by Meg` Ripley
“How did you know about the visions?”
Frank smiled nastily. “You think you’re the only people who know how to spy? I’ve been a lot closer than you think, Loverboy.” He winked, and a wave of revulsion moved through him. He must have seen us the other day.
“Why are you doing this?” Thomas demanded. “Why are you messing with us? We were going to fix your shop for you, and then move on with our lives. We had nothing to do with its destruction, you have to know that.”
“If you hadn’t been here, none of this would have happened!”
Thomas sucked air into his lungs sharply as Frank swung both of his guns toward him until they both pointed at his chest. His heart stopped, and he heard screams, but they seemed soft and distant.
Frank’s mouth set into a thin line, and he narrowed his eyes.
“No,” Thomas said frantically. He saw Natalie and Charlie exchange a look, but he didn’t dare move his head to see what it was. “Frank. Why are you doing this?”
“Because my niece got stuck by one of you beasts, and when I demanded she cut ties with him, she cut me off instead!” Thomas noticed that even the whites of Frank’s eyes were yellow. “My own flesh and blood shunned me. I know you don’t care about humans, but my niece was the last good thing I had in this god forsaken town.”
Frank’s thumbs pulled down on the hammers of both guns, and adrenaline shot through Thomas’ body. “I didn’t get to burn you to death, but I’ll burn you after. Wanna know something?” he smirked. “Your girl Leslie wasn’t completely wrong about the burial ground. There’s shifter bodies under that barn. Men like me have been putting them there for years. That’s why you’re all drawn to this land. That’s why you’re all transfixed on it.”
That’s how you snuck up on us, Thomas realized. Some weird shifter magic. Thanks a lot, metaphysics.
“Now, I think I’ll get this over with,” he said finally, and his voice was choked with tears. “None of you try anything funny, now. I’ll get you one at a time. Would have been better in the barn, but then you had to go and figure out my plan.” He chuckled and shook his head. “You know, it’s—”
A loud boom sounded, and the next moment, Frank was dropping toward the ground, both guns falling from his lifeless hands. Thomas blinked rapidly, trying to make sense out of the scene before him; everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The grass fluttered beneath his body as his weight settled on it, and a dark red stain was spreading out around him, turning the soil brown and wet. His eyes finally told his brain that Frank’s head was missing—it had been torn clean off his shoulders by the lioness standing over him, wearing an expression as bewildered as the rest of the pride’s.
Susanna stared around at them with her eyes wide, panting from the effort of ripping the man’s head off. She’d gotten over to him before he realized she’d moved; but how? Before he could ask, she started speaking.
“Everything slowed down,” Susanna said numbly. “It came to me in a flash…and then it just slowed down. And I got to him before he could…” she trailed off, and her vivid green eyes filled with tears. The boom must have come from her faster-than light movement.
Natalie was crying, and Charlie wrapped his arms around his wife as she sobbed into his chest. Leslie was staring at the body, unable to pull her eyes away from the darkening red pool around his frame. Her face was bone-white, and Thomas had a feeling she wouldn’t be volunteering for any more adventures for a while.
Susanna let out a strangled sob, and Thomas felt his heart wrench in his chest even as relief started to wash into his bloodstream. “It’s okay,” Thomas said, hurrying forward and stepping over Frank’s corpse. “It’s okay. We’re safe now. You saved us.”
“We’re safe?” Susanna asked. She turned her eyes toward him quizzically and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, apparently gathering her air to speak again.
Then, for the first time ever, she fainted before he got the chance to faint first.
****
They sat together in their wicker rocking chairs every day afterward, holding hands and sipping mixed drinks while they stared at the sunset. Susanna would sometimes go out before the sunset started and sit on the grass, ripping individual blades from the soil absentmindedly until Thomas joined her. After everything that had happened, it felt nice to be able to stare blankly ahead without anticipation of anything ruining their marvelous sunset. Evan would drop by on occasion, or Natalie, but for the most part, everyone’s lives returned to their normal swing. Only Susanna and Thomas seemed frozen for a while—trapped in place like ghostly images of their former selves.
“Anything today?” he would ask as he slipped his hand into hers.
“Just normal stuff,” she would say. Or, “Kylie is going to lose her keys down a storm drain tomorrow; it’ll tie up our pride’s schedule since we’ll be down one car for the caravan.” Then they would talk about television, or black holes; anything at all that wasn’t about Sierra Leandra. Thomas kept thinking about the vacation she’d mentioned, wondering if it was closer now, or further away.
Sometimes when he spoke she wouldn’t say anything, and he knew that she was thinking about seeing Frank’s body crumple to the ground, or how close Thomas had been to being shot to death. She wouldn’t move, and it seemed like she wasn’t even breathing, so he would put an arm around her shoulders as she let her feelings spread out and float away down the gentle slope of their back yard and out over the fields, toward the fertile farmland and the promise it held.
Then she started coming to him with predictions; just weather changes at first, and then a few basketball game scores a day or more in advance. It warmed his heart immeasurably to see the twinkle in her deep green eyes as she spoke about the flash of clairvoyance excitedly, stumbling over her words in trademark Susanna fashion. Slowly, the thin layer of ice that had surrounded her since they’d been targeted started to crack and fall away. She was laughing again, and singing. She stopped hiding when their friends came over, and they all visibly reacted to the change in her demeanor. On one particularly cool evening, he sat next to her in the grass, and she turned to him with a slow smile moving across her face.
“Guess what I saw today?” she asked.
“What?” he said, expecting to hear about new horse at the stables just outside of town, or the renewal of their favorite sitcom.
“The mountains,” she answered. “Covered in snow. Beautiful peaks dusted in fluffy white flakes, three or four feet of it falling at a time. A lodge, some rum, and a fire.”
Thomas blinked, not daring to believe what he was hearing. “Where might this ski lodge be?” he asked casually.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe Aspen? Perhaps Vermont?” She closed her eyes thoughtfully. “I’m not quite sure, but I do know there was a hot tub on the patio, which was also covered.”
Thomas turned to his mate and kissed her on the lips. When he pulled back, she giggled, and the roughened chuckle was like music to his ears. “What was that for?”
“Just because,” he answered. “Isn’t that reason enough?”
Susanna pecked him on the cheek and gazed at him dreamily, the sunset painting her skin even brighter and warmer than usual. “It’s reason enough for me.”
********
If you enjoyed reading this story, I’d be so appreciative if you could please leave a review. Even just a sentence or two would be a great help!
Thanks so much for your support!
xo – Meg
~BONUS COLLECTION~
Cosmic Passions
Cosmic Passions
An Alien Romance Collection
Chosen Alien Bride
My Encounter With A Sweet Alien
Chosen Alien Gene: Joran’s Quest
Captured By Two Aliens
---Red Lily Publishing---
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Cosmic Passions
Table of Contents
Chosen Alien Bride
My Encounter With A Sweet Alien
Chosen Alien Gene: Joran’s Quest
Captured By Two Aliens
Chosen Alien Bride
“Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to touch things without permission?” Charlotte chastised the man whose drink had nearly landed in his lap. It would've served him right, too, given that the precariously perched drink nearly toppled from her tray when he tried to squeeze Charlotte's ass as she leaned over to place the drinks on the table. She glared down at the offender, who returned a look of semi-inebriated chagrin.
Ugh, I already feel like I need a shower, she thought.
She was supposed to be off this evening, but she'd naively accepted the shift for a coworker who claimed she had an important family function.
“Family function, my ass,” Charlotte muttered to herself. By now, she was quite certain that Alison had simply been aware of the guests who would be occupying the sports bar tonight: a bachelor party! If they wanted to spend the evening in a drunken stupor, grabbing at every woman within arms' reach, then Charlotte had no problem with that. But, they really should have moved their party to a more fitting venue—like a strip club or a brothel! But maybe that was the problem; perhaps the groom had blown all his money on the wedding and had none left to enjoy his last night of single-hood with a bang. Charlotte smiled at the pun.
If he'd only budgeted more wisely, the table full of overgrown little boys could be enjoying all the tits and asses they could afford and Charlotte, who had opted for a job where her clothes remained on, could finish out her evening without fingerprints covering every inch of her uniform. It didn't help that the owner's idea of a “uniform” was a skirt that resembled something a school girl would wear, along with a tight, button-up, white blouse. Yeah, like those weren't designed to provide the bar's patrons with walking fantasies, she thought dryly.
Charlotte moved on from the table, grateful that the night was nearly over. “Just one more hour and I'm out of here,” she comforted herself. She moved around the room, checking to see if customers needed refills or another order of wings, and then headed back to the kitchen to hand over two more orders for the evening. She could survey the bar from her position just outside the kitchen. It was the part of her job that she loved; watching people come and go, seeing the play of expression on their faces, guessing why they're celebrating or drowning their sorrows in drink. While she was in the crowd, she couldn't see what was going on around her, but from here, it was the ultimate improv—reality TV at its best. It wasn't that she was a nosy person—it wasn't any of her business what was really going on in her customers' conversations—Charlotte was just fascinated with people.
She'd grown up as an only child, with two professional parents who spent a great deal of their time working. When she was young, it wasn't uncommon for Charlotte to wind up eating dinner with the babysitter, and then once she was old enough to care for herself, eating entirely alone. She used to eat in front of the television; not to keep up with her favorite sitcom or drama, but to watch the news. It made her feel better to know that the people on the television were actually out there somewhere. When her parents passed away in a plane crash just after her seventeenth birthday, Charlotte waited for something to be different. They had gone away for an anniversary vacation and on the day they were expected home, they never arrived. It wasn't until Charlotte was dining that evening in front of the television that she saw coverage of the crash on the news.
Day after day, she continued with her usual routine. She didn't miss her mother tucking her in at night—her mom never did that. She didn't miss tossing a ball around with her dad—he didn't have time for that. In the days, weeks and months following her parents' deaths, she made her own food, stayed on top of her own homework and tucked herself in at night—just like she always had.
Charlotte shook her head to dispel the sad reverie, and as her mind cleared, she noticed a new figure sitting in the darkened area of the bar. It wasn't odd to have new customers, and he probably wouldn't have caught her attention if he hadn't been staring back at her with a piercing gaze that she swore he was using to try to see into her soul.
She was accustomed to her fair share of ogling; at five foot, eight inches with a model's figure, attention from men, and even a few women, was an everyday occurrence. Her flaxen hair shimmered even in the poor lighting of the bar, and her big, stormy blue eyes captured almost as much attention as her long, slender legs and full breasts.
Even when she met the stranger's gaze, he didn't turn away, and the combination of a thrill and a chill ran down her spine. She knew she should be wary of the stranger; blatant attention like that was often a warning sign that the creep might be waiting outside after work. But for some inexplicable reason, she wasn't scared. And then, seemingly of their own volition, her legs began to propel her forward, moving her slowly toward the table where the stranger sat, still staring. She didn't know why she couldn't help herself—a tiny warning bell should have been going off in her head by now. But, she just kept moving until she stood directly in front of him.
“Hi there. Is there anything I can get for you this evening?” At least as a waitress, even if the guy turned out to be just another creep, her approach wouldn't strike him as odd or inviting. She was just doing her job.
“I'm fine for now. Thank you, Charlotte,” he replied politely, still staring at her intently. She wondered how he knew her name, and then figured he read it on her name tag. She wasn't accustomed to the patrons here being sober enough to bother with reading a name tag. But, as she looked down at her chest, following her mind's train of thought, she froze—she must have forgotten to put her name tag on before her shift started.
“How do you know my name?” she queried, a hint of panic in the tone of her voice.
“I know a great deal about you, Charlotte. And I'd like to know more,” he responded. The accent in his voice threw her off; she couldn't place it from any country she'd heard of.
“I bet you would,” she muttered aloud, beginning to think her “common creep” theory had been correct.
“No. Not in that way, though you are incredibly beautiful,” he said gently. “I mean, I would like the opportunity to learn about who you are,” he clarified, as if that should put her discomfort at ease.
He sounded 100 percent genuine, which made the situation all the more perplexing. Charlotte didn't know what to make of this stranger. By the way he spoke, how he held himself upright and looked clearly at her, she had a difficult time believing he was drunk.
“Yes, well, maybe I'll see you around here sometime.” She didn't know what else to say, and so a casual, uncommitted response seemed most appropriate. It was either that or, �
��You're creeping me out and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave,” she thought.
“I do not wish to leave. If you'd just join me for a drink, I am sure you'll come to see I am not here to 'creep' you out,” he explained.
The fact that he seemed to be reading her thoughts was disturbing Charlotte even more, and yet she didn't immediately tell him no. What was wrong with her?
“I'm in the middle of work, I'm afraid,” she told him honestly.
“I'm sure no one will mind if you took a break. I've seen you working all evening, and you haven't stopped even once.”
All of a sudden, “Charlotte!” her boss, Michael, shouted to her from across the room.
“Great. I'm in trouble already and I didn't even take the damn break,” she though exasperatedly.
“Go ahead and take five. We've got the floor covered for now,” Michael continued, and Charlotte's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Michael wasn't the type of boss who was...well, nice.
Uncomfortably she nodded her head and sat down at the stranger's table, though she wasn't entirely sure when she was the one who had commanded her legs to lower her to the seat.
Her boss, her body with a mind of its own tonight, and the potentially-telepathic stranger sitting across from her; Charlotte was beginning to wonder if she was dreaming—or living in an episode of the X-Files.
“What's going on?” she queried, certain at the least that something wasn't right here. As she spoke, she looked up at the stranger.
Even sitting she could tell that he would stand nearly a foot taller than her. She looked closer; something wasn’t quite right about his features. The stranger had ridges on his forehead and markings along his hairline down to his neck. She couldn't make them out, but they seemed to shimmer iridescent. He had incredibly defined, chiseled cheekbones, and a hard jawline. His eyes were gently slanted and he had incredibly long lashes for a man. His dark hair was long, too, falling just below his shoulders, and she could just barely see the tops of his ears peeking out, suggesting they angled away from his head—sort of like Will Smith's ears, she thought wryly.
