But then I heard Liara’s uproarious laugh and quickly slammed my laptop shut and crept out of the back door so she wouldn’t think I’d stayed indoors all day.
I have some investigating to do anyway. Then I will return, with scribbled findings in my notebook, safe in my pocket, and we can sit and discuss her probable crush on cute sleigh driver guy. I’ll pop open some wine. Honestly, I can’t wait. But I need to prioritize my career, or I’ll never advance. It’s brutal out there right now, and I need to get the edge. Believe it or not, I have full faith in this bizarre story to go viral, and that might open more doors for me down the line. Doors to write more serious stuff. To open people’s eyes about the horrors of the world.
Whatever this ‘monster’ truly is, I have my camera phone and notebook in my pocket. Nothing is going to get past me.
Exhilarated and gleeful, I stand in ski gear at the head of the Seventh Pine ski slope. Yes, I said I wasn’t going to go skiing on this vacation, and I really wish I didn’t have to — because I really suck at it — but everyone I interviewed at the Christmas market said the same thing. The monster is seen in this location by people who ski roughly halfway down. It jumps out, showing its aggressive golden form, tries to blind you, and comes right for you.
The people who were attacked all seem fine, if shaken up, so my theory is that whatever this monster is, it’s just trying to guard something or keep people away from something. It could be a bear, or a moose, or even a cave-dwelling guy. The blinding gold hue? I’m stumped on that, but what if … what if the thing is strung up with lights to freak onlookers out? What if it’s even spray-painted?
I really have no idea, but that’s why I’m so excited to find out.
One person even informed me that after every monster sighting, the attacked witnessed some sort of avalanche right after. It seems as though whatever this monster is, something it’s doing out on those slopes is causing dangerous snowfall, and one day it might get someone killed.
The slope is steep and though the sun hasn’t yet set all the way, the light is dimmed and orange, and I close my eyes and mutter a few positive words to myself before I waddle to the top and jam my, uh, ski sticks, into the snow.
I take off.
What I know about skiing comes from a single experience as a teenager, on a trip with my high school, and some YouTube videos before I left to brush up. The ski stuff was available from our lodge rental, and I don’t know if any of it really fits me perfectly, but it should get me down a slope easy enough.
The biting wind cuts through the air like tiny razors, finding any weakness in my thick ski outfit and exploiting it until my skin is numb. I go faster, and faster, and manage to successfully slow myself down once … then I’m somehow going faster than ever again. I shoot past the trees and simultaneously my life flashes before my eyes.
All I can think about is how damn reckless I’ve been. Skiing is hard! Skiing is hard, and dangerous, and I didn’t tell a soul about where I’d be, and now a tree trunk is coming up right in front of me and I bank a hard right, twisting my ankle and lifting into the sky for a few seconds. I tumble and crash into the snow, several feet beneath its surface, and it takes me twenty full minutes to fumble with my skis before I actually manage to disconnect them from my feet. I thrash around for a while until I orient myself, and then slowly get to my skiless feet and look around.
Snow has begun to fall. Lightly, but in a very real way. The sun has gone down faster than I anticipated, and I can only see twenty or so feet around me in any direction. The occasional tree or lump of snow is the only thing that breaks up the horizon and proves that I’m even turning my head at all.
I regret everything.
“Elle.”
And I’m already going crazy?
“Elle!”
I wade through the three foot-thick snow in front of me, feeling the chill even through heavily insulated clothing, and look around, shivering hard and wondering whose voice that is. Why does it sound so familiar? Why does it make me almost nostalgic?
“Elle?! Come towards my voice.”
I take a couple more steps, and then close my eyes and let the voice wash over me. I didn’t think it was possible to go crazy so quickly, but … maybe I’ve been out here for weeks! Maybe I went crazy a long time ago. It’s hard to know exactly what’s happening when everything went from zero to fatal in just two seconds.
And then a figure breaks through the swirling snowy veil and reaches out to me, clutching my shoulders and leaning in as if to check it’s really me, or sniff me, I’m not sure.
It’s a man. About a foot taller than me, and much wider. His skin emanates warmth and glows an almost fiery tan color. His face, angled and sharp, is twisted into a scowl of concern underneath a woolen cap, and even in the snow he’s just wearing flannel and jeans.
I jerk out of my very temporary panic-induced brain fog, and feel the warmth and sturdiness of his large hands on my shoulders, and squint into his eyes through my ski goggles. “H-how?”
“I knew you’d come looking for the monster. I had the feeling you wouldn’t make it all the way. Knew snow was coming.” His voice is gruff, but there’s something beneath his words; a worry I would never have expected from a stoic stranger like him.
“Well,” I say carefully, lips trembling, “thanks. I don’t think I’ve been here for longer than half an hour, but I probably would have…” I trail off, and he nods his agreement.
“Here,” he offers, and nods off to the side, somewhere. I can’t see where he’s gesturing; the snowfall is getting thicker. “I know my way around the mountains. Let me take you inside to the caves. I’ve got you. Ready?”
I pick up my skis and hold them under one arm as he takes the other in his strong grip and guides me, blind as a bat, through the trees and finally through an archway of frosty mountain stone. A cave.
He takes me deeper inside, and then down a small curve, and I feel myself begin to warm up almost the second the wind is off of me and my insulation can do its magic.
There’s a fresh campfire and a couple of empty crates. Does that one say ‘Carrots’? At his lead, I pull off my goggles and lower myself to a sit on one of the upturned crates. Braxen kneels and begins to work on getting the campfire roaring. I watch, feeling strangely at home as he lights kindling, places it strategically around stacked pinewood logs, and then cups his hand and blows.
The smell of Christmas trees fills the cavern, and I lean back and fight a smile. This situation should not be fun or exciting to me in the slightest. And yet, it kind of is. I love that I’m in the world’s most private place with who may very well be the hottest man on Earth, instead of in my cabin with my laptop.
The thought almost surprises me, but I realize I really almost died today. Because of my own reckless pursuit of a career in a world where job stability is getting harder to find. I was so blinded, blinkered, by the idea of impressing my boss that I almost froze to death on a snowy mountain. How sad is that?
Instead, though, by some insane luck, I’m here. The sweet smell of pine smoke drifts through the air and Brax hums a song that the choir were singing while we stood at his stall, chatting about happiness. When the flames start to lick the pale wood, he pauses humming and reaches into one of the crates for a thermos, and offers it to me without a word.
I take it, feeling the warmth of the container, and frown. “Uh … what is this place? It’s all set up already.” Now that I’m warming up, I’m noticing more things. Like the hay in the corner all set up like some kind of a medieval bed. The rest of the crates, some still filled with carrots. It’s like a stable for a horse or something. “Do you … live here?”
He leans his head back and gives a bark of a laugh. “Humans don’t live in caves!”
“Of course,” I say, but I’m not fully convinced. “It looks like someone at least spends some time here.”
“Like I said, I know my way around the mountains here. I … I have a confession to make.”
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I raise my eyebrows, and wait. I have to admit: I have literally no idea what he’s about to say. He’s the world’s sexiest serial killer? The sweet-smelling pine wood is his weapon of choice, and being a ceaselessly charitable toymaker is his cover story?
“I … have also been on the trail of the monster.”
I lean back. I really hadn’t seen that coming, but it makes sense. No wonder he got weird and quiet when I brought it up, and no wonder he knew where I’d come to find out more about it. “Why?” I ask.
He takes his time answering, taking the thermos from me and unscrewing it, taking a drink, and then handing it back. I take a sip also, pleasantly surprised to find that it’s something akin to hot, crisp apple cider. I’m already almost fully warmed up from the ski outfit and the fire, but now I feel true warmth head to all my limbs, making my fingers and toes feel cozy.
“Well, uh, it’s important to me that these people are safe,” he says with a shrug. I take another sip as I digest his words. He has no reason to, but he’s helping these people. He made a joke about having an ulterior motive — gauging happiness with a device, something like that — but being with him gives me the impression that he’s never done anything negative in his life. Just because he probably wouldn’t know where to start.
Braxen is this strange hot drink personified. Sweet, with a hard edge and a bite of spice. And he does a good job of making my limbs all fuzzy, too. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before, and yet it kind of makes me feel at home. Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Definitely.
I tilt my head at him, and he notices because he tilts his head right back, and smiles. It’s a smile with the slightest hint of fluster — wondering what I’m thinking — and it makes my belly flip flop and my core warm faster than any hot drink or literal fire.
“You’re sweet,” I say, unable to hold the words back as they escape my lips. But then I lean into it. “Not just because you saved my life,” I add. “You’re ... sweet. Real, in a way I’m not used to.”
“You’re not used to real?” he repeats, his words low and light, curious. His hand drops to grip his knee, and my eyes are drawn to his lower half. He’s bent as he sits on the low crate, but still manages to look comfortable and natural. My gaze slides in between his knees, and then I look to the thermos, blushing.
“Are you too warm?” he asks. Knowing that he notices my embarrassment makes the blush deepen, but I shake my head at his concern. Now that my eyes aren’t on him, his are firmly on me, and he seems to take me in. I can almost feel his gaze, slowly but firmly gliding down my skin, like fingertips trailing along my arms, my chest, my stomach. I squirm, and turn to look at him again.
“I’m fine,” I say. “So this is where you go for your stakeouts, huh?”
“My what?”
“When you’re tailing the monster? Have you had any luck yet?”
He licks his lower lip, eyes on me, and my nipples tighten. “No luck,” he says slowly. It’s sexy, whether he knows it or not, but it doesn’t quite distract me. I’m close, to what I don’t know, but I’m close to something big. Something fascinating.
Does Braxen have a secret?
Chapter Six
Braxen
She can never know.
I can’t stop doing this, getting closer and closer to her. Asking her questions, looking her up and down. The pout of her lips, the color of her cheeks. Now that she’s warm and safe, flushed from what came close to a near-death experience, she looks so very alive and soft and ready for anything.
Well, maybe not anything. But sharp, intelligent Elle is ready for the truth. She’s scanning her surroundings and scanning my face for scraps, clues, hints as to what that truth is. She won’t stop, won’t leave, until she’s one step closer to getting what she wants.
I could tell from the start that she wasn’t one to give up easily. But I lied, and now I’m stuck in it. Because I can’t backtrack now.
I’m the ‘monster’, only really I’m not a monster. I’m an extraterrestrial. My people come from a different world. We can change shapes, but mostly we look like people … or reindeer. It’s a long story. It involves a lot of travel back and forth between worlds. It’s not interesting.
I bet she’d think it was interesting. Then I’d be forced to explain everything. How I was left here by accident. How they never came back for me. I’m presumed dead; Earth is listed as one of the most potentially hostile unknown planets, so they won’t come back just on the offchance. I need to contact them, but my devices are all out of battery.
Oh, and our fuel? It’s psychic energy. And I’ve had no luck gathering any from any of humanity.
I could just try to explain all of that to her, see what happened. I’ve seen enough Earth movies in my time on this planet to know that that story probably ends with an autopsy.
So I guess … I’m stuck helping a journalist write a story about me, pretending to track me, pretending to search for clues for me when I know I’m right here. And a small added bonus would be that I get to spend time with her; with this woman who seems to see right through me. A woman who says what she thinks, and takes what she needs, and understands the secrets humanity holds that just might get me home.
Because since I’ve been on Earth, I haven’t felt true happiness either. It just seems harder to obtain than it does on my home planet. Except when I’m with her? Something stirs. And I’m not just talking about my—
“So what’s our first step? Now that there’s two of us, we should have some more luck. Where is the monster usually sighted?” she asks, jerking me out of my thoughts. I think fast, but ultimately decide to tell the truth wherever I can, and simply tell her ‘I don’t know’ if it’s something I can’t answer. Maybe that will get … somewhere.
This is going to end terribly, isn’t it?
“Well, it’s usually seen outside this cave. The snow will settle in a short while, and we can go outside and look around,” I say.
“Oh, how do you know?”
How do I know the weather patterns? I can feel it in my gut; have been able to since I was very small. It isn’t unusual for my kind to have special abilities here and there. I’ve lost most of mine since losing access to constant true happiness, but I still have my inbuilt weather sensor. “Just living here all my life,” I say slowly.
“Thought you hadn’t lived in Seven Pines long?” she says, tucking loose hair behind her ear and shooting me a smile with those full, pink lips. The look is like a hot needle right in my gut, but instead of pain, I feel something else. Something nice. Warm.
“You know,” I say, waving my hands around. “Earth.”
She laughs, a delicate sound, and then seems to get self conscious about her wide-open mouth, so hides the tail end behind her glove. I can’t stop myself from smiling along with her, and it’s strange, because I don’t usually smile. I just don’t often feel the need. I’m still very uncomfortable with my human form, but it’s getting more and more natural all the time. And it appears to be fully functional in every way, judging by the way my cock has hardened to steel between my legs. When she looks away, I have to adjust the denim I have squeezed my thick legs into. When she turns back, I smile again.
“You are beautiful,” I say, squinting my eyes to get the best possible look, and I shake my head. “I keep trying to think of a more beautiful person I’ve seen, but I can’t.” Her cheeks become bright red, and for the first time I wonder if their internal temperature has something to do with their emotions? Because it seems to happen a lot in response to the things I say. “It’s just a truth.”
“You like the truth,” she says with a small nod to herself. “I like that. I like the truth too, as a journalist.”
“But you want to write a story about a monster without getting the whole story,” I say before I can stop myself. She frowns.
“What do you mean? I thought we were here trying to get the full story together. When it stops snowing, we’ll go see. Right?”
“I mean, you don’t have the monster’s side of the story.”
She chuckles as if I’m joking, and I nod and laugh too as if I am. “True. If the beast will give me a soundbite, I’ll include it. Of course I will.” She gets up and stretches, and the ski outfit tightens around her petite frame. The way her waist nips in and then her hips widen out, for some reason, fills my body with some kind of fervent desire I’ve never truly felt before.
Female reilendeer are fine, attractive enough, and I’ve noticed a pretty female human here and there, but I’ve never felt this raw, raging longing inside myself before. It takes every ounce of superior strength I have in my human form to stop me from standing and grabbing her. I’d press her against the chilled cavern wall, pin her wrists above her head, let her wrap her legs around my waist, and find my way inside that brightly-colored jumpsuit.
“Did you hear me, Brax?” she’s saying cheerily, and I feel my eyes widen. Can she see somehow what I’m thinking about? Can she somehow sense my hidden erection straining against these jeans? My breathing is shallow and my hands are gripping my knees tightly, and I take a second to right myself; calm myself.
I’ve heard of feelings like this before, gripping the stags back home, but I never thought it could or would happen with an alien like Elle. It’s like my world has been turned upside down when I realize what’s happening. I want to be with her. Squeeze her tight and enter her; mark her with a bite and make sure she will never want to be with another male again.
Is she…
“Brax!” she says with a laugh. “Is the cold getting to you? I said I think it’s stopped snowing outside. Do you have a flashlight or something?”
I had previously cursed my nightvision in this form, but I do have a lantern. I stand and get it, angling myself away so she isn’t confused by how ready I am for her. It’s not like we’ve been courting. We’ve just decided to align our common goals and hunt a monster. She doesn’t have to know that the monster is me.
The Alien Reindeer's Wish Page 3