Taken By The Alien Next Door

by Tiffany Roberts

  Zevris’s gaze lingered on the dog for a moment longer before he returned it to the female.

  Her eyes were green—a vibrant shade of it that humans likened to the gemstone called emerald. They complemented her golden hair and pink lips perfectly.

  “Supposedly,” he replied, “though I’m not overly confident that they’ll follow through.”

  “If they don’t, I’ll gladly pay to make it right.” She chuckled a bit nervously. “Tabitha, Destroyer of Mailboxes, is not the first impression I wanted to make with my new neighbors.”

  “Tabitha,” he purred, one corner of his mouth curling upward. “Is that your name?”

  A blush stained her pale cheeks. “Oh! Yeah. I mean, not the Destroyer of Mailboxes part, but yes, my name is Tabitha Mathews.” She stuck her hand out. Her nails were short and blunt, but they were painted a vivid pink.

  Zevris tucked the mailbox under his arm and extended his own hand.

  When he took her hand in his, electricity crackled along his arm, and the heat in his chest flared. All his urges—to hold her, to protect her, to mate with her—increased tenfold, and now he found himself also battling the impulse to lift her hand to his lips.

  Tabitha’s breath hitched. The pink on her cheeks darkened. Her skin was soft and smooth but for the hints of calluses on her forefinger and thumb, and her touch was warm and delicate. What would her fingers feel like elsewhere on his body?

  “I’m Ze—” He caught his lower lip between his teeth, nearly puncturing it with a fang, and cleared his throat. “Logan. Logan Ellis.”

  Damned fool is far too weak a term to describe me. Nearly destroying my cover twice in a single morning?

  He’d never been so careless.

  Tabitha smiled wide. “Nice to meet you, Logan.”

  Dexter barked again.

  Tabitha rolled her eyes and sighed, though she was smiling playfully. “And that annoying but adorable mongrel is Dexter.”

  “I am happy to meet you, Tabitha. And to meet Dexter, too.” Zevris still could not bring himself to look away from her, and it took all his willpower to finally, albeit reluctantly, release her hand. Silence stretched between them; it was mere seconds, barely long enough to draw a full breath, but it felt like an eternity as his mind raced.

  What were the things humans usually chatted about idly? Which topics were suitable for small talk?

  Why had her scent and its effects not faded?

  The human social skills he’d slowly built during his time on Earth seemed to have vanished in those moments, leaving Zevris with nothing but instinct—and his instinct was to be direct. The games humans played in their courtship rituals did not come naturally to him…and he suspected they didn’t come naturally to most humans, either.

  “Tabitha, you are the—”

  Zevris wasn’t sure what he’d meant to say. You are the one, perhaps, or You are the most beautiful female I have ever seen. Unfortunately, neither he nor Tabitha would ever know how his sentence was meant to end, as his words were cut off by the sound—and feel—of liquid splattering on his boot.

  An instant later, he felt the warm liquid seep through the lacings and tongue to reach his foot, where it ran down to soak the insole. A strong, acrid scent struck Zevris’s nostrils.

  Zevris glanced down to see Dexter at his feet. The dog had one of his hind legs raised in the air as he unleashed a stream of urine onto Zevris’s boot.

  “Oh my God! Dexter, no!” Tabitha reached down, grabbed the dog by the collar, and pulled him away, leaving a trail of urine on the driveway. “Bad! Bad, bad, bad dog!”

  Dexter ducked his head and glanced at Zevris, tongue hanging out as though in mockery.

  What had that slobbering beast just done? Why had it done it?

  “I…I don’t know what to say.” Tabitha looked up at Zevris but seemed unable to meet his gaze. Her face was bright red. “Sorry doesn’t seem good enough, but…that’s all I can do. I am so sorry.”

  Zevris released a slow breath and glanced down at his soaked boot. It had served him well through rainy Oregon weather, but apparently its water resistance was easily overcome by animals that didn’t know how to keep their tongues in their mouths.

  And damn those beasts for making that…cute.

  “It’s…fine,” he said, tensing the muscles in his leg to keep himself from shifting his foot. He knew that it would feel infinitely worse once he moved it.

  “No, it’s not. It’s horrible. Oh my gosh, I’m mortified.” She pressed a hand to her face, covering her eyes. “I’ll pay for those, too. It…it was nice meeting you. I’m sure you can’t say the same to me, and I totally understand that. So I’ll just… Goodbye.”

  Zevris was more stunned watching her hurry back to her home—muttering to the dog in admonishment the whole way—than he’d been by Dexter’s actions. If there were a right thing to have said in that situation, he could not have guessed it on his own, and his mind didn’t produce any options until she was already in her own driveway.

  It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it, Tabitha.

  It’s worth it just to have met you.

  I’ll forget the boots if you have dinner with me.

  Don’t go.

  And then she was out of sight, having rushed into her garage with Dexter in tow.

  The two movers had halted on the truck ramp with a long dining table between them to stare at Zevris, smirking.

  “Tough break there, buddy,” said Frank.

  “That sucks,” said the other.

  Zevris’s brows slanted down, and another growl brewed in his chest. “You will see a tough break if you don’t take care of my fucking mailbox, buddy.”

  “I dunno. Might forget about it,” Frank said. “Not even a dent on our truck, so how would you prove anything?”

  Zevris glared at the man, who maintained his smirk. Frank’s expression said, What will you do about it?

  There were no conscious thoughts in Zevris’s mind when he took his first step toward the movers. His foot came down on the driveway, his boot made a squelching sound, and he felt moisture gush from the insole and bubble around his foot and toes.

  He did not let that stop him.

  The movers set down their table, the driver giving Frank a questioning look.

  “So what, you hit the gym a few times a week and think you’re a tough guy?” asked Frank.

  Zevris halted at the back end of the truck. He curled his hands into fists, felt his claws digging into his palms, and his muscles tensed. The mailbox tucked under his arm groaned slightly as he inadvertently crushed it a little more. He knew he should have stopped himself well before this point—and knew, also, that he could not stop.

  He turned and kicked the truck’s rear bumper.

  With his soiled boot.

  The metal bumper clanged and groaned, bending beneath the force of the blow, and the impact that jolted up Zevris’s leg was oddly satisfying—satisfying enough for him to pull back before he could put his full force into it. When Zevris lowered his foot, there was a boot-sized dent on the moving truck’s bumper.

  Zevris settled his gaze on the stunned movers. “Looks like you have quite a dent to me, buddy. You ought to get that taken care of. I am sure your insurance will cover it—along with the mailbox you destroyed when you got it.”

  He turned and walked back to his house without a backward glance, gritting his teeth and refusing to let the squelching of his boot affect his gait.

  There was no telling whether this was the worst day he’d had on Earth or the best, but either way…it was the most memorable.

  “Tabitha,” he said to himself as he tugged his boot off at the front door.

  He smiled despite everything.

  Three

  Tabitha gritted her teeth and grunted as she heaved the big, heavy box—clearly marked KITCHEN—onto the kitchen counter, having just hauled it in from the living room. It clanged loudly, and she winced at the sound.

  “Stupid mo
ving company. I am soooo going to one-star their asses,” she muttered as she folded her arms over the top of the box to take a breather. Her face was flushed, and she was sore, exhausted, hungry, hot, and sticky with sweat. The underside of her bra was soaked, uncomfortably rubbing against her skin.

  Because under-boob chafing was the perfect way to end a day of hard work.

  What in the world possessed me to wear an underwire for this? I should’ve gone with a sports bra.

  Unpacking was taking far longer than it should have thanks to the movers. Why had none of the reviews mentioned how slow and incompetent they were? Not only had the movers taken their time, often standing around, talking, and checking their phones, but they hadn’t even bothered to pay attention to the labels on the boxes. She’d spent a big chunk of her day just moving boxes to the correct locations before she could even begin unpacking.

  Boxes marked LIVING ROOM had ended up upstairs, and the ones marked KITCHEN had been stacked both in the living room and buried under other boxes in the master bedroom. And the most ridiculous part of that was they movers had literally walked through her kitchen to get to the living room!

  She could have sworn they had done it on purpose.

  “The jerks.”

  Tabitha glanced out the kitchen window.

  Night had fallen a while ago. With fall fast approaching, it was getting dark earlier, making it feel later than it actually was. She’d just unpack a few more boxes and eat one of the sandwiches from the cooler for dinner before rewarding herself with a nice, hot soak in her new bathtub. It’d been a long day—a long week, really, as she’d packed and prepared for the move—and she felt like she more than deserved it.

  Drawing back, she pulled her cellphone out, unlocked it, and navigated to her current playlist. Once a Lady Gaga song was playing, Tabitha set the phone down and got back to work, singing and dancing along to the tune. She ripped open the box and transferred the pots and pans inside it to the wide drawer under the double oven.

  Despite the day’s many frustrations, she was excited to set up her workspace and begin this new chapter in her life. She was a little anxious, but wasn’t anyone who’d quit their fulltime job so they could follow their dream? Tabitha wasn’t too worried. She had a great following on her YouTube channel, Lush Lathers, which had started blowing up over the past two years. And it was all thanks to Nan, her grandmother. The woman who had adopted and raised Tabitha.

  Some of Tabitha’s earliest memories were of watching Nan make soap and candles. It had been so fascinating to see Nan with those big rubber gloves on as she mixed ingredients, or to see her deftly carving wax into all sorts of fanciful shapes. When Tabitha had turned seven, she’d started helping a little, though it had been years before she was allowed to deal with any of the chemicals.

  Still, it hadn’t been until middle school—when other kids got particularly mean to a chubby girl with no mom and dad—that Nan really pushed Tabitha to get involved. They’d spent so many days trying new combinations of colors and scents, laughing together.

  Nan had always said there were no mistakes. She’d especially liked saying that when their experimental combinations produced smells that were particularly overwhelming, which always resulted in hysterical laughter from both of them as they ran around the house opening windows.

  Now that she was older, Tabitha knew all that time making soap and candles with Nan had been more than important bonding. Nan had done it, at least in part, to give Tabitha an escape. To give her something she could control while the world outside just seemed increasingly bigger and scarier.

  Tabitha paused as she placed a glass in the cupboard, frowning. Her eyes burned with the threat of tears. Had Nan really been gone for two years already? Tabitha missed her more and more every day.

  She resumed her work, unwrapping the drinking glasses from the thick paper protecting them and storing them in the cupboard.

  Nan had made sure Tabitha could follow her dreams by leaving everything to Tabitha in her will. She hadn’t been wealthy by most measures, but it had been enough to give Tabitha the ability to put more time and focus into her blossoming business, and that focus had provided just enough of a distraction from the pain of loss to keep Tabitha going.

  Selling Nan’s house, which had been the only real home Tabitha had ever known, had been a bittersweet process, but it had also been one of Nan’s last wishes. She wanted Tabitha to move on—to make her own life and new memories.

  A light scratching at the sliding patio door called Tabitha’s attention away. She walked over to the door to find Dexter, Nan’s seven-year-old German Shepherd, staring up at her from out back with his big brown eyes, tongue hanging out.

  She slid the door open to let him in. “I’m still mad at you. I can’t believe what you did today. What would Nan think?”

  Dexter closed his mouth, and, somehow, his eyes got bigger, softer, and more pitiful.

  “Don’t you give me that look. Stop it…” She fought to hold back a grin, shaking her head at herself when she failed to do so. Crouching, she held her arms out, and Dexter came forward to lick her face. Tabitha laughed and turned her face away as she took his head between her hands, giving him a good scratch behind his ears. “I can’t stay mad at you. But you’re still in the doghouse. No treats for you tonight.”

  He whined.

  “Nope, I don’t want to hear it. Are you hungry?”

  Dexter’s ears perked, and he wagged his tail.

  “Yeah, boy? You want food?” she asked playfully, pitching her voice higher.

  He barked his agreement, tail swinging so quickly now that his rear end was shaking along with it.

  She chuckled and stood, walking to the counter. She set the already unpacked dog dishes on the floor, filled one with cold water, and poured a cupful of dog food into the other. Dexter bumped her hand away before she’d even finish dumping the food in, eagerly chowing down.

  As she washed her hands in the sink, Tabitha looked out the window that faced the house of her out-of-this-world, unbelievably sexy neighbor. She cringed. First the movers ran over his mailbox, then her dog peed on his foot. She’d made herself out to be the worst neighbor in history—and on the first day!

  “Great way to make a first impression, Tabby.” She crossed her arms atop the counter and leaned on them, propping her chin on her palm. “He’s not likely to forget you.”

  It wasn’t like she’d had a chance in hell with him to begin with. Logan was the most attractive man she’d ever seen. He was tall, tan, and clearly well-built beneath his clothes. His dark hair was shaved on the sides and longer on top with a couple rogue strands dangling over his bright, piercing blue eyes to give him a rakish appeal. He had thick, arched brows, a long, narrow nose, and some dark stubble along his strong, square jaw. And those lips… Those full, sinfully sculpted lips were made for kissing. Or biting.

  She wanted to do both. Definitely both.

  But guys like him didn’t go for girls like her. They preferred women who’d choose a salad and the gym over those who’d grab a pint of ice cream and plop down on the couch with a blanket to binge watch a TV show.

  Tabitha sighed morosely. Pushing herself away from the counter, she dug her cooler out from beneath a stack of empty boxes, grabbed a turkey and swiss sandwich and a bottle of water, and sat at her dining table to eat.

  At least the movers had put that in the right place.

  Even with the music playing on her phone, the house felt so quiet, so empty. Tabitha had always lived with someone. It had been her grandmother for most of her life, who’d always had the radio on in the background playing anything from Golden Oldies to classical to contemporary pop. Nan’s appreciation for music had known no bounds.

  When Tabitha had graduated from high school and taken a job at a local department store, she’d met Mia—and the two had immediately become best friends. It hadn’t been long before they’d decided to rent an apartment together. Nan had been encouraging, and when Ta
bitha had voiced her hesitation in moving out, the older woman had given her a literal kick in the ass—though it had been the most loving kick imaginable.

  That apartment had always been filled with sound, whether it was Mia’s constant chatter, the television playing an endless succession of horror movies and angsty teen dramas, or the playful banter when Mia’s boyfriend, Josh, was over and they’d all play video games on the couch together. Tabitha had never been big on games—she preferred having her nose stuck in a book—but they were sure as hell fun with some friends.

  Now there was none of that. Just the music from her phone, which seemed somehow too small to fill the emptiness here, and the sound of Tabitha chewing her white bread, turkey, and swiss.

  And that of Dexter licking himself on the floor.

  Tabitha wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, Dex, do that someplace private, will ya? Some of us are eating.”

  The dog ignored her. Typical.

  She picked up her phone and checked her social media apps. There were multiple notifications and messages, none of which she had the energy to respond to currently. She’d put that on the list of to-dos for tomorrow.

  She skimmed through the most recent posts as she ate, smiling when she saw a picture of Mia kissing Josh’s cheek while he grinned at the camera. Tabitha turned off her music and watched a clip of today’s news. After only a minute, she decided that was too depressing, so she scrolled on until she found a compilation of cute cat videos, laughing at all their cute, crazy antics.

  Tabitha glanced at Dexter, who was lying on the floor at her feet. She gave him a gentle nudge with her toe. “How about it, Dex? should we get a cat?”

  He looked up at her with disinterest and huffed. She chuckled.

  Once she was done with her sandwich, she stopped the cat video and closed all the apps on her phone, plunging the room into silence. She knew Portland wasn’t the noisiest city in the world, but she hadn’t realized until now just how much background sound there’d been while she lived there. In comparison, this suburb was as quiet as a tomb.