself. Morgan had never been inside such a place before and knew that she would never be back. When most of the other kids her age were out having fun with their friends, she was usually cloistered away in her room with a good book or on the computer playing games. She'd been that way for as long as Jenny, Roger, and Mariana had known her, but for some reason they were suddenly bound and determined to change her into a "normal teen". Knowing that they considered her to be abnormal always made her frown darkly.
"Ten more minutes and then I'm going home," she muttered to herself. "I don't care if it takes me all night to walk there."
Jenny, a petite, bubbly red-head, had sat with her for the duration of exactly one song as she got her breath back. Then she was hauled back onto the dance floor by her blonde boyfriend Roger. She hadn't seen Mariana -- a slender dark-haired, dark-eyed girl from Spain -- since they'd arrived.
Her wait came to an uneventful end. Rolling her green eyes and muttering to herself about her selfish friends, Morgan exited the club into the cool air of the night. It was late June, but you couldn't tell by the temperature.
She took several deep breaths, happy to be able to breathe deeply again without choking on the scent of some girl's overwhelming perfume. The air dried the sweat on her body and she straightened her clothing as she walked down the street. Morgan hoped that there were still buses running from the Libuna district that she could take, but seriously doubted it. It seemed it would be a long walk home after all.
After several blocks her feet were starting to seriously hurt. The high-heeled sandals that Mariana had talked her into wearing were taking their toll. Walking barefoot on the dirty, refuse-littered sidewalks of the city seemed a sure way to contract a disease, but she was quickly nearing the point when she didn't care. As she knelt to unbuckle her shoe, she heard the sound of a motorcycle heading towards her. Not wanting whoever riding the bike to think that she was trying to pick them up, Morgan quickly straightened.
"Hey," someone called over the rumble of the big bike's engine, their voice muffled by a helmet. Slowly, Morgan turned and eyed the rider. He was dressed in tight denim and a black studded leather jacket like a stereotypical biker. A wide silver ring encased the middle finger of his right hand, one that was carved with strange black symbols. "It's not safe for a girl to be alone in this neighborhood. I can give you a ride home if you want me to."
"Uh, no. I'm okay. Really." Slowly, she took a few steps backward, just starting to believe that it wasn't a good idea to walk home after all. She already felt vulnerable in her ultra-feminine pink halter top and short black skirt and wouldn't be able to run well on four-inch heels if it came to a chase. All the make-up that Jenny had delighted in slathering on her face probably made her closely resemble a whore.
The biker cut the engine, parked his bike, and dismounted. "Come on; I'm not going to hurt you."
"K-keep away from me." Hands outstretched as if she could stop him with that simple gesture, she took a few more steps backward and her world suddenly tilted. With a grunt, she landed hard on the pavement, bruising her rear and slicing one hand open on the shards of a broken beer bottle. Wincing, Morgan raised her other hand palm up. "No!"
But he kept coming. Whimpering, she crabwalked backward until her back hit the wall of the abandoned building behind her. "Don't hurt me..."
In response, the biker began to remove his helmet. Long hair the color of the sky at midnight tumbled free to settle about broad shoulders. Gray eyes shone in the light from a nearby street lamp. Morgan gaped at the biker boy that had somehow transformed into a biker girl and suddenly she felt extremely stupid. The odds that a woman would take advantage of her were probably quite low. "You're female."
A low chuckle. "At least I was the last time I checked." The words caused embarrassed heat to flare up in Morgan's cheeks. The woman extended a hand and helped the flustered girl to her feet. "Are you sure you want to turn down a ride? I assure you that I'm perfectly safe."
Even though she knew that it hadn't been her intention, the teenager still felt guilty about automatically assuming the worst about the biker. "Um, about that..."
"Hey, it's cool. You should always be wary of someone you don't know. It's the way the world works, right?" The woman began to appraise her, intense silver eyes scanning her body for injuries and making her heart pound. "My name is Jorga, by the way. You are?"
"Morgan. You have a very interesting name." By this time, Jorga had moved to stand behind her and Morgan had tensed up because she was not in sight. Hands reached out and began to brush upon her rear, making her tense in surprise.
"You've picked up the street on your skirt," the biker murmured. A few more brushes that felt more like caresses and she was done. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Just my hand, but it's okay." She tried to hide it from Jorga's inquisitive gaze, but was caught doing so. The biker grabbed her hand gently and examined it. "There's a lot of blood so I can't see how deep the cut is. I hope you didn't get any glass in it." Her fingertips traced soft patterns on her fingers. Morgan felt her breathing begin to quicken and she tried desperately to calm herself down. Jorga was just concerned about her, after all, there was nothing sexual about that.
Jorga reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a white bandanna with a black paisley pattern. "Here - apply pressure on the cut to slow the bleeding."
"But this is yours and it's white!"
"I can buy others." Jorga climbed back onto her bike and offered Morgan her hand again. "It's getting late. When's your curfew?"
"It's not that late," the girl muttered as she settled herself. She hated feeling like a little kid around such a beautiful and intriguing woman. Jorga offered Morgan her helmet, explaining that she didn't have an extra since she didn't usually give people rides. The teen protested that it was too dangerous not to wear one.
"I'm the skilled rider here, remember?" Jorga tossed a wink over her shoulder that sent a shiver down Morgan's spine. "It'll be fine. Hold on as tight as you can without hurting your hand even more, okay?"
Morgan slid her arms around the woman's waist and sighed softly. She imagined that she could feel her body heat even though her t-shirt and leather jacket. The rumbling purr of the bike's powerful engine started up again and she was surpised at the strength of the vibration she could feel between her legs. With little warning, the woman started off down the street again and Morgan found herself clutching her as tightly as she could.
"So, what side of town do you live on?" she asked above the roar of the wind.
"The east," she answered. "Between Linton and Grove."
"I know the area. Just hang tight and enjoy the ride."
And enjoy it she did. It wasn't the scenery flashing by that caught her attention, or the feel of the wind in her hair. Every movement Jorga made was transmitted from her arms and torso to the rest of her body and she found herself fantasizing about things she didn't entirely understand. But Morgan knew that it felt nice to hold the biker so it didn't matter very much that her fantasies were vague and confusing.
The familiar sight of the little Asian market on the corner of Linton and Hester brought her mind back to the here-and-now. "Go down Linton 'till you get to Andersen. My house is number 2530 -- on the right." The ride was coming to an end and she couldn't help but to be upset.
Jorga pulled into her driveway behind her mother's old cherry red Pontiac Grand Am. She held Morgan's hand until she got her balance and then bid her farewell.
"You're going to leave just like that? Do you want me out of your life that badly?" She could truly believe that the woman had better things to do than hang out with a seventeen-year-old, but that didn't mean she couldn't hope that things wouldn't work out the way she expected them to.
"It's for the best." Jorga's strange silver eyes felt like they were penetrating to her very soul. "If you truly knew me, I doubt that you would want to be around me so much."
"How about you let me decide that, huh?" Morgan's joke fell horribly flat. "I'll see you later, then." She took a half step towards her house then impulsively moved back to the biker and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for the ride."
With a wave, Morgan pulled her house key from where it was nestled in her cleavage at the end of the thin cord she wore around her neck and unlocked the front door. As soon as it was shut behind her, she went to the front living room window to watch Jorga drive off. Strangely, the biker woman idled there in the driveway for several seconds before backing out and Morgan imagined that she did so because she just couldn't bear to leave her.
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," she muttered. Angry at herself for even entertaining the thought that a beautiful woman would be interested in her, Morgan slowly climbed the staircase and prepared for bed.
Her dreams were filled with strange images half-cast in shadow that reached out for her with thin, brittle fingers.
And a glowing pair of silver eyes watched over her from above.
Morgan wasn't quite sure how she got there, but knew that she wanted nothing more than to remedy her situation. The dance club was hot, noisy, and crowded, filled with teenagers who were all a lot more outgoing than she could ever hope to be. From the moment she'd entered with three friends, she'd flinched at the loud music pounding from the speakers. Ten minutes later, her shirt was sticking wetly to her back and she was starting to get a headache. And her friends were nowhere to be seen.
'Some friends they are,' she complained to herself. Morgan had never been inside such a place before and knew that she would never be back. When most of the other kids her age were out having fun with their friends, she was usually cloistered away in her room with a good book or on the computer playing games. She'd been that way for as long as Jenny, Roger, and Mariana had known her, but for some reason they were suddenly bound and determined to change her into a "normal teen". Knowing that they considered her to be abnormal always made her frown darkly.
"Ten more minutes and then I'm going home," she muttered to herself. "I don't care if it takes me all night to walk there."
Jenny, a petite, bubbly red-head, had sat with her for the duration of exactly one song as she got her breath back. Then she was hauled back onto the dance floor by her blonde boyfriend Roger. She hadn't seen Mariana -- a slender dark-haired, dark-eyed girl from Spain -- since they'd arrived.
Her wait came to an uneventful end. Rolling her green eyes and muttering to herself about her selfish friends, Morgan exited the club into the cool air of the night. It was late June, but you couldn't tell by the temperature.
She took several deep breaths, happy to be able to breathe deeply again without choking on the scent of some girl's overwhelming perfume. The air dried the sweat on her body and she straightened her clothing as she walked down the street. Morgan hoped that there were still buses running from the Libuna district that she could take, but seriously doubted it. It seemed it would be a long walk home after all.
After several blocks her feet were starting to seriously hurt. The high-heeled sandals that Mariana had talked her into wearing were taking their toll. Walking barefoot on the dirty, refuse-littered sidewalks of the city seemed a sure way to contract a disease, but she was quickly nearing the point when she didn't care. As she knelt to unbuckle her shoe, she heard the sound of a motorcycle heading towards her. Not wanting whoever riding the bike to think that she was trying to pick them up, Morgan quickly straightened.
"Hey," someone called over the rumble of the big bike's engine, their voice muffled by a helmet. Slowly, Morgan turned and eyed the rider. He was dressed in tight denim and a black studded leather jacket like a stereotypical biker. A wide silver ring encased the middle finger of his right hand, one that was carved with strange black symbols. "It's not safe for a girl to be alone in this neighborhood. I can give you a ride home if you want me to."
"Uh, no. I'm okay. Really." Slowly, she took a few steps backward, just starting to believe that it wasn't a good idea to walk home after all. She already felt vulnerable in her ultra-feminine pink halter top and short black skirt and wouldn't be able to run well on four-inch heels if it came to a chase. All the make-up that Jenny had delighted in slathering on her face probably made her closely resemble a whore.
The biker cut the engine, parked his bike, and dismounted. "Come on; I'm not going to hurt you."
"K-keep away from me." Hands outstretched as if she could stop him with that simple gesture, she took a few more steps backward and her world suddenly tilted. With a grunt, she landed hard on the pavement, bruising her rear and slicing one hand open on the shards of a broken beer bottle. Wincing, Morgan raised her other hand palm up. "No!"
But he kept coming. Whimpering, she crabwalked backward until her back hit the wall of the abandoned building behind her. "Don't hurt me..."
In response, the biker began to remove his helmet. Long hair the color of the sky at midnight tumbled free to settle about broad shoulders. Gray eyes shone in the light from a nearby street lamp. Morgan gaped at the biker boy that had somehow transformed into a biker girl and suddenly she felt extremely stupid. The odds that a woman would take advantage of her were probably quite low. "You're female."
A low chuckle. "At least I was the last time I checked." The words caused embarrassed heat to flare up in Morgan's cheeks. The woman extended a hand and helped the flustered girl to her feet. "Are you sure you want to turn down a ride? I assure you that I'm perfectly safe."
Even though she knew that it hadn't been her intention, the teenager still felt guilty about automatically assuming the worst about the biker. "Um, about that..."
"Hey, it's cool. You should always be wary of someone you don't know. It's the way the world works, right?" The woman began to appraise her, intense silver eyes scanning her body for injuries and making her heart pound. "My name is Jorga, by the way. You are?"
"Morgan. You have a very interesting name." By this time, Jorga had moved to stand behind her and Morgan had tensed up because she was not in sight. Hands reached out and began to brush upon her rear, making her tense in surprise.
"You've picked up the street on your skirt," the biker murmured. A few more brushes that felt more like caresses and she was done. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
"Just my hand, but it's okay." She tried to hide it from Jorga's inquisitive gaze, but was caught doing so. The biker grabbed her hand gently and examined it. "There's a lot of blood so I can't see how deep the cut is. I hope you didn't get any glass in it." Her fingertips traced soft patterns on her fingers. Morgan felt her breathing begin to quicken and she tried desperately to calm herself down. Jorga was just concerned about her, after all, there was nothing sexual about that.
Jorga reached into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulled out a white bandanna with a black paisley pattern. "Here - apply pressure on the cut to slow the bleeding."
"But this is yours and it's white!"
"I can buy others." Jorga climbed back onto her bike and offered Morgan her hand again. "It's getting late. When's your curfew?"
"It's not that late," the girl muttered as she settled herself. She hated feeling like a little kid around such a beautiful and intriguing woman. Jorga offered Morgan her helmet, explaining that she didn't have an extra since she didn't usually give people rides. The teen protested that it was too dangerous not to wear one.
"I'm the skilled rider here, remember?" Jorga tossed a wink over her shoulder that sent a shiver down Morgan's spine. "It'll be fine. Hold on as tight as you can without hurting your hand even more, okay?"
Morgan slid her arms around the woman's waist and sighed softly. She imagined that she could feel her body heat even though her t-shirt and leather jacket. The rumbling purr of the bike's powerful engine started up again and she was surpised at the strength of the vibration she could feel between her legs. With little warning, the woman started off down the street again and Morgan found herself clutching her as tightly as she could.
"So, what side of town do you live on?" she asked above the roar of the wind.
"The east," she answered. "Between Linton and Grove."
"I know the area. Just hang tight and enjoy the ride."
And enjoy it she did. It wasn't the scenery flashing by that caught her attention, or the feel of the wind in her hair. Every movement Jorga made was transmitted from her arms and torso to the rest of her body and she found herself fantasizing about things she didn't entirely understand. But Morgan knew that it felt nice to hold the biker so it didn't matter very much that her fantasies were vague and confusing.
The familiar sight of the little Asian market on the corner of Linton and Hester brought her mind back to the here-and-now. "Go down Linton 'till you get to Andersen. My house is number 2530 -- on the right." The ride was coming to an end and she couldn't help but to be upset.
Jorga pulled into her driveway behind her mother's old cherry red Pontiac Grand Am. She held Morgan's hand until she got her balance and then bid her farewell.
"You're going to leave just like that? Do you want me out of your life that badly?" She could truly believe that the woman had better things to do than hang out with a seventeen-year-old, but that didn't mean she couldn't hope that things wouldn't work out the way she expected them to.
"It's for the best." Jorga's strange silver eyes felt like they were penetrating to her very soul. "If you truly knew me, I doubt that you would want to be around me so much."
"How about you let me decide that, huh?" Morgan's joke fell horribly flat. "I'll see you later, then." She took a half step towards her house then impulsively moved back to the biker and kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks for the ride."
With a wave, Morgan pulled her house key from where it was nestled in her cleavage at the end of the thin cord she wore around her neck and unlocked the front door. As soon as it was shut behind her, she went to the front living room window to watch Jorga drive off. Strangely, the biker woman idled there in the driveway for several seconds before backing out and Morgan imagined that she did so because she just couldn't bear to leave her.
"Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," she muttered. Angry at herself for even entertaining the thought that a beautiful woman would be interested in her, Morgan slowly climbed the staircase and prepared for bed.
Her dreams were filled with strange images half-cast in shadow that reached out for her with thin, brittle fingers.
And a glowing pair of silver eyes watched over her from above.