The Alien Reindeer's Wish

by Thanika Hearth

  The Alien Reindeer’s Wish

  A Winter Starr

  *

  Starr Huntress

  Thanika Hearth

  Copyright © 2019 Thanika Hearth

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  The following contains adult themes. All characters are aged 18 or over.

  Are you a STARR HUNTRESS?

  Do you love to read sci fi romance about strong, independent women and the sexy alien males who love them?

  Starr Huntress is a coalition of the brightest Starrs in romance banding together to explore uncharted territories.

  If you like your men horny - maybe literally - and you’re equal opportunity skin color - because who doesn’t love a guy with blue or green skin? - then join us as we dive into swashbuckling space adventure, timeless romance, and lush alien landscapes.

  http://eepurl.com/b_NJyr

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Elle

  “Ma’am,” a tired female voice rings out from above me as I sit, hunched over in my cramped seat. I’m desperately trying to get the sentence out of my head and onto my phone before I lose my flow. “Ma’am?”

  “Mm,” I say, just typing out the final words. “Sorry, sorry. One second.” Dammit. I had a good alliteration that was really going to drive my point home. What was it? I—

  “Ma’am, you really need to turn off your phone and buckle your seatbelt.”

  But I don’t look up until my best friend in the world elbows me in the ribs. I yelp, glancing at her to my right and then sheepishly up at the flight attendant. “So sorry,” I say, and dare to grin up at her. She looks to be fighting the urge to roll her beautiful eyes at me, and instead gives me a tight smile and a nod as I buckle up.

  I watch as she makes her way down the rest of the aisle, craning my neck to make sure she isn’t turning back, and then I unlock my phone again. Liara makes a noise of genuine irritation, and I hold up one finger. “OK, and … done!”

  I shut it and let out a breath. “Now our vacation can begin,” I assure her. Liara is in full winter break mode already, with a fur-lined white parka and a thick book complete with a cute illustration of ice skaters on the cover.

  “Elle, I’m serious. You have to promise me this is going to be an actual vacation,” she says, raising her eyebrows as she pushes her sunglasses off her nose and onto the top of her head. Liara is a knockout, honestly, with caramel curls that shine in the bright airplane lighting and permanently skeptical green eyes. I reach my hand back instinctively to check my own dark-blonde ponytail is still intact, and then lean back into my own seat.

  “I promise,” I mumble, but my fingers are itching. I have the perfect line in mind for the piece I’m working on, and I don’t want to lose it. It’s the perfect combination of snappy and insightful! I worked really hard to get to where I am, working for this very prestigious news site, and I am more than ready to get started on gripping exposés and thrilling reveals for them.

  Except Liara has this idea that we’re going to spend all weekend skiing in this idyllic Christmas-themed mountain town, doing nothing but hooking up with handsome men and then spilling the details over hot cider by the fireplace. It sounds fun, really it does, but the hooking up thing is not my usual MO. Neither is Christmas. I’ve never skied before, and honestly? I’m really not a fan of the snow, either.

  Other than that, of course I’m willing to try my hardest to have a great time. It’s been a while since I’ve had some quality time with my college bestie, and I can’t wait for the promised fireplace gossip sessions.

  “You really think you’ll find your soulmate in Nowhere, Colorado?” I ask as the airport begins to move backwards through the little windows.

  A big smile spreads over Liara’s face as she flips her book open to her bookmark. “Soulmates. Honestly, Elle. I just think you need a little fun!”

  I grip the seat as we take off, feeling that familiar onslaught of anxiety as we lift into the open blue sky — flying really is completely impossible, and yet no one seems to care? Everyone else on the flight is sitting perfectly still, watching their screens or reading a book or chatting away. I sink down into my seat, trying to stay calm as we rise higher and higher and higher. Tons of steel filled with dozens of human beings.

  Then my eyes snap open again as something about my piece clicks together in my mind. An angle I hadn’t yet thought of! I pull my notebook out of my handbag, trying to ignore that my heart is in my throat — why did I agree to flying and not insist on driving? It’s only an extra … two weeks — and grab a pen.

  Of course, I cast a side eye to Liara, who luckily is reading her book still, sipping on some water and enjoying the terrifying hellride that is takeoff. She isn’t suspicious at all.

  ‘The Monster of Seven Pines’, I write at the top of the page, and underline it. ‘Does something sinister lurk in the heart of this charming Christmas village?’ I cross out ‘sinister’ and try out ‘murderous’. Is that better?

  I dare a peek out the window, and bite back my grin of excitement, despite my hatred of flying. This piece will probably make or break a career in shock journalism for me on this website. A terrifying monster terrorizing a charming ski resort at Christmastime? I can hardly think of something more fun to write about, and my new bosses over at the incredibly popular PressFeed couldn’t be more excited.

  And I haven’t lied to Liara, not really. All I have to do is squeeze in some interviews, stake out the monster’s supposed hunting grounds, and get a couple of drafts written.

  Sorry, Liara, I think. I’m sure I’ll have time for fun when I’m finished.

  Chapter Two

  Braxen

  I lie in wait between the thick trunks of the evergreen pines. Snow makes it up to all four of my golden ankles, and my tail twitches and swishes in anticipation, head bowed low.

  Above me stretches the long and winding ski slope, nicknamed the Seventh Pine by the locals to hint at its ultimate danger. The ‘final boss’ of the Seven Pines ski trails: the Seventh Pine.

  These unsuspecting people taking off from the top and whooping all the way down? They have no idea. They know it’s a difficult slope to ski, but they don’t know the full truth. They don’t know exactly why there are rumors floating around that it should get shut down. These casual skiers only know that it’s the hardest slope. A famously difficult course.

  And humans are so weird about that kind of thing. As soon as they learn something is the biggest, the hardest, the tallest, they can’t just appreciate it, oh no. They have to find a way to conquer it. Going to see famous landmarks all over their planet isn’t quite good enough — they have to climb to the top and stand on it before they’re satisfied, like some barglth perched proudly atop its eggs.

  Here they come, cheering and gliding down the previously pristine white track, arcing and curving and spraying snow across the trees to either side.

  They have no idea what’s to come. No idea why they should have stayed home.r />
  I tense my legs and then leap out from the cover of the pine trees, flashing my teeth and leveling my gaze on the two skiers. I see my light reflect dazzlingly from their neon blue and orange ski outfits and they both hurry to slow down, screaming surprise and confusion. The man points to my right and they take a hurried detour down the side of the slope. A shortcut to the bottom, in fact. One that no one ever sees if I’m not here to push them to the side and into it.

  They will take the lift back up to the top, and probably go home to tell their tale to anyone who will listen — about how the Seventh Pine ski slope is haunted, or terrorized, by a strange golden monster. Shapeless, distorted. ‘Or maybe … did it look like … a deer to you too?’

  I lower the glare coming from my short golden fur, and toss my antlers as I trot back to the series of deep caverns in the mountainside where I make my home. I shift into a human form with only the slightest hint of a golden hue, and pull on clothes to protect my strangely hairless skin from the bite of Earth’s winds.

  I feel the tumble and ache deep inside my soul as outside the avalanche begins, throwing thick blankets of snow down the ski slope and enveloping all life that dared set foot on the slope. Just on cue, just as I predicted. Those neon-clad humans are probably safely on the ski lift now.

  I’ve done everything I can to stop people from skiing here, disguised as a human. I’ve gone to the mayor of Seven Pines, but he waved me off. I’ve contacted the media, but nobody listened.

  Seventh Pine trail is steep, exhilarating, and a total tourist trap for this little mountain town. Nothing else I’ve tried has worked, and so whenever I feel the avalanche coming, rumbling in my soul, I head straight for the slope and chase and herd any humans down the shortcut before it hits.

  Slowly, slowly, people might just stop traveling far and wide to ski on the most dangerous slope in the tri-state area. It is a desire of mine that humans will stop trying to tackle or best the most insanely difficult things their beautiful planet has to offer. Soon, people will figure this particular endeavor is just not worth it. These maddening, ego-ridden, silly bipedals. Then maybe my job here will be done.

  The half-repaired device to my side shows no sign of movement, though. If I do enough good deeds, save enough lives, at my own cost, maybe that will finally do it. The device will fill with the right flavor of psychic energy. I will be able to power up a communicator with it, and my people can find me and take me home.

  Maybe one day.

  Chapter Three

  Elle

  I have to admit: the cabin we have rented for our trip is so completely gorgeous that I am at a total loss for words.

  It’s a log cabin on stilts, essentially, as it sits only partially on a slope, with long sturdy beams attaching the front porch and steps to a lower level. All around are beautiful evergreen trees dusted with light, ever-falling snowflakes. Beyond the trees, and close enough to hear if I strain my ears, is the merry bustle of the Christmas-themed town.

  I have no idea what Seven Pines is like the other ten months out of the year, but November and December are almost always booked solid because of its adorable Christmas fair and famous ski slopes. The skiing, I think, I may try to get out of. If I do have spare time on this vacation, I’d rather spend it catching up with Liara over hot drinks or reading a book and watching the snow outside.

  “Oh my glur—!” Liara screams, the last word coming out as a guttural squawk as she bounces up and down and ‘pafs’ her gloved hands together. “This is crazy, this is crazy! A whole cabin to ourselves? Kinda last minute? How did you swing it?” She whacks at my shoulder and I give a coy shrug.

  “Maybe I have connections in high places,” I tease. “You don’t know everything about me.” In fact, when my employers heard about sighting upon sighting of a ‘monster’ here, they spared no expense in booking me a place and sending me over here. There’s no way I can tell her that. She’s happy; isn’t that a good thing?

  She laughs and then squeals with glee as she runs up the steps and peers over the railing to the back yard. Then she turns around, pink in the face, and just about faints dead down the stairs.

  “What is it?” I ask, hauling my bag from the curb and up the steps behind her. “Is there something—”

  We appear to have approached from the back of the place. There on the front driveway, the head of a snow-dappled cobblestone path headed through the pine forest, stands the most glorious shining red carriage I’ve ever seen. At the front, a young guy with a lazy grin and a woolly hat sits, holding the reins. And in front of him? Two gorgeous little reindeer, tossing their heads and eyeing us as we approach.

  “What’s happening right now?” Liara just about screams. The guy gives a chuckle.

  “You’re staying here at the Red Sleigh Lodge, right? Well, the owner runs sleigh rides through the forest. Everyone who rents the place out gets a free ride. You guys put your bags away and hop in, yeah?” He’s chewing a little loudly on some gum, and really eyeing Liara up. I glance at her and see she’s narrowed her eyes in a smile so sultry that I’m almost caught up in its waves of power.

  I want to nudge her and whisper, ‘Really? The very first guy we clap eyes on?’ but actually he is sort of cute in a naive and skinny kind of way. And this might be a better out than any I could have planned myself.

  “You take this one solo,” I say to her. “I’m honestly really looking forward to turning on the fire and taking a nap.”

  She breaks eye contact with sleigh guy and her face turns confused and then thoughtful. “Uh, you sure? It’s reindeer. It’s a sleigh ride with reindeer.”

  I laugh. “You know I get travel sick anyway. I’m really looking forward to some tea and a rest.”

  “Looks like it’ll just be me!” Liara said, leaning in and giving me a sloppy kiss on the cheek. I laugh and wipe it away with my glove as my best friend hands me her bags and saunters up to the sleigh guy, allowing him to help her up into the seat. “On Donner, on Blitzen!” she cries, throwing her arms up into the air.

  “Never heard that before,” the sleigh guy jokes. He gives me a friendly wink and whips the reins. The deer trot away, following the stone pathway and soon disappearing towards the tinkly Christmas music of the town.

  I’m left standing there in the swirling morning snow, blowing snowflakes off the tip of my nose and weighed down by too many bags for the limbs I have. I struggle through the unlocked front door, and set everything down.

  The first thing I do is click on the automatic fireplace — which is fine, but I’d been kind of looking forward to stoking and blowing and poking the embers until they lit. It was about the only fond camping memory I had from childhood — and check out the friendly note on the table welcoming us.

  It mentions the website I work for, so I crumple it up and stuff it in my pocket.

  The fireplace is at the central point of the homey, cozy lounge. I get comfortable on a squishy red chair on the mezzanine and gaze out at the Christmas fair setting up from my good vantage point. My laptop is taking forever to turn on, the piece of junk, so I plug it in to charge and run a brush through my hair.

  When I return, it’s installing updates. No wonder it had been so slow. The familiar creeping dread of having to go without working starts to set in, but I bat it back and tell it ‘not today’. I can keep myself occupied in other ways.

  My gaze drifts back to the stalls, and I think of sweet, bubbly Liara probably talking the ear off the sleigh guy as they take the tour of Seven Pines. I see a stand for steamy local espressos, and one for delicious creamy hot cocoas. There are pastries and pies, fresh bread and hot dogs, all dotted around among the trinkets and crafts and happy-looking customers.

  It’s the food that really catches my eye, though, and I realize I’m starving. Resigning my laptop to its elderly fate of installing for the next hour, I empty out a tote and head to the fair to see if I can at least fill it up with gifts while I’m here.

  See? I promised I was going
to relax while I was here.

  *

  The sound of sweet voices fills the crisp air now and again as the local community choir tackles everything from fun contemporary music to old Tudor pieces. Right now they’re clapping along to their cheerful rendition of one of Wham!’s greatest.

  I hide a smile as I step around a chattering kid and his mother, fused together by the gloves as they pause to look at Christmas outfits for cats. Ther’s a stall for everything here, and even though I don’t currently have a pet back home, I find myself pausing to admire a little Santa’s elf pet sweater. It’s things like this that go a long way towards melting my frozen anti-holiday heart.

  OK, let me pause right here for a second. It isn’t that I hate Christmas. Very far from it. I really love the happiness in the air around this time of year; I love a good fireplace and a good book; I love that people get together with their treasured ones — though I haven’t had time to date since college — and I love the idea of giving people thoughtful and personal gifts.

  I just don’t have it in me. That Christmas spirit. Not since I was a kid. I don’t think that’s abnormal, not by any stretch, but I miss it. Weaving my way through these stalls, crunching through a patch here and there of still untouched snow, and listening to the breathy coos of the choir … I do feel something.

  But it’s more of a pang of nostalgia than anything else. A deep-down yearning for just a taste of the past. When mom and dad were still here. Still here and happily married. Mom would kiss the very top of my head and tell me she couldn’t wait for me to open my special gift. It was always a little post-card sized acrylic painting of her favorite memory from that year.

  Oh, man. Seriously. My eyes are welling up, and I brush at them with the back of my gloves, but I don’t feel sad, per se. Just nostalgic. Maybe this is why Christmas kind of sucks for me. I lost my parents a little too young, and I don’t see any family of my own on the horizon. It’s not that I’m Scrooge. I just miss them.