Page 3 of Unexpected Alien Prince

The hair on the back of my neck is on end and despite the terror rising I force myself to look over my shoulder. Jax stands in the middle of the street and there is, incongruosly, a sword in his hand.Where did that come from?The sword crackles as blue lightning moves up and down it’s length. He holds it to his right side, standing tall. A breeze blows, tossing his white hair as down the road another streetlight flickers off. I know, on some deeply primal level, that something is coming.

The darkness is too dark. Scary dark. The kind of dark that pools under your bed or in the partially open closet when you’re a kid and you know, deep in your heart, that there is something more in there. Something that means you harm.

My stomach clenches, cold sweat forms, and I run faster. Fear is escalating. I never knew there were degrees of fear. Not like this, but now, staring into that dark that is too dark, I know there are many levels of fear. I know because even the word terror doesn’t begin to encompass what I’m feeling.

And Jax is standing in the middle of the street. Standing between whatever is coming and me.

My feet pound the pavement. I know that I can’t stop. Not now.

A strange sucking kind of sound comes from behind me then I hear Jax roar a defiant shout of rage. I glance back just long enough to see him swinging his sword and hear it crackle as it connects with the darkness.

3

ADELLA

Breathless with an extreme stitch in my side I slam the door shut and drop to the floor. I rest my back against it while my head spins, both from what I witnessed and the exertion of having run the two miles to home. I’m in no kind of shape to be running. I regret so much right now, not least of all is my poor diet and exercise. Who knew that I’d be called on to run a freaking marathon.

What was that? What is happening?

Trembling I roll onto my knees then rise up far enough to peek out the window. I can’t see anything out there but that doesn’t mean anything. I couldn’t see what he was fighting either. It looked like he was fighting the dark or a shadow or something like that. Which is beyond terrifying. I drop back onto my butt and continue to rest against the door. He’s okay. He has to be. Right?

He’s back.

He said he’d come back. I had given up hope of it ever happening, but he’s here. Except he was hurt and he’s wielding a freaking sword against what? Some dark, shadow monster?

He’s bleeding. I can’t stay here, waiting, like some scared damsel.

Right. I huff another deep breath then push myself onto my feet. Obviously calling the police is not a bright idea. They’re just as likely to have me hauled off as they are to be of any help. I look around my small, one bedroom home. I’m not really setup for fighting… well anything. Then I remember it.

My dad had a gun in his belongings and I hadn’t known what to do with it. I’d shoved it into a closet, planning to sell it eventually, but I’d never gotten around to it. I walk down the hallway, trying to calm my heart and dig through the closet. The hat box is buried under three afghans and two blankets. Water damaged and partially crushed I pull it free of the tangles and carry it to my kitchen table.

Lifting the lid off I stare at the pistol. It’s blue steel gleams in the light. I haven’t shot a gun in a lot of years. My dad had insisted I know how to but that’s when I was barely a teenager. I haven’t kept up with the skill. Will a gun even work against whatever that darkness was?

I don’t know why but when I wrap my hand around the cold handle a feeling of confidence rises. I can do this. If nothing else it feels as if I’m moving forward. I’d much rather be doing something than nothing. I walk towards the door, intent on returning to Jax, but one hand on the door I pause.

Idiot. You can’t walk down the street carrying a gun. Especially on Halloween. Getting arrested would probably be the least of my problems. Odds are great that I’d get shot.

My purse lies next to the door so I sling it over my head and slip the gun inside. I walk out the door but decide to keep one hand in the purse. I feel better with the gun in my hand than without it.

I step off my porch and head down the sidewalk. When I reach the street I pause and look in both directions. It’s late enough now that there are no trick or treaters, which is probably good. I am, afterall, carrying a loaded pistol.

I turn towards where I last saw Jax and walk with a confidence I don’t really feel. The street is eerily quiet. I stay on the sidewalk, trying to pretend I’m not rushing from one pool of light from the streetlamps to the next, though I know I am.

The house on the corner of the block has one of those tall privacy hedges blocking my line of sight of the next street. I walk close to the bushes, easing my way to the corner, one hand tight on the cool grip of the pistol.

When I reach the edge I press myself to it and wait for my heartrate and breathing to slow down. Then, faking a sense of calm I definitely do not feel, I peek my head around the corner. The street is dark. Too dark.

And out of the darkness a figure emerges.

4

ADELLA

“Gah,” I yelp, instinctively throwing my hands up.

It’s not dignified or brave and certainly not my intention. I jerk back, heart in my throat, and cold sweat covering me. I thrust my hand into the purse and fumble pulling the gun. It slips from my hand, remaining useless in my purse.

“Ads, it’s me,” Jax says, stepping around the corner.

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