If you're looking for steamy shifter romance with a more science-fiction bend, you'll absolutely LOVE Karak Contact, the first book in my Alien Shapeshifters series. , or keep reading for a special preview!
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Where did you come from, Eric?
A mysterious satellite crash. A late-night car accident. And a stranger who looks shockingly identical to the man on the front of Joanna's book.
After hitting Eric with her truck in the middle of the Wyoming wilderness, Joanna has no choice but to take him back to her cabin. But his wounds heal suspiciously fast, and she begins to suspect his concussion is covering up some deeper secret.
She never would have guessed the truth.
When she discovers the man she's taken to bed is actually Arix, a shapeshifter alien from the Karak Dominion of Planets, it's all she can do not to run away in terror. But UFO hunters who witnessed the spacecraft crash begin snooping around her cabin, forcing Joanna and Arix to find a solution that keeps them both safe--which leads to them making an impossible, and downright crazy, decision.
KARAK CONTACT is the first book in the new Alien Shapeshifters romance series. It's a full-length, standalone science fiction alien shifter romance novel, with steamy love scenes that will leave you fantasizing about your own first contact. And of course, a guaranteed Happily Ever After!
1
ARIX
I do not know where I am.
Memory returned slowly; an alarming realization in itself. As photons held together with complex magnetics, we did not damage easily. Certainly not to the point of amnesiac degradation. But something was not right.
Something was abnormal.
As sight returned, I realized what had happened.
I was inside my ship, which had been damaged. The cockpit was in a chaotic state around me, electronics and metal alloys ripped open and damaged. There was gravity under me, not the artificial sensation generated by my ship but something foreign.
Something new.
I was in stasis during the trip, to be revived in upper orbit of my target planet. The sixth planet on my tour, the final one--and least promising--of the tour before returning home. A planet devoid of intelligent life, with only a quadrupedal species driven by urge and need. Primal beings that had yet to develop tools with metal or even stone.
Yet there I was, on the planet surface. It was abnormal, and abnormal was usually bad.
I used my mind to disable my magnetic restraints, allowing my photon-body to float toward the shattered plastic window of the cockpit. Beyond, the world on which I had landed was unfamiliar to the point of terrifying.
A flicker of thought and I have disabled such emotions.
The electronics of my craft are down, another nanosecond of thought confirmed. Only the powerless life support systems were active. No distress beacon. I needed to get a look at the external surface.
I returned my focus to the landscape. Tall vegetation with hard skin rose high into a dark sky. Ash fell gently from such sky; a quick scan told me it was frozen water in crystalline form, millions of tiny hexagons reflecting my body's light. I feel the crystals liquefy as they passed through my body, leaving a dripping trail behind.
I turned, and considered the sight for a very long time.
My ship was utterly destroyed. Beyond the cockpit, the primary fuselage of supplies was gone. So was the ion drive and the batteries to power it. What remained of the smooth exterior was riddled with dents and gashes as if it had been slashed by the claws of a giant beast.
It is good that I have disabled my fear processing.
And although there was no distress beacon or any other electrical signal emanating from my craft, there was something else.
Radio wave signals.
Dozens of them.
In the nanosecond of time after sensing them, I felt a determination bordering on hope. It had been 50,000 of this planet's years--a blip on the scale of my own Karak civilization--since our last scouting scans. No civilization could have developed from primal animals to radio wave communication in such a short period of time! Which meant another Karak scout must have noticed my craft's crash, traveled there, and then woken me from stasis. Safe in stasis, there would have been no reason to wake me before assistance arrived.
It was the only conclusion that made sense, and it was pleasing to realize.
I opened my consciousness to the radio waves and a chaos of noise and data bombarded me. It was overwhelming; I quickly narrowed my focus to one wave and processed what I heard:
Ohh ohh, I'm a rebel just for kicks now. I've been feeling it since nineteen sixty-six now. Might be over now, but I feel it still.
It was nonsense to me; a random collection of syllables and noise. And worse than that, it was foreign.
Something was very wrong.
I scanned through other wavelengths, but everything was similar. Nothing promising. Help was not there for me. I was stranded on this planet.
But the more immediate concern: from whom were these radio waves originating?
I sensed something artificial in the distance: a section of the biome which did not make sense. Something impossibly straight. Unnatural.
I moved in that direction, ignoring the sensation of the crystallized water melting through my body. As I moved I directed my photon gaze above. The sky was obscured by localized weather (likely the source of the crystallized water) which inhibited my ability to scan the star systems. That would have set my mind at ease.
I passed between the tall vegetation carefully, sensing the unnatural phenomenon growing closer. Suddenly the biome changed, the tall stiff vegetation ending with intentional abruptness.
There, ahead, was a long path of black material.
I neared and inspected it. The surface was eight degrees warmer than the surrounding ground, which was why the crystallized water melted upon touching it. It was approximately three of my body lengths wide, with rectangles of intentional discoloration spaced precisely down the middle. The path extended in both directions endlessly, tall clusters of vegetation framing it on either side.
It occured to me that I may be in danger. This was a construct of technological advancement; whoever had the ability to build this surely had weapons. I would need to proceed carefully.
Fortunately, we Karak had survived for our countless millennia thanks to our ability to shift into different forms.
I sensed something.
A disturbance in the radio waves to the left, approximately aligned with this path. Something was receiving the radio waves, and giving off sound waves in return. Caution was my immediate instinct; I prepared to return to the patch of tall vegetation to observe the disturbance from a safe distance.
Until I saw the light.
The object was giving off tremendous light!
Cones of photons trumpeted the object's arrival; it grew closer, and would arrive momentarily. Rather than shift into whatever the being's form was, perhaps remaining in my natural, photon-based identity was ideal.
Light for light. As it was with the Karak.
I re-enable my emotional senses and felt a burst of hope. Whatever species this was, they were of our kind. They would accept me, and likely help me.
Help me return home.
The object neared with great speed. I moved out into the path to greet it, to allow our photons to join in the Karak way.
I realized my mistake too late.
2
JOANNA
"That would be a mistake."
Harry, the bartender and friend I'd known for too many years to count, shook his head at me. "Come on, Jo. One more won't kill you."
"Two's my limit."
"I've seen you drink men twice your weight under the table."
"Sure," I admit, "but that's always out at my cabin. Or at the town New Year's party, where someone else gets to drive. I'm not fighting those slick-ass roads with more than two beers in me tonight." I arched a dark eyebrow. "Unless we've got Uber now?"
Harry snorted at the joke. In the small crossroads town of Elijah, Wyoming, Uber was an abstract idea more than a real thing. Something for the city folk to enjoy.
"Besides," I added as I saw Leslie coming through the front door, "my smut peddler's arrived."
Leslie, the town's single police officer, had switched into civilian clothes. She waved to a couple at a nearby table and joined me at the bar.
"Cold as the devil's tits out there," she said by way of greeting. She shook her upper body and peeled a scarf from around her thick neck.
"You're late."
Leslie rolled her eyes--not in annoyance at me, but in the circumstances. "You have no idea what my night's been like. Got a call from Warren, that Air Force base up by Cheyenne? Apparently some communication satellites collided in orbit and are crashing, or burning up, or something. I stopped listening. Point is, they made me stand outside with my walkie talkie and scan the sky for an hour to watch for debris. They've got every officer in Idaho, Wyoming, and Nebraska doin' the same."
I snorted. "On a night like tonight? With the cloud cover?"
"Exactly what I told 'em. Guess how much they cared?"
I shook my head, sharing in her misery. Then I shifted gears, and asked in an exaggerated conspiratorial voice, "You got the goods?"
"Only if you've got the dough." We stared at each other a moment longer before smiles cracked the mischievous facade. Leslie pulled a rectangle of warped yellow paper from a pocket and tossed it on the counter.
I grabbed it like it was the arc of the covenant and made an ooooo sound at the cover.
"It's a good one," Leslie said. "You'll like it."
The King's Officer was the title, and on the cover was a dark-haired hunk pulling open what looked like a British uniform to reveal a muscled chest. His eyes were almonds as he gazed back at me, with just the right amount of dark stubble along his jaw and cheeks. He looked more like a Calvin Klein model than someone shooting at American Revolutionaries in 1778.
"That'll do," I said, pointing at Harry. "Give the lady one of your finest drinks."
"So Bud Lite?" Harry asked.
"Good enough for me," Leslie said.
He grabbed a glass and started pouring from the tap. "You sure you don't want another before you go?" he asked me.
"Positive."
Leslie eyed the two empty glasses in front of me and gave Harry a look of reproach. "For Christ's sake, Harry, you know two's her limit! You tryin'a kill her?"
He placed the beer down in front of the off-duty cop and raised both hands in surrender. Leslie picked up the drink and toasted the air.
"To Jo's date night."
The scattering of patrons in our town's only bar raised there glasses and let out a half-hearted cheer. I waved the air like I was clearing away smoke.
"Just what I need, the whole town thinkin' about me reading this."
"We've all got our vices." Leslie wiped foam from her upper lip. "You gunna be back tomorrow?"
"You know it. Supply day."
"See ya then."
I waved goodbye to Harry and shrugged on my coat, then exited into the frigid night.
The snow fell peacefully around me as I surveyed the road. Nothing sticking yet, though by the looks of the snowflakes--which were practically the size of shotgun shells--it wouldn't stay that way for long. Another reason not to stick around for a third beer.
That and The King's Officer. Cheesy romance novels were the one guilty pleasure I alloted myself.
I climbed into my pickup truck, tentatively listened to the engine gargle, and then pulled out into the night.
Running and maintaining hunting property took up most of my time, even now with the hunting season still two weeks away. The deer roamed the two hundred acres of my property randomly, and although the fences were in proper shape they still managed to find their way through in the best of conditions. If a tree fell and took one down? Well, then I sometimes had days of work rounding them up.
It was harder when we ran the actual hunting lodges, too. But after Fred died I sold that aspect of the business to an external investor, leaving me with only the hunting grounds to maintain.
Interestingly enough, as technologically backwards as Elijah, Wyoming was, hunting was shockingly advanced. Hunters wore vests with GPS trackers attached, with radio relays as backup. That way no two groups of hunters ever came close to one another, ensuring things stayed as safe as possible. And all monitored from a central location. Long gone were the days of wearing an orange vest and hoping for the best.
I switched the heat to the windshield to keep the snow from freezing to the window, and turned on the wipers. It was a hazy world of white beyond the cones of my truck's headlamps.
I kept my speed a conservative 30 miles per hour and slowly made the twenty mile journey back to my property.
It was a lonely job, but I liked keeping to myself. Especially since Fred died. Even now, almost a decade later, I was content by myself. Maybe I would remarry someday.
Maybe. But probably not. And you know what? That was alright.
It's just the way things were.
I let myself fantasize about the book waiting in the passenger's seat. From the ten seconds scanning the back blurb, I knew it took place in America during the war. I suspected the almond-eyed officer would find a young American girl who melts his icy heart. Maybe he'll have to disobey orders from a superior in order to keep her safe. Some Romeo and Juliet themes, forbidden and desperate, and then he would defect and they would find a quiet farm to retire to.
Yeah. All of that sounded just fine to me.
I was so busy picturing their little secluded cottage that I didn't see the figure in the road until it was too late.
I swerved, much good it did me, hearing the sickening THUMP of a body crashing into the side of my truck. I swerved back to avoid going off the road, slammed on my brakes, and skidded to a stop.
I blinked at the calmness of the falling snow.
My heartbeat was everywhere, in my ears and neck and chest. What was that thing? It looked like a solid beam of light, suspended over the road. Like someone was holding a flashlight and pointing it straight down.
But that thunk wasn't just from light.
Suddenly alarmed, I ripped off my seat belt and bolted from the car. I rounded the bed of the truck and gasped.
The shape of a person lying in the middle of the road. Not moving.
Oh fuck.
I sprinted to him and slid to a stop. It was indeed a man, lying face-down. Snow was already accumulating on his body, clothes that looked faded and baggy. Darkness was pooling underneath him.
Blood, my mind realized a second later.
"Hey! Are you okay?" I knelt to him and touched him gently. His body was warm, incredibly warm, which was unusual because he wasn't wearing a coat. I pulled out my cell phone: no bars out here.
Panic rose up my spine. "Buddy? Can you hear me?"
There was a groaning sound as he rolled over. I caught a glimpse of what looked like his humorous bone sticking through the skin of his arm; I flinched and swallowed the bile crawling up my throat.
"Uhh," the man said.
"Can you stand? Are your legs or back injured?" I seemed to remember you shouldn't move someone with a back or neck injury. Too late; he was already rising into a sitting position.
"Uhh," he said again, touching his head. He looked down at himself with confusion.
"You're gunna need medical attention," I said, helping him up. I took care to avoid touching--or looking at!--the exposed bone. He wobbled as if he didn't know how to walk; I made a mental note that he probably had a concussion. "Do you understand me? My truck is right over there. If you can walk to it I can take you to a hospital..."
"No!" the man suddenly blurted. I couldn't make out his face, but he seemed alarmed. "No... hospital."
"Listen, I just hit you in my truck. I was only going 30, but that's still too--"
"No. Hospital." He grabbed my arm with his left hand, urgent and insistent. I blinked in the darkness as the snow fell all around.
I was too panicked to think about why he wanted to avoid a hospital.
"I'm a vet, sort of, so I've got medical supplies at my place." I did some mental math and convinced myself it was the right thing to do. "Only a few minutes until home, and more like half an hour back to town. We can figure everything out in the morning."
"Yes." His voice was deep with agreement.
I put an arm around him--feeling the thick body underneath, heavy with muscle--and led him back to my truck. The passenger door was indeed dented from the impact, looking more like a cannonball hit it than a person, but I was able to wedge it open and get him inside.
I came around the driver's side and hopped in. If that was bone sticking out of his arm like I thought, then I was going to have to set it myself. Maybe heading back into town was the best idea.
I flicked on the light and said, "Listen. I dunno if--"
I stopped.
There were a couple of things that made my stomach turn. First, his arm was fine. Or at least, seemed fine. I couldn't see any exposed bone, but there was an awful lot of blood staining his brown shirt. There were no wounds to his head, thank goodness, but he still blinked rapidly like he wasn't sure what was going on.
But then there was the other thing.
He had short, raven hair that sat on his head in perfect waves. His skin was nicely tanned, and a perfect amount of dark hair covered his hard jaw. And behind his blinking eyelids were almond eyes with a sharpness that almost seemed artificial.
He was a carbon-copy of the man on the cover of The King's Officer.
"Uhh," I said, grabbing the book from the seat between us. Yep. Not only did he look like the guy, but he even wore the same loose-fitting brown shirt and dark pants. The only thing missing was the aforementioned red coat. Which, again, the lack of coat was an oddity in itself in this weather.
His brown eyes locked onto mine, and his handsome face stared without emotion.
"Thank. You."
"Yeah, uhh, don't mention it," I said, turning off the light. I was the one who hit him, after all, but I sure as hell wasn't going to remind him of it right that second. "Let's get you someplace warm."
Maybe I ought to lower my limit to one beer, I thought as I drove us the rest of the way home.
3
JOANNA
The rest of the drive to my property passed in silence. The man made not a peep, and that was just fine by me. He stayed alive, which was what really mattered. It was still a concern of mine at that point--that he could have internal bleeding or something more critical, and then suddenly fall over dead without another word.
But something kept me driving home instead of to town.
It might have been the insistence in his voice, the way he'd reacted when I mentioned hospital. There was a fear there, and more than just a dislike of places full of sick folks. This was more like the fear of... getting caught.
Like a criminal.
I shook away the thought before it could take hold. Let's focus on getting him safe.
But there was another reason I took him home, one I couldn't quite understand. It was as if something were pushing me in that direction, a barrier of air I could just barely not see, requiring me to do what he wanted. Even being aware of it, I didn't stop and turn around. I continued home.
I was probably in shock. I did just hit a guy in my goddamn car.
Nevermind what he looked like.
The property appeared to the left, and I turned down the gravel and dirt road. The snow was falling harder now, drifting through the barren trees like aimless soldiers coming home from war. It was a relief when my cottage appeared in the distance, growing closer as we bumped down the path.
I parked and turned the engine off. We shared a quiet look--he still didn't seem to have anything going on behind his eyes, definitely concussed--and then I sprang into action.
I half-carried him inside, flicking on the lights as I went. Everything was wood: the walls were wood, the floors were hard wood, the furniture and kitchen counters were framed in wood. I only had the one bedroom, so I dragged the strange wounded man over to my couch and dropped him like a sack of potatoes.
Good lord. I'd assumed that in better lighting he would look less like the cover of my book, but somehow he looked more like him. The scruff on his jaw, eyes like caramel...
The eyes locked onto me with greater intensity, and I remembered what I was supposed to be doing.
"You, uhh... dude," I said. "What hurts?"
"Hurts?" he repeated in a deep voice. "Nothing. Nothing hurts."
"I hope that's a joke." I went to his right arm and pulled up the shirt. Blood caked his skin from the bicep down past the elbow, already dark and dry. I turned the arm over carefully, methodically, looking for a wound.
"Where are you injured?"
He didn't respond, so I ran my fingers along the skin. I was hoping to feel a gash or wound that way, but nothing stood out. Even when I went up his bicep toward his shoulder--feeling thick muscle the entire way--there was no source for the blood.
Yet when I pulled the sleeve back down I noticed a dime-sized hole in the fabric, aligned with most of the blood. The sight of him on the road, with pale bone exposed through the skin, returned to me.
I discarded the thought.
"Do you know what day it is?" I asked with calm insistence. "Who the President is?"
The man gave a slight shake of the head. He wasn't focusing on me directly; it was like he stared through me to something else only he could see.
"Do you know your name?"
"Name?" he blurted.
"Yes. Your name. The thing we call you. I'm Jo, which means you are...?" All he did was blink. This was bad. What was I doing? He was clearly concussed, and probably had worse internal bleeding. Bringing him home was stupid.
But before I could say as much, he reached up and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were long and smooth, and his touch as warm as the fireplace.
"Eric's. I am Eric's..."
"Eric's what?" Eric was the mechanic in town. "Eric's employee? Eric's cousin?"
"No." He gently tapped his chest with two extended fingers, a gesture that seemed unique and foreign. "Me."
"You're Eric. Got a last name?" He stared at me like I was speaking French, so I shook it off and said, "You claim you're not injured. You say you're not hurting. I'm not sure what to do for you." I turned to glance at the kitchen. "Are you hungry, Eric?"
He ate an entire bowl of leftover venison stew so fast I ended up reheating another one, which he ate only a fraction slower. While he worked on the second I built a fire in the fireplace, making a note to get more starter logs when I went into town tomorrow. Once the fire was roaring and he'd finished the second bowl there seemed to be more light in his eyes. Only then did I begin to relax about his condition.
"So you're sure nothing hurts?" I insisted, sitting on the coffee table across from him. God, he was gorgeous. "You don't need to hide it in a vain attempt at manliness. If something's achy I need to know."
He smiled. It was the first time he had, I realized, because I surely would have remembered such a smile before then. It pinched his eyes and flashed white teeth, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.
"I am good," he said, sounding almost normal. "Thank you, Jo."
My name on his lips was as intoxicating as all the alcohol in Harry's bar.
I set him up with extra pillows and some blankets, and pointed him in the direction of the bathroom in case he needed it. I retired to my bedroom feeling vaguely uncomfortable about the entire thing.
It's not often you hit a man in your truck and brought him home. Like the female equivalent of a caveman hitting a woman on the head and dragging her back to his cave.
Is that what I want? I let the idea swirl around in my head for a few moments, but no longer than that. I couldn't fantasize about Eric. He would probably try to sue me when he came to his senses.
But as I crawled under my covers, I couldn't banish the image I'd seen on the road: a narrow focus of light as bright as any moon beam. It must have been some sort of optical illusion from the snow and headlights--Eric was very clearly made of warm flesh--but the image remained nonetheless.
The thought that I was doing something wrong persisted. But aside from driving him back to town myself, I didn't like my other options. Jerome, who ran the night shift at the town's small clinic, liked to drink away the boredom of his shift. Calling him out here would likely get both him and Eric killed. Leslie was always a backup, but she was off-duty and probably three beers deep at Harry's bar. I certainly didn't want to disturb her. At least not until the morning.
I resolved to talk to Leslie about it tomorrow, and sleep eventually came.
4
ARIX
I did not like this body.
Shifting allowed the Karak a significant advantage when scouting foreign star systems. A life form was sensed. The life form was scanned. The life form's biological makeup was cloned and reproduced, the photons of a Karak's body changing as fast as the speed of light. This figure, a male human figure I now knew, was distinct in the woman Jo's mind in the nanosecond before she struck me with her vehicle. It had been a natural choice for shifting.
The difficulties in shifting always arose after.
Language often came slowly. Slower still in my dazed state; these bodies were soft and brittle, as evidence by the interaction back on the road. Concussion was the word on Jo's mind. But Karak could heal faster than most, so it was only a fleeting concern, although Jo seemed worried about the remaining red residue on my skin.
Blood, the word flashed in my consciousness.
Shifting alone gave us an incredible amount of information. Sensing Jo's thoughts filled in the rest of the gaps, to use a human idiom. I could already feel myself thinking like a human.
It felt strange.
Stranger still was touching another human's thoughts. It had been easy directing Jo's impulse toward home instead of the town--town, a word implying many people all clustered in one place. Not safe. But as easy as guiding her impulses was, her mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions and memories and desires and mating needs. It was as overwhelming as the bombardment of radio waves had been when I first exited my craft. Even then, still growing accustomed to my human form, I found my thoughts more scattered than normal. I was thinking like a human, a process which fought with my natural Karak mind.
Humans were strange indeed.
I waited until I sensed Jo had fallen asleep--humans hibernated once a day! the thought jumped into my brain, curious and excited--and rose from the couch. More alarming was the knowledge that I was not on the wrong planet. This was my original target, because these humans were clearly an advanced evolution of the species our surveys recorded 50,000 years before. How they progressed technologically in so short a time was a mystery.
And as I had thought back on the road, it meant I may be in danger.
I examined the surrounding area: living room (and fire), kitchen, hallway. Words began collecting meaning like dew on the morning grass (grass, a short vegetation.) Merely walking around was exhausting in my new body; I fought the impulse to descend back to the couch and enter sleep like Jo.
I need to get home.
The thought flashed in my head, persistent and demanding. I could not lose focus on what was important: taking greater stock of my spacecraft, finding a means of communication to one of the other Karak scouts, and getting off this planet.
But a human body had human needs.
I crawled back into the couch and pulled the blankets over my body. The warmth of the fireplace was soothing and wonderful in a way a Karak body could not experience.
Tomorrow, I would begin scouting. Learning about these humans, how to earn their trust and assistance.
Tomorrow I would begin my journey home.
5
JOANNA
"So you just... took him home," Leslie said.
"That's right."
I held my mug of coffee in both hands as I sat across from the police officer's desk. Leslie inhaled the steam from her mug and stared at a spot on the wall.
"Instead of bringing him here. Or to the clinic. Which, you know, would have been the right thing to do."
"I don't know. He was insistent I not bring him here."
"Okay," Leslie stretched the word out into five syllables. "And you didn't consider that this man may, in fact, try to harm you in your sleep?"
I gave Leslie a look. "I can take care of myself."
"You say that..."
"He seemed... harmless." I struggled for the words. I almost opened my mouth to tell her that he was an exact replica of the man on the cover of the book she'd given me, but I didn't want her thinking I was crazy. I'd wait for her to see him herself.
"I dunno," I finished, waving a hand. "But those are the facts. So am I in trouble?"
Leslie chewed that over while she uncrossed and re-crossed her legs. "Whelp. You were drinking..."
"Just two!" I interjected.
"...and you said he was in the middle of the road?" She waited for me to nod. "Now, I know there was a snow last night, but I don't reckon it was falling thick enough to obscure your view of the road. And that state highway is straight as an arrow. So my question to you is: how did you not see him?"
Because he was a beam of light. Because he appeared out of nowhere. Because maybe I'm hallucinating and losing my mind.
"I don't know," was all I said.
Leslie made a show of considering what to say. "Now, it's technically not a hit-and-run since you didn't, you know, run. But the law requires you report all accidents immediately."
"You know I don't have cell service out there..."
Leslie raised a finger and said, "And at your house? It's just us, Jo, so don't get defensive. I'm not gunna throw the book at you, especially since you did the right thing by stopping. But if this fella comes to his senses, you're probably liable for damages. It'd be up to a judge, at that point. Never know who's gunna sue you these days."
"See, that's the other thing," I cut in, leaning forward on the desk. "When I first hit him, and checked on him in the road? I could've sworn his arm was wounded. That the bone was sticking out of his skin. Later I could see all the blood, and a hole in his shirt, but nothing beyond that. Not even a scratch."
Leslie shrugged. "Sometimes happens. You remember the events of a traumatic event one way, when the truth is something else. Not unusual at all."
"Okay," I sighed. "So what should I do?"
"You need to tread carefully. We'll file an official report, since you're here, but we'll still need him to sign it." She blinked. "You just left him in your cabin?"
I just left him in my cabin. It seemed stupid in retrospect, but at the time it made perfect sense. He was sleeping so peacefully, thick chest rising and falling with calm breaths. Something pushed me out the door and into my truck before I could think of the consequences.
"If he decides to rob me blind, he won't find much of value there," I said.
Leslie looked like she wanted to protest more, but then shrugged it off. "Bring him in if you want. Or if he's still hesitant I can drive out there and take his statement myself. But after that..." She spread her hands. "You take in a stray, you're kinda responsible for making sure it gets back on its feet. Especially if he won't go to a hospital."
"Here's the thing," I said, thinking out loud. Pieces of logic were falling into place as I talked. "I never saw another vehicle, if his broke down. And there's nothing within ten miles of my property. How'd Eric even get out there?"
"Those," Leslie said with an emphatic pointer finger, "are all good questions you should have already asked him. But what do I know? I'm just an officer of the law..."
I filled out the proper forms, signing at the places Leslie instructed. I could feel the veil of security being wrapped around me as she signed the documents and filed them away. Plausible deniability. The Cover Your Ass procedure falling into place.
*
The General Store was busier than usual; four simultaneously customers was practically the Elijah equivalent of Black Friday. But the two fellas talking with Andy at the counter were strangers, and gave off an aura of being out of place.
"...told you," Andy was saying. "Never heard anything."
"Nothing in the sky?" one stranger insisted. "A streak of light? Like a shooting star, but closer?"
Even though I was two aisles away, I could hear the frown in Andy's voice. "Again. I told ya. I didn't see nothin' like that."
I slid around the end of the aisle to get a view of the front of the store. The two strangers looked at one-another like they were making an unspoken decision.
"Whatever you say, pal."
"Thanks your yer cooperation," the other man said. And with that they strode out the door.
Unable to hold back my curiosity, I headed toward the counter. Andy was shaking his head in annoyance or disbelief or something else as he watched them walk across the snow-plowed parking lot.
"Idiots," he muttered. "First the ghosts in my barn, and now this..."
Realization hit me. "The Jones boys? Who own that junkyard?" The two brothers lived on the far side of town, misfits who ran a junkyard and were always snooping around for one reason or another. Conspiracy nuts always giving Leslie trouble by insisting the FBI or NSA or any other 3-letter organization was spying on their brainwaves. That sort of stupid shit.
"Max and Liam," Andy confirmed. "Dunno what they expected me to say."
"Streak of light in the sky?" I snorted, remembering what Leslie had said the night before about satellites crashing. "Don't they know we had cloud cover and snow all last night?"
"You didn't hear me try to tell 'em?" Andy said. "Dunno what they're after, but I don't got it for 'em."
I watched them pile into their tow truck, back out, and drive away. I turned my smile on Andy and said, "Got any of that ground bison?"
*
The drive back to my property held an ominous foreboding. Like I was returning to a problem I'd been trying to ignore.
Was that what Eric was?
I still wasn't sure why I brought him home last night. And that morning when I was preparing to leave, even though he'd been sleeping, something had kept me from waking him. It was like a force field was pushing me away from his couch, urging me out the door.
I wasn't the kind of girl to get flustered over a good looking boy. It was unnerving.
Maybe it was the dreams I'd had. Eric's body crawling on top of mine, pinning my arms on either side with easy strength. Face leaning close to mine to breathe my breath, then moving down my breasts and along the navel, the prickles of his thin beard scratching my hip bones and then my pubic hair and then...
I shook off the thought and focused on the road. Fantasizing about that sort of thing was how I'd hit him in the first place.
Strangeness aside, there was something alluring about having a young hunk sleeping on my couch. I knew I still looked good--working outdoors with miles of daily walking certainly helped--but I had never tried dating after Fred. Never really had the desire.
But this guy...
I pulled up to my house and carried the first sack of supplies inside.
Eric lay on his back on the couch, hands behind his head and staring straight at the ceiling. The blanket was down around his waist, failing to hide the V-shape of his pelvis.
"Uhh," I said, tongue feeling heavy in my mouth. In that position I could see the lines of his muscles, every ripple and crease of his obliques and abs. Good fucking lord he looked good. I felt a deer go prancing off in my stomach.
"Hello," Eric said. "How are you?"
I carried the bag to the kitchen without answering. He sounded more normal, now. Like there was a light on in the attic instead of just a candle. Facing away from him, I said, "I'm fantastic. How ya feeling?"
I turned around.
Eric had risen from the couch, and he wore no pants. His body was a perfect statue of a man, something photoshopped instead of actually real. His thighs were thick with muscle, and his cock hung heavy and soft.
Oh my God, I thought, eyes locking onto it as if by a magnet.
I heard Leslie's words in my head: you just left him there in your cabin? The unspoken threat of a strange man forced its way into my immediate concern, the stupidity of doing something like that.
"I feel very well," Eric said casually. "Thank you for your help last night."
He made no move toward me. He just stood there, innocent and weird. Thankfully that made the situation more embarrassing than threatening. I crossed my arms over my breasts and tried to appear nonchalant.
"You can put on some clothes, you know."
Eric looked down at himself with confusion. "Oh."
"Oh indeed. Though I can see you're not cold."
The moment the joke was out of my mouth I cringed. Complimenting this stranger on his dick size like we were at some bar, where cheesy pickup lines were the norm. But Eric only blinked.
"I am quite warm indeed. However, my clothes were not satisfactorily clean. Once I had taken a shower--" the word sounded strange on his tongue, "--I did not wish to return them to me. They are presently being laundered."
That's when I realized my washer was rumbling on the other side of the cabin. "Well, I think I've got some old clothes lying around here somewhere. Let me fetch 'em and you can help bring in supplies."
I went to my bedroom more to retreat from his overwhelmingly masculine presence than to actually get him clothes, the blush on my face deepening with each second.