Page 20 of An Alien for the Future

After a beat, he makes a sound in his throat. “Your designation…” He turns to face me. “I do not know it.”

Only then do I realize that after all this time, I haven’t yet introduced myself.

“I am Tovan of the line Kamesh.” He does a dip of his head, bracing on the staff for support.

“Yes. You said,” I murmur, a small smile tugging at my lips as I watch him straighten once more. He’s being awfully polite. And…I like it. A thief and murderer wouldn’t be so polite, would they? I guess it won’t hurt if he knows my name. If he came here to rob me, what would he do, steal my name and ride off in the wind with it, too? So I push my caution aside and perform the best curtsy I can.

“Donna,” I say. “Donna of the line Johnson.” I rise and stretch my hand toward him for a handshake.

Tovan’s gaze shifts to my outstretched hand and before I can react, he’s grasping it in his much larger one. His palm is rough, calloused, making mine feel dainty and soft. But it isn’t his gentle touch that suddenly has my heart flying in my throat.

It’s when he dips, almost bowing before me, his face pressing against the back of my hand that I startle. There’s a deep inhalation, his nose brushing against my skin in a way that sends a bolt of shock right through me. One that culminates right at the center of my thighs.

It’s so sudden—the slight brush of his breath against my skin, the sensation that shoots straight to my core, that I gasp. I can’thelp it. My hand trembles in his grasp and my tongue gets stuck in my throat. And he doesn’t let go.

“Sweet,” he rumbles.

I know my eyes are like two big dumplings in my head, but I can’t school my features. It’s very clear handshakes aren’t the same thing to him as they are to me, and I realize I’ve never tried to shake Eleanor or Catherine’s mate’s hands. Even then, something tells me they wouldn’t react in the same way as Tovan is reacting now.

He inhales again, so unashamedly that I can hear the very breath filling his lungs. When he releases my hand, almost reluctantly, I, a woman who has always been quick with her tongue, am speechless.

I turn away, desperate to focus on anything else but the sudden shiver that went through me, rattling even the blood in my veins. With one arm, I gesture to the barn.

“There’s a pipe at the back if you’d like to wash off, though I’m pretty sure you’ll just want to lie down, rest that leg.” I clear my throat, my brows furrowing not at the state of the barn but at the fact that my heart’s beating a little harder. A little faster. Enough for me to notice it.

“Gratitude…Donna of the line Johnson.”

I push past that lump that won’t clear in my throat, forcing myself to focus on what I should do next. “Just Donna is fine.”

“Donna.”

Oh, no. No no. We’re not going to focus on that. I busy myself with nudging hay bales together to make a bed while trying to ignore the way my heart quickens at the sound of my name on this alien’s lips.

Something’s wrong. That simple touch, that unexpected gesture, has left me more flustered than I’ve been in years. A brief touch shouldn’t have me feeling a single thing.

As I push the last hay bale into place, I purposefully ignore the alien in my midst and head to the back of the barn where I have some tools leaning against the wall. I’m equal parts ashamed of myself and horrified I reacted at something so simple and so easily.

I’m better than this. Stronger than this. Hurt enough times that such foolish instinct should be dead in me.

Despite myself, memories I’d rather forget rise in my brain as if summoned just like the incoming storm. Memories of men I’d rather forget. Reasons why a simple touch should have zero effect on me. I push back at these reminders, but they flood my mind anyway.

The first one, a piece of shit called Damian, had laughed when I told him about my dreams of becoming a singer. “You’re going to be a nurse,” he’d said. “Now why would you go chasing after some silly dream when nursing’s a stable job?” He’d laughed then. “Now, you see, this is why I say you women shouldleave the business and planning to us men.That’s our language.”

I’d shown him the door that very night. Turns out ‘single and thriving’ is a language I speak fluently.

I roll my eyes, pushing a bucket out the way with my foot as I scan the wall for the thing that looks like a rake.

But back then, and even now, Damian’s words stung. I’d dropped my dreams of singing and worked as a nurse for over two decades, pouring my heart and soul into caring for others. It was rewarding work, but draining. And through it all, I’d struggled to find a connection, a partner who could understand and support me.

After Damian, there was Mark, the charming doctor who turned out to be married—with kids and a pregnant wife. He was a royal piece of shit. Then there was David, who was all about grand gestures and whirlwind romance, showering me withflowers and whisking me away on mini breaks. But the minute I mentioned moving in together, he backpedaled faster than a crawfish in hot water. Apparently, he needed his “space” and he “wasn’t ready for commitment”.

And who could forget Tyler. He was a project, a fixer-upper I thought I could, you know,fix. He was lost, confused, and I thought my love, my support, could somehow magically heal his wounds. But a therapist I am not. And trying to change a man is like trying to herd a bunch of cats—frustrating, exhausting, and ultimately pointless.

There were more, of course. At some point, I’d started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I’d entered my twenties being hopeful, thinking I’d be married with kids by twenty-five. Then twenty-five came and went and before I knew it I was thirty, a nurse, and the years started going by even more quickly.

Two more decades passed and here I am, on a world far far away from all that I ever knew, and I’m still alone. Indefinitely now, perhaps.

I’ve accepted it. Accepted it a long, long time ago. The love of my life? Not gonna happen. The kids? Not gonna happen. But what did happen, what surely did occur, was that I got wiser.

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