Halloween Seduction Blog Hop – Bats, A Cemetery and a Sexy Alpha Male – Happy Halloween


Bats, a Cemetery and a Sexy Alpha Male – Happy Halloween

A scene from Chapter Eight of Symphony of Light and Winter

My aunt Eva stood at the kitchen sink, cleaning an onion.

“Linden, would you mind stopping for milk on your way home?”

“Sure.” My answer came reluctantly. I wasn’t in control, but at the same time I lived it. So strange.

“Oh, and tell Mr. Fitz, if you see him, that those things were back last night. He should keep his windows closed.”

“You mean the bats?”

“You know very well they are not bats. Those little bastards will suck out your soul.”

“OK…I’ll tell him if I see him.” I had no plans to do so. “Later, Aunt Eva.”

I found it best not to fight it. The older I became, the more certain I felt something was not quite right. Eva and I never had a loving relationship. She was always distant. Never keeping the same man for long, she had no children of her own. So easy to understand her resentment of being forced to raise me, and coupled with her fragile mental state, it was impossible to get close to her. Many of her issues stemmed from the fantastical stories she recited with the most convincing delivery. My favorite—how demons killed my parents and cut me from my mother’s womb, giving me to Eva to raise.

Our town, a small, old coal-mining establishment, was situated twenty-five miles east of Pittsburgh. My plans did not include sticking around after I turned eighteen, but I’ve heard life is what happens while you’re making other plans. My aunt’s illness caused me to turn down the full scholarship in lieu of picking up a few courses at a local university so I could live here and care for her.

My aunt’s decline was hard to watch and the local cemetery served as a getaway. I had always been drawn to the peaceful place that sat on the highest hill, overlooking the breathtaking Laurel Mountain Ridge. I used that time to journal, write songs, and think. Since high school no longer consumed my day,

I spent more time among the stones avoiding my aunt’s episodes.

That day I had my journal with me and a plan to work out my feelings for Matt Williams. He was in my freshman calculus class and since we were finally settling into a routine, I decided it might be a good time to introduce myself. He had worn a Marilyn Manson T-shirt the Friday before, and I found it odd. He was usually clean-cut and preppy. Gathering my courage, I had walked up to his desk and taken a chance.

“Interesting shirt, why are you wearing it?” Mortification ran through me at how accusatory it sounded, but when he grinned my tension eased.

He paused for a moment. “Because he does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants, and I like that.”

Before I could stop myself, I retorted, “Well, I do what I want, when I want, and how I want, but I don’t see you wearing a shirt with me on it.”

He laughed with a flirtatious edge. “Make me one and I’ll wear it.”

“Fine, I will.” I glanced over my shoulder and shot him a mischievous grin as I walked away. The exchange was fresh in my mind, and I

wanted to work through my feelings on paper. I found my favorite spot at the top of the cemetery by the headstone of Clement Burleighes, a mason and local lawyer who died in 1810. That part of the cemetery was old and, the spot I chose, hard to see from the road. I had often wondered if the mysterious

connection I felt was to Mr. Burleighes himself, or to his resting place.

It was early fall in Pennsylvania and the leaves hadn’t started to change, but the air was crisp. Taking out my pen and paper, I thought of Matt. Thinking of how to phrase my first sentence, I looked up to see the most unforgettable sight.

I didn’t recognize the man in my cemetery. He walked a few steps, stopped, and closed his eyes while mumbling to himself. His shoulder-length black hair was tucked behind his ear; his skin, a beautiful alabaster. His features were angular and bold, his size intimidating. He wore a black business suit and couldn’t seem more out of his element. His lips continued to form soundless words as he paused every few feet. He open then closed his eyes again, inhaled, looked around, and then walked off in another direction. I sat against Clement’s stone, trying not to make a noise. I tucked my legs under me, set my journal on the ground, and leaned from side to side, trying not to lose sight of the impressive stranger. His movements were bizarre, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out what he was doing. With another inhalation, his eyes opened and searched again.

He turned and made eye contact with me. I picked up my journal and put my head down to hide the fact I was ogling him. As I sat there, pretending to be fixated on my journal, I felt the absence of sunlight from his shadow as he moved to stand before me.

Lifting my head to meet his eyes, we locked gazes and I swallowed hard. He was intimidating from afar, but from a seated position on the ground, he was godlike—so tall and broad shouldered with unmatched good looks. He cleared his throat.

“What is a beautiful young lady, such as you, doing in a solemn place like this?” His voice was laced with charm and sophistication. His accent seemed a mix of something unfamiliar and British.

He lowered himself to one knee and rested his arm across it. Even at eye level, he was massive and I could feel the heat from his body. I swallowed hard again and pushed down my nervousness.

“It’s not solemn at all. This is the place where I can be the bright spot, that one spark of light. It’s the absence of life that allows the flame to grow brighter; it makes me feel more alive.” I smiled.

I wasn’t quite sure where that came from. Having written many passages in my journal speculating about why I found so much peace here, I was shocked it came out in the form of those words, especially to him.

“That’s a very interesting observation, Miss…?” He waited for my response.

I paused. Telling him my first name couldn’t hurt. “Linden, my name is Linden.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” He looked at the trees surrounding him and arched a brow.

I knew what he was thinking, and the nervousness rushing through me caused me to babble. “It is my real name. But, yes, I was named

after the trees. There are several in my backyard. My aunt believes they are a ward against evil. She named me Linden, so I would be protected. Ah, sorry, it’s a stupid story.”

“No, not at all. It’s a wonderful story. Linden, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He extended his hand.

Hesitant at first, I accepted it. When his fingers closed around mine, it was electric. I stared at our hands as I felt his eyes concentrating on me. Lifting my gaze, our eyes met; the contact completed the circuit. His face held a sign of bewilderment. My mouth gaped and I wanted to ask his name but couldn’t break the connection. What surged through me was something more than lust. Desire was fleeting. This was soul altering.

Somewhere in my mind I knew I would never be the same. The experience could only be surpassed by gazing upon God himself. A knot formed in my chest, and he saved me from a consumption of unknown means by releasing my hand.

As though he could read my mind, he said softly, in a deep seductive voice, “You may call me Cyril.”

I paused far too long. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I must be going. All my best to you, my Light.” He inclined his head, rose from his kneeling position, and walked away.

Ten minutes later, I still hadn’t moved. The man was beyond words. Move over Matt Williams.

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