One Enchanted Season

by C. L. Wilson

  While he waited for her return, Roan contemplated his next steps. First, he needed to dispose of the tracker's bodies. It would be unfortunate if some wandering human, or worse, another tracker, were to stumble across them.

  Next, he needed to search for the trackers' ship. It was his ticket home. Based on the length of time it had taken the trackers to reach Mona after picking up her scent, their ship had to be within a five-mile radius of the cabin. He was pretty certain he'd be able to pinpoint the trackers' energy trail and follow it to their ship.

  “Here you go. Brought you some more scotch too.” Mona placed a plate of food in front of him along with a glass of water. She also set a bottle of amber liquid in front of the glass he'd left on the coffee table earlier. Then she perched on the couch beside him.

  He noted with interest that she didn't attempt to put much distance between them. Her jean-clad thigh was mere inches from his own. He didn't know why that should please him, but it did.

  Roan devoured the food quickly, barely pausing between bites to savor the saltiness of the meat or the buttery flavor of the bread. He washed the meal down with gulps of water, then put his glass on the table.

  Mona simply watched him eat while sipping slowly on her own glass of the concoction she called scotch. That intense, dark gaze of hers remained steady. Truth be told, it unnerved him. He was normally one who enjoyed silence and felt no need to make idle talk.

  But this woman seemed to study him often, to look at and through him in ways reminiscent of the Anunnaki. It made him wish to distract her, to direct her focus elsewhere for a moment.

  Roan frowned, realization dawning. “You can read my energy field.”

  Mona tilted her head to the side. “How did you know?”

  “I can sense it. This is an Anunnaki trait. It's apparently another one of your recessive Anunnaki genes reawakened.”

  “I've had the ability since I was a teenager,” she told him.

  That meant it must have surfaced around the time of her first menses. It made sense. The Anunnaki children, too, didn't come into their more advanced sensing abilities until their bodies had reached the threshold of adulthood.

  “Did your ability to weave song emerge then also?” he asked.

  Mona blinked. “How did you know I write music?” She glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, you must have seen the guitar.” She took another sip of her drink and set the glass down.

  “I've always loved to sing. Mom said I sang even as a baby, that my voice was angelic.” She paused, reminiscing. “She was known to exaggerate a little. Anyway, I started writing songs when I was a teenager. That's when I learned to play the guitar too. But, what does this have to do with anything anyway? I thought we were talking about special powers or psychic ability or whatever you call it where you come from.”

  “Your mother was correct. Your singing is very special, Mona.”

  She frowned. “When did you hear me sing?”

  “Earlier tonight. It's what drew the trackers to you.”

  Confusion flitted over her face. “How is that possible? I was inside the cabin, and I wasn't singing particularly loudly. Do you have extra sensitive hearing?”

  “It's the energetic vibration you emit when you're singing. Anunnaki can hear it. On Nibiru,” he told her, “your gift would be coveted.”

  Her brows rose. “Huh. Well, score one for Nibiru. Here, I'm lucky to get a paying gig.”

  He wasn't exactly sure what a gig was, but Roan got the gist of her statement, and the sad resignation he saw cross her features made his chest constrict. “Humans hear only a pleasant singing voice when you weave song. Only an Anunnakian would hear your voice with their whole self. We hear frequencies humans do not.”

  She looked dubious. “Okay. So, I have a really pretty voice to the people of your planet?”

  He smiled wryly at her struggle to make sense of his words. Her earlier sadness at the lack of recognition for her talent made him want her to understand just how amazing she was.

  “Yes, but it's more than that. On Nibiru, we know the secrets of sound healing. Your voice, with proper training, could have the gift of Anunnakian sound healing.” He leaned toward her and before he could stop himself, he reached one hand to her cheek, stroked the soft skin there, and forced her to meet his level gaze.

  “You are so special. So beautiful in ways you don't yet understand. Any human who cannot see this doesn't deserve the blessing of your company.”

  Her cheeks warmed with shades of pink, but despite her obvious embarrassment, she was pleased by his compliment.

  “Then,” she said with a wry smile, “who does deserve the blessing? An Anunnaki? Know any single ones? So far, I haven't had much luck with Earth guys.”

  Roan jerked back from her, dropping his hand to his lap. “It's forbidden for humans and Anunnaki to mate.”

  “Well, apparently someone can't take a joke,” she quipped. Her aura, which had previously been permeable and open, hardened noticeably. She cleared her throat, and put some distance between them, moving to the opposite side of the coach. He'd hurt her. He could feel it in the contraction of her energy field and could read it in the stiffening of her spine. But he was at a loss as to why she was in pain or what he could do to assuage it.

  “Not that I'm trying to get rid of you, but I'm a planner. When do you intend to leave? I mean, I assume the plan is to go find the other guys' ship and hightail it out of here, right?” she asked.

  “You are perceptive.”

  She gave a rueful smile. “Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out. So when are you going?”

  “As soon as possible. Where there is one tracker, there will be more. Someone will come looking for the two I killed. And I don't want my presence here to bring them to you.”

  She stiffened a little at news that more of the less than friendly of his kind could be heading their way. “So, first light then?”

  He shook his head. “Without my eye shields, I can only travel in darkness.”

  “Oh, right, the sensitive-eyes thing.” She glanced toward the clock on the wall behind him. “Well, unless you think you can find the ship within a couple hours, I think you're stuck here for awhile. It's already almost four o'clock.” She yawned and stretched. “I'm exhausted. I assume you sleep, right?”

  “I sleep, yes.”

  She motioned down the hallway toward his left. “There's a guest bedroom, back by the bathroom you used earlier. It's yours. I'm going to go pass out.”

  She stood and turned to walk away, paused, picked up her empty glass and the bottle of scotch, and disappeared into the other bedroom. Her bedroom door shut behind her with a loud clicking sound, which had a certain ring of finality to it.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  December 31

  10:00 A.M.

  Someone was pounding nails into her brain. At least, that's what if felt like when Mona attempted to open her eyes the next morning. She sat up, slowly, and ran her hands over her face. She attempted to swallow but her dry mouth protested. Water. She needed water.

  She made her way to the bathroom, avoiding the light switch, and instead blinked into the mirror under the wash of daylight from the small window in the corner of the room. The image in the mirror told her she looked like hell.

  Mona turned on the faucet and gulped water from her palms. She ran some of the cool water over her face and patted her cheeks dry with a hand towel. Then, she brushed her teeth and combed through her hair. She felt a little better, but aspirin was definitely needed. Damn that bottle of whisky. After all the nerve-wracking chaos of the night before, she'd desperately needed something to take the edge off. Now she was regretting her lack of restraint.

  She dressed in black yoga pants and a baggy green sweater, then slipped her feet into her favorite fuzzy striped socks.

  It wasn't until she opened the bedroom door that she remembered she had company. The events of the previous evening rushed back to her. The attack. The rescue. Cash's death an
d revival. The very tall, very handsome alien in her guest room.

  The ache in her head increased.

  Stepping into her living room was like entering a cave. The curtains were drawn and sheets she recognized from the hall linen closet had been placed over them to block out any light. The lamps were turned off. The only light came from the fire burning in the potbelly stove.

  With a frown, she made her way to the kitchen only to find that this room, too, had been turned into a makeshift cave. An oil lamp and a couple candles lit the room. She found Roan there, seated at the hand-carved pinewood table, balanced on a chair that appeared a child's seat under his large frame. He was picking at turkey from the platter of leftovers she'd left in the refrigerator.

  At his feet, Cash also chomped on leftover turkey. No wonder the dog hadn't come to wake her up begging for food. Relief rushed through her as she bent to scratch the dog's head. Cash was really, truly alive and well.

  Roan glanced up at her and motioned for her to sit. “I hope it's alright. We were both hungry.”

  She shrugged. “It's fine.” She glanced at Cash who gave her a short bark in salutation, licked his chops, and went back to his food. “I'm surprised Cash hasn't been begging to go outside and pee.”

  “It's taken care of,” Roan told her.

  Her brows rose. “You let him outside already?”

  “I found some old papers. The storm is too strong for him to be outside.”

  Sure enough, the corner where she'd left a pile of old newspapers was an inch or so smaller than the day before. Her brows rose at the thought of an alien scooping up newspapers full of her dog's urine . . . or other business. Even harder to imagine, was that Cash had actually listened to a stranger and had complied so easily.

  Not like Cash at all. He'd hated every boyfriend she'd had over the past ten years. Not that there had been many of them, but, when her dog didn't like a man, it meant something. More often than not, she'd scan their aura to find plenty of reasons not to continue the relationship. But Cash clearly approved of this particular man's appearance in her life and so far, her own freakish psychic receptors did too.

  Her throat clogged, and for some reason she felt like crying.

  She spun on her heel and returned to the living room. What was wrong with her? Why should it bother her that Roan was so . . . kind? And that even her dog liked him? She sighed. Maybe she was just emotional after all the volatile events of the prior evening. She bit her lip. No. That was a copout. There was more going on here than just a delayed reaction to trauma.

  Something about Roan touched a place inside of her. A place where no other man had been able to penetrate. His gentleness, his sense of duty to protect those in need, the way he valued life . . . these were certainly attractive traits. Add to it that he was incredibly sexy and he didn't her repel her energetically . . .

  Mona pressed her hands to her eyes, biting back a groan of frustration. Of all the men she'd met in her life, the first one who didn't send her energy feelers into a panic also happened to be a handsome and sweet freedom-fighting animal lover. And he was forbidden to her. Of course.

  Why should she expect anything different? It was the way of her life, wasn't it? To want something, to be so close to it, and yet, be forced to watch it dangle just out of her reach. She squared her jaw and steeled her spine, forcing herself to focus on some other topic. Enough of the pity party. She just needed to get her thoughts off the man in her kitchen.

  She flipped on the television set. Nothing. She tried a table lamp. No luck. The power was out? Just how bad was the storm, anyway?

  Mona hurried to the front door and yanked it open. The entire world had gone white. Angry gusts of wind howled and carried thick sheets of snow, tossing it this way and that. She couldn't see her jeep anymore. It was buried beneath a sheet of white.

  Satisfied that Roan had not been exaggerating the power of the storm, she moved to shove the door shut, but the wind shifted and pushed against her.

  She gave a grunt and threw her weight into it only to find that she still couldn't get the damn thing shut. That is, until Roan appeared next to her and with one shove of his large hand promptly closed the door and latched it.

  “Thanks,” she murmured.

  Standing this close to him, she inhaled his scent, honey and spice. Not exactly what she'd expect a man such as him to smell like, but on him, somehow, it worked. He must have gotten into the bath products Kate had left behind in the guest bath. Still, an odd choice considering the array of lotions and soaps in that bathroom.

  She lifted her chin to him. His eyes shone bright in the dim lighting and his white-blond hair fell to his broad shoulders in thick waves framing his angular face like a halo. He reminded her of a warrior angel, like the stained glass depictions of Archangel Michael she'd always admired in church.

  She was suddenly aware of her own sleep-rumpled hungover state and what she must look like. On principal, because, she told herself, I don't care what he thinks of me, she refused to retreat to the bedroom to make repairs.

  “So, you fed Cash, took care of his potty needs, and turned my house into a cave. Anything else you did while I was sleeping?” She tried for a light, teasing tone.

  “I disposed of the trackers' bodies shortly after you went to sleep. Before dawn broke. And I also slept for a time.” He studied her, thoughtfully. “You aren't feeling well.”

  She bristled. “Stop reading my aura. I'm not used to having my emotions analyzed.” No, that was usually her territory.

  “I didn't mean to upset you,” he said.

  She sighed. “You didn't. I'm just cranky. I need aspirin. And coffee.” And some space from you, she thought.

  She retreated to the kitchen, grateful he didn't follow her. When he was close to her, her body reacted in ways she hadn't experienced before. Her pulse sped just a little, her heartbeat accelerated, and her stomach went all loosey-goosey. He made her feel like she was about fifteen years old. She couldn't remember the last time a man had affected her this way.

  Usually, the men she dated started out with promising potential, but then, as she got to know them, as they became comfortable with her and let their guards down, she could read their energy more clearly. And usually, she ended up wishing she didn't have that particular ability.

  She'd come to the conclusion that all the single men were either a) just looking to get laid, b) commitment phobic, c) looking for her to take care of them, or d) some combination of the above.

  When she'd swallowed two aspirin, drank an entire cup of water, eaten a butter biscuit, and, eternally thankful for the gas stove, had a fresh cup of coffee in hand, Mona felt more like herself again. Well enough to return to the living room.

  Roan sat on the coach, staring at the potbelly stove and the flames as they licked the logs and danced in whirls of red, orange, and yellow.

  “Pretty, isn't it?” she murmured before taking a seat next to him and sipping her coffee. Hmmmm. French roast with just the right amount of cream and sugar. Fortunately, the food in the fridge was still cold. She hoped the power came back on before it spoiled.

  “It is,” Roan agreed.

  “Did you get enough to eat?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  Silence ensued. So much for small talk.

  She set her mug on the coffee table. “Here's the deal,” she began. “I'm really appreciative of you saving me and Cash, and I don't mind you crashing here until you can go get your spaceship or whatever it is you call the flying machine that got you here. But since we're stuck here with nothing to do and nowhere to go, I suggest we talk.”

  Roan's forehead crinkled. “What would you like to talk about?”

  “I'd like to understand how it is that some guy from your planet created humans. I mean, this sort of ruins all my ideas of what God is like.”

  Roan's voice came out fierce and gruff. “We're not God. Never think that. There is a force that exists which is stronger than any of us, which has alw
ays been, and is the ultimate creator. Too many Nibiruans have followed in the footsteps of our forefathers, determined to see humans as ants to be crushed beneath our mighty heels. Too much fighting has resulted. And too much death.”

  She blinked. Clearly, she'd hit a sore spot. “You mentioned your ancestor created us. Why?”

  “Enki was a highly skilled scientist, much in love with his work. It was he who is credited with bringing to life the first human being. At least, as you think of humans today. There were beings here, long ago, but they did not possess the skills and capabilities that you have today. They were similar to humans, but decidedly different.”

  Roan paused as though carefully considering his next words. “As for why humans were made, the ancient Anunnaki faced the death of our planet. Earth was rich in resources that could heal Nibiru. We needed workers to mine those resources.”

  Mona bristled. “We were slaves?”

  “I'm not proud of some of the choices my ancestors made. But I don't regret their decision to create humans. There is much about your species that is beautiful.”

  At this, Roan's voice turned soft. Mona could swear he was referring to her in particular—as one of those things he found beautiful. Her cheeks warmed and she was suddenly glad for the dim lighting.

  She cleared her throat. “That's why you fight for us?”

  He nodded. “Not just me. There are others who take up the cause.”

  “I don't understand. Why create us just to kill us?”

  “For some, it's simply because they can. For others it is because of the threat certain humans represent.”

  “How in the world could we,” Mona gestured toward her chest, “be a threat to your people? Clearly you have technology far advanced from ours. I mean, look at that healing thingy you used. And your gun? Never seen anything like that on Earth. Not to mention, you're sort of, well, big.”

  “Anunnaki/human mating has created genetic mutations the ancients didn't foresee. There are powers and abilities the descendants of Enlil wouldn't wish for humans to possess.”