by Cara Bristol
Must be something wrong with the locking mechanism. The fib hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t lie to him. She might withhold a few facts—he had no idea she didn’t share his faith—but she couldn’t tell him an outright falsehood. Her widowed pastor uncle was like a second dad, and he’d provided her with a job and a haven when her marriage had fallen apart.
“A man came in, a stranger, and I got a little scared, so I, uh, locked the door. I forgot to unlock it.”
Brows knit with concern. “Did he threaten you?”
“No, nothing like that. I…overreacted. He didn’t do anything or say anything threatening.”
“What did he look like?”
She hesitated. Even a religious man might question her sanity when she described what she’d seen. “He was very tall, short black hair. Near-black eyes. He wore black clothes…and he carried a Saints ball cap…” She could appreciate the irony of the latter. She wet her lips. “He had horns.”
“What do you mean?”
She put forefingers to her head. “Horns.”
“His hair stuck up?”
“Could have been…” she prevaricated. It hadn’t been. The man had had horns. And a tail.
Gray brows arched. “Could have been?”
“I mean, yeah.” What good would it do to tell him the truth? You had to see it to believe it, and even then, it boggled the mind.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing.” She shrugged, wishing this conversation had never started. It wasn’t just embarrassment. For reasons she couldn’t pinpoint, she felt reluctant to discuss what had happened.
My genmate. I’ve come for you. What had he meant by that? She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what he’d said, his unusual physical features, his attractiveness, how his rumbling voice had stirred her libido. How crushed he’d looked when she’d ordered him out of the church.
“Then what scared you?”
“I guess…” She twisted her hands. “The man acted like he knew me, but I’d never seen him before.” Unless you counted all the religious depictions of Lucifer. “I was alone, and it weirded me out a little.”
“You should have called me! Maybe we should contact the sheriff’s department.”
“No, no. No need to do that. You’re back earlier than I expected. Everything go okay at the hospital with Mrs. Peterson?” She changed the subject to the parishioner who’d had a hip replaced.
He twisted his mouth wryly. “They had discharged her earlier this morning, so after a quick chat with the hospital chaplain, I left.”
“Oh, well, I’m glad everything went okay.” She smoothed her hands down her sides. “I, uh, finished the bulletin and emailed it to you. The programs for tomorrow’s service are printed and folded.” She pointed to the stack of papers on the credenza. “If there’s nothing else you need me to do, would it be okay if I left early?”
“Of course!” Bushy gray brows drew close in a worried frown. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m good.” She faked a wide smile. “Just got a few things to take care of.” She grabbed her purse from the bottom drawer. “I’m fine.” She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
The phone rang, and she turned to answer it.
“I’ll get it. You go on.” He picked up the receiver. “Church of Argent. This is Pastor Mike…hello?” He shrugged and hung up. “Must have been a wrong number. Bird on a wire.” He shooed her away. “Go now. Take the afternoon off.”
She dug her car keys out and exited through the front entrance. Halfway across the parking lot, the hairs on her nape stood up, and the skin between her shoulder blades prickled. She spun around, expecting to see the man in black, but the parking lot was empty.
I’m getting jumpy after what happened. Argent is one of the safest places to live in the entire state.
But the feeling of being watched persisted, and she scurried to her car and locked the doors.
Chapter Two
Three weeks later
Inferno finished off a double bacon cheeseburger and fries and a slice of huckleberry pie under Millie’s astonished yet approving eye. “You boys are hearty eaters,” the diner owner said.
“I guess.” He shrugged. Others had remarked on the castaways’ appetites, and, as a Luciferan, he burned a lot of calories and required more food than the average ’Topian.
Millie wiped the counter with a cleaning rag. “You’re looking rather glum today, not to mention a little peaked. You feelin’ all right?”
“I’m fine,” he said dejectedly, staring at the crumbs on his plate. He was feeling glum, and the activated mating glands in his neck throbbed. Swallowing hurt. He’d barely managed to finish his lunch. Three weeks had passed since meeting his genmate, and he’d naively assumed he would have connected with her by now—but nothing.
“Woman troubles?”
His head shot up. “How did you guess?”
Millie guffawed. “Honey, ain’t no man as woebegone as you ever had any other kind of trouble.” She sobered. “Anybody I know?”
“Her name is Geneva Walker.”
“Ah. The church secretary. Cute gal. Keeps to herself a lot.”
He fingered the rose quartz he wore around his neck. According to Shadow’s mate, Mandy, who owned the Inner Journey health and wellness center, the crystal promoted love by restoring trust and harmony. Thus far, it hadn’t worked. Mandy, a clairvoyant, had been instrumental in introducing him to Geneva—she’d had a vision about her and had urged him to go to the church—but then hope went up in smoke.
Geneva had taken one look at him and screamed. If not for the reaction in his mating glands, he might have doubted they were supposed to be together.
Though hesitant after the explosive reception, he’d crept back to the church a couple of times, but either Geneva had been gone, or she’d avoided him.
“She won’t talk to me.” He paused. “She thinks I’m ugly.”
Millie’s thin penciled brows arched. “I doubt that. You’re a handsome fella. With your horns, you’ve got a devilish air about you. You’re the bad boy of all bad boys. Women love that.”
He rubbed his swollen, throbbing throat. The glands were inflamed. To mate, his ’Topian biology required he bond with a female carrying the same genetic marker. While some ’Topians bided their time by engaging in sexual relations, the unions were transitory and shallow. True happiness could only be achieved through the genmate connection. “I don’t need all women to love me. Just her,” he replied.
Millie jutted out her chin. “You’re going to get another chance. Batter up, slugger.”
“What?” He frowned.
She gestured for him to turn around.
Geneva had entered the restaurant. Her face flooded with color the instant she spotted him.
He slid off the stool and tossed a few bills on the counter, afraid she would leave before he could speak to her. This was the first time he’d seen her since that disappointing day in the church. He had to make this right. He approached her like he would a skittish long-tailed ’Topian khat.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.” She riveted on his Saints ball cap before shifting her gaze to their audience—the diners eating up the show in addition to their lunches. She twisted the straps of her handbag. “Could we, uh, talk outside?”
This sounded promising. His two hearts thudded in sync. “Sure.”
Outside, they moved away from the window and nosy diners. A rosy glow colored Geneva’s face all the way to her hairline. Today, she’d knotted her hair in a bun atop her head, leaving a few blonde tendrils to caress her temples. Her sky-blue eyes appeared larger than he remembered. She was smaller than he recalled; she barely came up to his shoulder. But the lush curves were just as he dreamed about.
“I, uh, want to apologize for my behavior the other day, for what I said, for throwing the hymnals at you. You, uh, startled me, but I shouldn’t have behaved the way I did. I’m sorry.”
<
br /> “It’s all right.” He smiled to show he was nonthreatening and scrambled for something interesting to say.
Still twisting her purse strap, she appeared ready to bolt. “Of course, you’re welcome to come to the church anytime.”
“I did go a couple of times,” he confessed. “I didn’t see you.”
She averted her gaze. “I’m in and out all day.”
“What did I do that scared you?” he asked gently.
“It wasn’t you. It was me.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter.”
It mattered. He suspected he was the crux of the problem. Although reluctant to pressure her, he had to know the truth. They were meant to be together, and anything that kept them apart had to be dealt with. “Please tell me what I did to upset you.”
She studied her feet. “It wasn’t anything you did.”
“Then what was it?”
She shook her head. “Please, let’s leave it as it is.” She marched away.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” he called.
“I’m not hungry.” Instead of slowing, she sped up.
“Wait!” He jogged after her. He couldn’t let her go; nothing had been resolved. He grabbed her arm.
She cocked her head. “What do you want from me?”
“You’re my genmate,” he said, taken aback by her near-scowl. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but couldn’t she sense their bond? The tugging sensation, the buoyant feeling of rightness? The desire? His glands throbbed like crazy, and heat sizzled from his chest into his extremities and into his cock, which had gotten hard.
“What does that even mean?”
Ah, she didn’t understand. How could she? Humans didn’t know the Xeno Consortium had come to Earth eons ago and collected DNA for their genetic projects—and tinkered with the human genome. “It means you fill my life with purpose and my heart with joy. We’re life mates, and we share a genetic marker that binds us together,” he said reassuringly.
She blinked and backed away. “I don’t know who you are, why you think this, but stay away from me. Leave me alone.” She waved her arms as if warding him off. “If I have to, I’ll file a police report. Forget about what I said about being welcome at the church. Don’t ever set foot there again!”
He couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d punched him. “I don’t understand.” He removed his ball cap in a gesture of respect. “Geneva, please—”
“Jesus Christ, you do have horns!” Blue eyes widened and riveted on his head. “I didn’t imagine it!” she muttered.
“Of course I have horns—I’m a Luciferan.”
She jutted out her chin. “Lucifer isn’t real!”
“Luciferan—not Lucifer. I’m a ’Topian.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m from the planet ’Topia.”
“Sure you are.” Her lips flattened. “Listen—a lot of people have been duped into thinking aliens have landed and are living in a farmhouse—”
“We do live in a farmhouse! We don’t have any farm animals—”
“I don’t buy the cockamamie story one bit. Do you understand? I’m onto your scam—whatever it is.” She shook her finger. “Leave me alone. Go away. Stay away. If I see your face, I will call the sheriff’s department.”
She jumped into a bright-yellow car then peeled away in a blaze of smoke and burning rubber.
* * * *
Why didn’t I leave well enough alone? Geneva sped away with one eye glued to the rearview mirror. It was bad enough he knew where she worked. God forbid he should follow her home—not that he couldn’t find out where she lived. In a small town of friendly, well-meaning chatty people, getting somebody’s address was as easy as pie.
He’d been on her mind since the incident. For three weeks, she’d expected to run into him around town but hadn’t, and just when she’d started to relax—abracadabra! He appeared. She’d apologized only to lose her cool again when he spewed his crazy talk. She wasn’t sure which was worse—that he claimed to be an alien or that he seemed to have imprinted on her like some sort of ginormous baby bird. She checked the mirror again before turning into her driveway and into the garage.
Then again, maybe he wasn’t insane but crazy as a fox. The alien shtick could be his pickup line. It might work on some women.
She wasn’t that gullible or desperate. Despite how my stupid body reacts, I’m immune to him! If not for the post-divorce sexual famine, his lethal grin and deep voice wouldn’t have affected her at all.
Trenton, her ex-husband, hadn’t turned her on to that degree, and they’d had a healthy, active sex life right up until he’d told her marriage didn’t work for him. They had had sex one night, and the next morning he’d informed her he’d rented a place and would be moving out. Apparently he’d needed a parting fuck before moving on. How did love wither and die? How long had they been living a lie?
Henceforth, she would hold out for her soul mate. She clung to the notion he would find her because the alternative—that he didn’t exist—would break her heart. A realist, she was aware moving to a larger city would offer a much larger pool of available men. However, she loved the quaint little town, the surrounding woods, the beautiful lakes, and, mostly, her uncle, her last close living relative since her parents had died in a car accident soon after she’d married Trenton. Deep down, she believed destiny would find her, no matter where she lived. So she procrastinated over leaving, hoping her soul mate would magically appear.
Who’s the crazy one now?
She let herself into her tiny rented bungalow, realizing she needed to start locking the door. Argent was one of the last American cities where people didn’t bother locking up, and she’d fallen into the habit of dashing out without securing her home. But with a crazy guy on the loose, she should become more security conscious.
Inferno had revealed he’d gone looking for her. Several times, her Spidey senses signaled she was being watched. If he’d admitted to a couple of visits, probably he’d been stalking her.
She tossed her handbag on a table. After kicking her shoes off, she flung herself onto the sofa and eyed the rose quartz paperweight on the coffee table. It had been an impulse purchase. She’d been drawn to it the instant she’d seen it at the Inner Journey, the new “health and wellness center.” According to the store owner, who considered herself a clairvoyant, rose quartz would restore trust and harmony in one’s life and attract love. The bogus claims had been almost enough to dissuade her from buying it, but the crystal was so pretty, she couldn’t resist.
She picked it up and cradled it in her hands. Trust, harmony, and love, huh? “Okay, crystal. Work your magic. Send me my soul mate.”
Chapter Three
Inferno peered into the fridge, and, with relief, spied the covered plastic bowls. “Meadow left us dinner.” He peeled the lid off a container. “Meatloaf. And there’s mashed potatoes.”
“She said she would fix something.” Tigre nodded. “I told her she didn’t have to, that we could feed ourselves, but she insisted.”
“She must think we can’t cook.”
“We can’t cook,” Tigre pointed out.
Inferno chuckled. “Well, not the way she can.”
Until Meadow and Psy had mated, and she’d moved in, they had subsisted on canned and frozen dinners reheated in the microwave—tastier than the nutritionally balanced processed foodstuffs they’d eaten on ’Topia, but no comparison to Meadow’s cooking. Psy’s mate spoiled them all.
“So where did she and Psy go for their date night?” Inferno asked.
“To Coeur d’Alene for dinner and a movie. Should we eat in the kitchen or in front of the TV?”
“TV.”
“I’ll set up the trays.” Tigre left the kitchen.
Inferno got out the plates, flatware, and a couple of beers. He’d heated his serving of meatloaf and had Tigre’s spinning in the microwave when his brother returned. “I set wood in the fireplace, if you’ll do the honors,” Tigr
e said.
“Sure.”
The microwave dinged, and they carried their meals into the great room. After placing his plate on a snack tray, he knelt in front of the fireplace set with kindling and several logs. He stretched out his arm. Heat sizzled from shoulder to hand, and flames shot out his fingertips. He held the fire to the wood until he got a blaze going then closed his fist to extinguish the flame.
“That took the edge off.” He took his seat. Fire, fueled by frustration, had been building inside him, and he’d needed the release.
He and Tigre popped open their beers and clicked cans. “And then there were two,” Inferno said.
When the castaways first arrived on Earth, all six of them had lived in the rented farmhouse. But, after mating, Chameleon, Wingman, and Shadow had moved in with their women. Psy and Meadow had chosen to remain, but they went out a lot, so he and Tigre were often alone at the farmhouse.
Tigre took a long pull of his beer. “Soon, only one.” His whiskers twitched. “Me.”
Inferno forked off a bite of the meatloaf. He chewed and swallowed. “You’ll meet someone soon,” he reassured him. “Nobody’s odds were worse than Shadow’s, but he found Mandy!”
“In the nick of time. He didn’t have much longer,” Tigre agreed.
Shadow, a Vaporian, could transform from solid to gas. Due to malicious trickery by the Xeno Consortium, upon reaching adulthood, Vaporians who didn’t mate began to involuntarily sublimate. Shadow had been on the verge of dissipating into nothingness when he’d met his genmate.
“You need to be in the right place at the right time.”
“I wish I knew where that place was,” Tigre said. “I went to Mandy for a reading, but she couldn’t see anything useful. She suggested I adopt a cat.” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t want a cat! I want a mate. Besides, I’m happy for all of you, but I confess I’ve begun suffering from FOMO.”
“With respect to me, you’re not missing out on much. Geneva won’t have anything to do with me.”
“No progress, huh?” Tigre shook his head sympathetically.