by C. L. Wilson
With the grime and blood gone, Mona realized with a start that he was quite handsome. In an Icelandic Norseman kind of way. He had the look of an ice sculpture come to life. Even his skin was cool to the touch.
Mona glanced at the potbelly stove where the fire had dwindled to embers. “I should probably turn the heat up in here,” she said. “You're freezing.”
She moved to get up and he circled her wrist with one hand, stilling her movement. A frisson of electricity passed from his flesh to her and her pulse sped in response. It was a strange but pleasant sensation.
“No,” he murmured.
Her brows rose. “No?”
“My blood is not the same as yours. Cooler, for me, is better.”
“Oh,” was all she could think of to say. “Anything else I should know about your . . . special needs?”
He jerked his head toward the table lamps. “Could you turn those down? The light hurts my eyes.”
Confused, she nodded toward the healing device now sitting on her coffee table. “I thought that thing fixed them?”
“It did. My eyes are fine, but my shields are severely damaged.”
“Your . . . shields?”
“Yes, turn down the lights and I'll show you.” He released her hand, and she stood. Once the lights were turned to their dimmest setting, she returned to his side.
“Show me what?” she asked.
He kept one large hand on Cash's back. The animal had fallen asleep. With his free hand, Roan pointed long, slender fingers toward his eyes. He blinked hard, once, twice, three times. Then the dark irises of his eyes slowly shifted, swirled, and retreated.
Suddenly, she was staring into two of the brightest, most startling ice-blue eyes she'd ever seen. Certainly, she'd never seen anything like them in any human. They reminded her of the eyes of a puppy she'd had as a child, an Alaskan Husky.
“Who are you? What are you?” she breathed.
“I'm a Nibiruan Anunnaki renegade freedom fighter. I'm called Roan, descendent of Enki.”
“Enki?”
“He was one of the first of my kind to visit your planet, and he's the father of your species.”
Mona's mouth fell open. She snapped it shut and struggled to make sense of what he was saying. “My species? I don't understand. And whose freedom are you fighting for, anyway?”
“Yours,” he answered matter-of-factly. “I'm fighting for your freedom.”
CHAPTER SIX
Mona bit her lip, pondering Roan's words. “My freedom in particular?”
“All of humankind,” he told her.
She didn't like the turn of conversation at all. “Who wants to enslave us?”
“Other Nibiruan Anunnaki. Decedents of Enlil, brother of Enki. But they wish to do more than just enslave. They wish to eradicate.”
“So, you're an alien . . .” Mona managed to utter as she stood and backed away from Roan on Jell-O legs.
“To your people, yes, I suppose you would call me that. For us, it is humans who are the aliens. Your people have also thought of my kind as gods or angels.”
“But you aren't those things.”
He shook his head vehemently. “No. There is one universal life source that flows through all things. But there are many aspects of that source alive in this universe and others. I am one aspect of that source. As are you.”
“You're an alien. Part of a race of aliens who want to kill humans. And you're in my living room.” The reality of the situation hit her with full force. She wasn't hallucinating any of this. She only wished she were. The men who'd attacked her had been real. Cash's death and subsequent resurrection had been real. And the giant of a man in front of her, well, he was clearly real.
She ran shaking hands through her hair as her mind raced. What did one do in situations like this? Should she run? She seriously doubted she'd outrun him. Not with those long legs of his.
This man . . . Roan, he called himself, he'd saved both her life and Cash's. He was not the enemy. She had nothing to fear from him. So what would she be running from?
“Your energy field is clouded with your distress and confusion,” Roan said, his rich baritone laced with concern. “Please, sit.”
“My energy field?” That's when Mona realized he was looking not at her directly, but around her, scanning her as she scanned other people when she read their auras. He could see her aura?
“Please, sit. I'm sorry for frightening you. If you wish, I won't speak of these things anymore.”
No. She wanted to know more. But first . . . a drink. That's what she needed. A good, stiff drink to calm her nerves.
“Do you like whiskey? I've some aged scotch around here somewhere.” She didn't wait for Roan to answer. She retreated to the kitchen where she located the bottle of amber liquid behind the sugar canister, next to the refrigerator.
She grabbed two glasses, filled them with the scotch, and returned to the living room. “My brother, Garrett, left this here. I've always been more of a red wine drinker myself. But this feels more like a whisky kind of night.”
She handed him one of the glasses and then took a seat on the couch, careful not to sit too close to him. She knew she needn't fear him, but the strangeness of his tale was unnerving.
And if she were honest with herself, he was unnerving.
Even in his disheveled, odd attire, Roan's appearance was striking, the kind of male beauty you imagined mythical gods to possess. There was an openness and honesty to him, which she could feel with that part of her senses she'd spent her whole life trying to stifle. In his presence, she had no need to turn down the volume on her psychic tuner. And that was a blessed, welcome relief.
His essence was so pure, so bright, it soothed her, filled her with warmth and peace and a tingle of . . . desire.
Where had that thought come from?
Mona immediately lifted her glass and gulped down some scotch. The alcohol burned her throat, leaving a trail of oak and floral flavors in its wake. She took another deep draw of her drink, briefly closing her eyes to relish the relaxation of her senses. There. That was better.
When she opened her eyes again, Roan was studying his drink with interest. He tilted the glass, swirled the liquid this way and that, and then sniffed it.
Finally, he lifted the glass to his mouth and swallowed the entire contents in one long gulp before placing the glass on the floor next to him.
Her eyes rounded. “I guess you do like whiskey.”
“I haven't had this particular drink before. I liked it, but I prefer sweeter mixtures.” He tilted his head and gave a half-smile. Straight, white teeth peeked from between his lips. “Thank you for sharing your drink with me.”
“You're welcome,” she answered. “Thank you for saving my life.”
He nodded. “You're welcome.”
That's when Mona noticed the wound on his chest, still oozing blood. She jumped up and hurried to his side, collecting the wet towel along the way.
“You're still hurt. Let me clean it.”
“It's nothing,” he said.
She ignored him and dabbed a clean corner of the towel at the gash. It was deeper than she'd realized. “We should clean this with some hydrogen peroxide.” She pushed a bit of his coat aside. “This jacket is filthy too. You're just begging to get an infection. How long have you had this cut?”
His brow furrowed. “A day or so. I had actually forgotten about it. I've had other, more pressing injuries to attend to.”
That's when she realized he was all but naked beneath the coat. A tattered, thin film of silver mesh clung to his muscular torso in haphazard scraps, but there was way more man flesh than material covering it. Mona swallowed.
“What are you called?” came his soft voice breaking into her wayward thoughts.
She jerked her head up, registering his question as she met his pale gaze. “How rude of me. Mona. My name is Mona.”
He stilled her movements, closing one large hand over her own and pressing it against his bare che
st. She could feel his heart thudding hard against her hand. His gaze seemed to see into her, through her.
For one brief, dizzying moment, she thought he might kiss her. She caught herself leaning forward, leaning into him, her lips parting in anticipation.
He cleared his throat. “You don't need to cleanse the wound. I can use the surger.”
She jerked back from him. What was she thinking? Kiss him? Why in the world would she even want to do such a thing with this strange man she'd just met? An alien no less!
“Oh, right, of course.”
She stood and moved away from him and dropped the towel to the coffee table. Her vision swam as a slight lightheadedness came over her. The effects of the whiskey she'd so hastily consumed, no doubt.
Roan eased himself out from under the sleeping dog and rose to his feet. He towered over her five-foot-eight-inch frame. She craned her neck to look at him. He reached one large hand toward her.
Mona's forehead creased with confusion. Was he going to touch her? Where? Why? And why did the thought make her pulse race with excitement?
“The surger, please.”
Oh. She was blocking his path to the coffee table. She quickly stepped aside. In moments, he'd retrieved the device and healed the gash on his chest.
“Is there somewhere I can cleanse myself? A washing room?”
“Down the hall and to the right. There are towels in there already. Soap's in the shower, shampoo, whatever you need.”
“Thank you,” he said before disappearing down the hall. He moved with surprising grace for someone so large.
“I'll see if I can find you something to wear,” Mona called after him. She retreated to the master bedroom and dug through the closet of clothes that had belonged to her father. She picked out the longest pair of faded Levi's she could and a cotton sky-blue t-shirt that looked like it would stretch over Roan's broad shoulders and wide chest. A pair of socks and some boxer shorts completed the borrowed attire.
The sound of running water signaled Roan was showering. She dropped the clothing by the guest bathroom door and returned to the living room, suddenly at a loss as to what to do with herself.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. The small living room suddenly felt huge without Roan's presence.
Mona bent and removed her soaking wet socks. Funny, she'd totally forgotten about them. Her jeans and sweater clung to her too, damp from melted snow. She reached one hand to her hair. Its thick strands hung in matted, damp clumps around her face. She could only imagine what a sight she must be.
She hurried back to the master bedroom and its adjoining bathroom, yanked off her clothes, and stepped into the shower. She might as well get clean too. No doubt a hot shower would do her good after the exposure to the cold, the shock of all that had transpired, and her frazzled nerves.
That's all this was. She didn't care what she looked like for Roan. It's not like she had any intention of getting involved with the man, or Anunnakian, or whatever he was, beyond learning the rest of his story and sending him on his way.
To even consider anything more was insane.
As insane as, say, having a real live alien in your house for New Year's.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Although familiar with human ways, Roan had never actually attempted to operate a shower before. His previous landings on the planet had been few and brief and had not required bathing. Roan puzzled over the shower for a bit, then finally determined how to work the knobs to warm the water to a pleasant temperature.
With a sigh, he realized he'd have to kneel in the tub in order to fit, and so he did just that. He inspected the various tubes and jars of product lining the tub, chose one that pleased his senses, it smelled of honey and spice, and squeezed the gel into his hands. Hmmm. He enjoyed sweet scents as much as he did sweet flavors.
He worked the lather through his hair, then over his face, chest, and arms. He cleansed his entire body thoroughly, careful not to linger too long on his manhood. Thoughts of the female in the next room filled him. Her large, dark eyes pleased him with their intensity.
Her plump red lips made his mouth itch to press against hers. Her smooth fair skin, almost as pale as his own, begged to be stroked. And her long thick hair, the color of a raven's wing, would be a magnificent curtain against her naked breasts.
She wanted him. As a female desires a male. This had been clear in the shades of red that sprouted in her energy field when he was near. His hardened manhood wouldn't allow him to deny he mirrored her desire.
I must banish these thoughts from my mind. It was forbidden for Anunnaki to mate with humans. He refused to touch his throbbing member, no matter how it twitched and ached between his thighs. Forbidden.
Shower complete, he stepped, dripping, from the tub. He dried himself with a towel conveniently left on the counter and then wondered how he might clean the metallic taste from his mouth. Apparently, he'd swallowed blood sometime during his crash landing and scuffle with the trackers.
He improvised by squirting some of the sweet gel-mixture onto a towel, wetting it, and scrubbing his teeth and mouth with it. The gel smelled much better than it tasted. He rinsed his mouth thoroughly and spat it out in the sink.
Roan glance down at his naked body. Finally, his erection was starting to relax and the ache in his groin had subsided. But now there was the issue of how to clothe himself. He opened the bathroom door, prepared to call out for the woman—for Mona—and noticed a pile of garments on the floor. It seemed she was a step ahead of him.
After he dressed, he ran his fingers through his damp hair to tame it and went in search of Mona. He found her where he'd left her earlier. She had changed into new clothing; a pair of black pants and a red sweater. Her damp hair was twisted into a braid. The scent of peppermint and spice hung in the air, wafting from a lit candle on the coffee table.
Mona stood with her back to him, facing a wall filled with framed photographs. When he walked up behind her, she didn't turn, but instead pointed toward one silver-framed picture of a white-haired man with dark eyes and an expressive smile. He had the same round eyes as Mona.
“I wish I'd had your magic surger a few months ago,” she said in a quiet voice.
“Your father?” he asked.
She nodded, and mint once again drifted to his nose. He suspected her hair had been washed in the scent. “He was in perfect health as far anyone knew. Then boom, from out of nowhere, a stroke. My brother says Dad died of a broken heart. That he couldn't stand to be here anymore without Mom.”
Roan followed Mona's gaze to a photograph of a black-haired woman with light eyes and sun-worn skin. “When did your mother pass?”
“A couple years ago. Cancer.”
“I'm sorry.”
She turned toward him, her eyes glistening. “Have you ever lost someone close to you?”
His mind flitted over the friends lost in battle. Each one had left a scar upon his heart. Too many lost. Fighting a war that should never have begun. “Yes.”
“Family members?”
“No. Friends and colleagues. But not to illness. We are not prone to the diseases of humankind. Our life span is . . . much longer,” he explained.
“Those men. The ones who tried to kill me. Were they your friends?”
He shook his head. “They were soldiers under the command of Enyir, descendent of Enlil.”
“And they tried to kill you.”
“Yes.”
Her forehead crinkled. “But you cried for them.”
He stiffened. He hadn't realized she'd seen his tears. It shouldn't bother him for her to see this part of him. He didn't consider his compassion for life a weakness, even if those under Enyir's command disagreed with him. Still, there was a part of him that railed against this woman seeing any part of him as soft. After all, it was his job to be strong and to protect her.
“All life is sacred. I don't relish ending it. If I'd had any other option, I'd have chosen it,” he told her. It pa
ined him to speak of it. The shame of his acts, the guilt of the fallen soldiers' deaths hung heavy over him, like a cloud of nuclear dust.She studied him thoughtfully for a moment while they stood in silence, the only sound that of the robust wind whipping outside the cabin.
“My dad was a forest ranger. He told me about the times he'd been forced to take down a bear or a coyote after they'd attacked people.” She paused. “He said it was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but he'd had to make a choice, and he chose to help the people. I know it's not the same as what you're dealing with, but if it helps, I think you made the best choice you could.”
Roan's chest tightened at her words. Her attempts to comfort him struck some place inside of him that needed comfort and craved solace.
One tendril of damp dark hair fell into Mona's eyes. He reached out and carefully moved the lock of hair, tucking it behind her ear. She stiffened in surprise, but didn't back away.
“You're very kind,” he said.
“I give as good as I get,” she replied, her voice lilting slightly.
Roan found his gaze focusing on her full pink lips. Her tongue snaked out as she wet her lips, then bit nervously at her bottom one. The air between them shimmered with tension. The urge to kiss her was overwhelming, but he forced himself to remain still as stone. She didn't move either. She just watched him, big dark eyes round with expectation.
Roan's stomach growled then. Loudly.
“You're hungry,” she said.
He hadn't realized just how depleted his energy was until then. Not only was the emptiness in his belly almost painful, his limbs had become heavy and weighted.
“I would be grateful for food. And water.”
“Sit. I'll bring you some of both.” She gestured toward the couch. “I have leftover turkey and potato bread. It makes for a fantastic sandwich.” She paused and cocked her head to the side. “Unless your kind eat something different?”
Roan settled himself into the couch. “I eat what you eat.”
Her sigh of relief was noticeable. What had she thought he might eat? Her? That particular thought painted an inappropriate picture in his mind's eye. He quickly stamped it out before his traitorous body could respond.