Page 42 of An Alien for the Future

For a few beats, we walk in silence. “Perhaps,” he finally says. “But that doesn’t mean they can’t still come true in unexpected ways.”

I pause and he walks a few steps ahead of me as I stare at him. Somehow, it feels like we’re talking about more than my singing here. But before I can respond, an even stronger gust of wind nearly knocks me off my feet. Tovan is there in an instant, one arm steadying me while the other keeps a firm grip on the bucket.

“We should get you inside,” he says, glancing up at the sky around us. “There’s a gale coming. I can smell it in the air.”

I look up at Tovan, startled by both his closeness and his words. “You cansmellit?” A gale? Aren’t these plains supposed to be peaceful? But I realize at once that the grasses are tall and lush. Despite the warm sun most days, this isn’t a desert, and that means ‘peaceful’ doesn’t mean there is no weather. The strong rains the other day should have warned me enough.

He jerks his chin, those eyes swallowing me whole as they move over my face. “The air pressure is dropping. It will be a significant storm.”

I groan. Not another storm. I haven’t even gotten to half of what I need done since the rains.

As if to prove Tovan’s point, another powerful gust sweeps across the field. I shiver, suddenly cold despite the lingering warmth of the day.

Tovan sets the bucket down and turns to me. The look he’s giving me is so soft, it holds me speechless. He reaches out, his claw gentle as he tugs my headscarf down on my forehead. The touch is brief, but it sends a jolt of electricity right through me again.

“Go inside, Donna.” That voice of his is a low rumble that I feel as much as hear. “I’ll secure things out here.”

For a moment, I’m lost in his gaze, in the intensity and warmth I see there. Then I give myself a mental shake and nod. “Okay,” I manage. “Be careful.”

He gives me a small smile, a small twist of his lips that shows me the tip of one fang, and my gaze zones in on it. He’ll want to bite me with that. Sink his teeth into my skin. Why doesn’t that scare me?

“I have more to live for now than just the blessing of another sol,” he says, gaze still eating me up. “I will be careful, lira’an.”

Lira’an.

I watch as he strides towards the vegetable patch, his movements sure and purposeful despite the strengthening wind. Then, with a last look at the sky, still calm and bright despite the rising wind, I hurry inside.

Callme a fool for standing by the door, pacing.

The wind had picked up so much outside that I can hear it whistling now. It’s so strong, I wonder if my new roof will hold.

It’s a sound that takes me straight back to those sweltering Tennessee summers, the air thick with humidity and the scent of honeysuckle. The way the sky would darken without warning, the wind whipping up into a frenzy, the ominous wail of the tornado sirens piercing the stillness.

I swallow hard, daring to peer through the window. The oogas have all hunkered down, lying low on the ground. From here, they look like small boulders with their heads tucked close against their bodies like that. Even they know to take cover.

My gaze shifts and I search for the telltale glint of pink and purple scales, but I don’t see Tovan. Frowning, I’m a bit annoyed at myself for even searching for him. He’s a grown man and at least there’s some boundary between us while we work this out, but…where is he? If the oogas have the sense to hunker down, so should he.

The wind picks up, and my worry grows. I don’t know what to expect with this windstorm. Should have asked Xarion whether there was some sort of basement for me to take cover in if a twister appears. I didn’t even think of that.

I pace again, pausing once or twice to look through the window. Still no sign of the alien. Damn. I haven’t felt this kind of unease since the day I watched a twister rip through my neighbor’s farm, leaving nothing but splintered wood and shattered dreams in its wake.

Making sure the windows and the door are shut firm, I force myself to head farther into the house. The meal Tovan put on has finished cooking, and I focus on serving two bowls. He cooked it, he might want to share the meal with me. That will mean him being in my space again, though. My hand pauses with the ladle as I force down a lump in my throat, searching for any part of me that hates that idea. I swallow hard when I realize I don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a bit wary, but I don’t think he’s here to harm me. I’m not scared of him in that way, not since that first day. That fear is long gone and the fear in its place stems from a whole other source.

Meal served, I shudder when a particularly powerful gust screams past the cottage. I swear the building shakes as if I’m being transported to the land of Oz. I’m almost too afraid to look out the window again, but curiosity, and a growing worry for the alien who’s out there braving the elements, gets the better of me.

Peeking through the curtains, I gasp. The once-peaceful landscape is now a whirlwind of activity. Leaves, a kaleidoscopeof reds and yellows, swirl through the air like confetti, branches thrash wildly, and the orange grass bends low, bowing to the wind’s fury. I scan the field, searching for any sign of Tovan, my heart clenching with each gust that howls past the cottage.

But he’s nowhere to be seen.

“He must have hunkered down in the barn,” I grunt. I should hunker down, too. Right now, this seems like the perfect weather to go lie down with the sheets right up to my chin and a good book to keep me…

I’m just turning away from the window when I spot a flash of purple. Tovan. He’s running for cover, but not in the direction that makes sense. Not toward my barn. He’s heading toward his camp. Is he so insane that—

The thought cuts off because heisinsane. I’ve seen it firsthand, camping by my property line, even though I explicitly told him to leave.

For a moment, I think maybe he’s just grabbing something he forgot, some vital piece of equipment or supplies. But as the seconds tick by and he doesn’t emerge, a cold realization settles in my stomach.

He’s not coming back.

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