Page 7 of Unexpected Alien Prince

“A target?” I ask, the numbness coming back like a protective blanket. He nods, his face grim. “But… what does that mean? You left… I don’t understand.”

“When I became a target, so were you. They would use you, harm you, to get to me.”

I blink several times. This can’t be real. It’s a joke. A prank. I look around desperately looking for hidden camera men. Anyone to jump out and shout gotcha! Something like that oldPunk’dshow that used to be on television.

But nothing happens. We’re alone. In my living room. And his blood is blue. That’s one hell of a punking if they could figure out a way to make his blood a different color. I blink again. My thoughts are like a runaway train. I know this is true because it’s the only thing that explains everything.

“You’re serious,” I say at last.

He grimaces and nods.

“I wish…” he trails off and a look of desperation crosses his face. “Ads, you have to understand something. My people, the Alva, we only mate once. Ever. When we find the one who makes our soul sing, the one whom we resonate with, it’s forever.”

“Forever?”

My heart leaps at the thought. It’s what I had dreamed of when we were together. What I thought was going to be, us, together until the end of our lives. Growing old and gray together. I’d entertained fantasies of watching our grandkids play.

But he’s an alien.

So? Does it matter? Is he not who he was before?Do I feel any differently now than I did then? I don’t know. I think I should but then when have feelings ever truly made sense?

“Yes,” he says, sliding off the loveseat and dropping to his knees in front of me.

He takes my hand in his, staring into my eyes. I could stare into his eyes forever. They’re so beautiful as to be mesmerizing. I’ve always been a little jealous of his eyelashes. No boy should be so blessed with such long, luscious eyelashes.

“What are you doing?” I whisper, my throat so tight my voice is almost a squeak.

“There is so much I need to tell you,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “But there is no time. They are coming.”

“Jax,” I choke on his name, tears threatening.

He places one finger on my lips, stopping me from saying more. And I do not mostly because what can I say?

“An Alvan only mates once,” he says, his voice soft yet intense. His words burning into my mind. “I knew you were the one Ads. I couldn’t tell you the truth about me, not then. The luxury of time has been stolen from us and the danger is real. They know I mated with you.”

“We didn’t?—”

“For my people—” there’s a sound outside and he stops, looking over his shoulder with a frown.

An instant later children are laughing and the doorbell rings. I frown now too. My porchlight isn’t on and I don’t have any candy to hand out. Jax looks at me and arches an eyebrow, I bite my lip and shake my head.

“Kids, maybe,” I mutter.

The doorbell rings again, insistent. The metallic chime sounding louder than it ever has before. I try to stand up but he puts his hands on my legs and shakes his head.

“Wait,” he whispers.

He stands and moves towards the door. He gestures with his right hand and the sword I saw earlier appears as if by somekind of incredible sleight of hand. Or magic. He’s alien, what do I know anymore?

“It’s kids, Jax, you can’t open the door with a sword,” I say, standing up and moving behind him.

“You do not know that,” he says softly.

I grab his arm and pull him back. I give him my I’m serious look and he frowns. I push past him to the door but I’m also not going to ignore everything that’s happened tonight and throw the door wide open. I’m not an idiot afterall.

I look through the peep hole of the door. Standing on the porch are three children with their orange pumpkin buckets. They are each dressed as classic movie monsters. The only odd thing about it is that the costumes look like they came out of the seventies. I saw pictures of my Mom dressed like that. The thin, cheap plastic masks held to the face by an elastic band and the crinkly plastic outfit.

It's strange, but they’re kids. Maybe their parents are nostalgic or something. One of them reaches out and rings the doorbell again. I run a quick mental list of things I have in the kitchen that might serve as a treat and remember a box of Little Debbie cupcakes. I run to the kitchen, grab the box and see that there are exactly three left.

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