Page 13 of Her Alien Neighbor

“Are you certain, Axil?” Zev asks, opening a can of beer and sniffing it. His face twists into a look of disgust before he puts it down. “It is not like you to provoke humans in such a way.”

I let out a frustrated breath. “What kind of person chooses to reside in the most expensive corner of the country when she is clearly not happy there? She says she is, of course, but her frustration with whatever it is she lacks out there is written all over her face.” Her soft, animated face with her striking pale blue eyes, her small, upturned nose with the freckle on one side. I have seen every emotion flash across that face in the mere hours I have known her. And her lips… Lips that could send a man to his knees and offer eternal devotion in exchange for a single kiss.

I will admit she is tempting. Her presence elicits feelings inside me that I have never felt. But they are nothing more than fleeting bouts of desire.

It has been many years since I have been with a female. Ten, to be exact.

My brothers and I had our fun after we first landed on Earth. We were seeking mates, but when none of the women we bedded seemed to fit that description, we thought it best to continue honing our communication skills as well as other areas of expertiseuntil our mates came along.

“Is she your mate?” Mylo asks, pulling my shoulder until I turn around to face him. “Have your eyes turned?”

I push him off immediately. “No!”

An unfortunate modification our handlers had given us was our eyes turning a horrifying blood red when we discover our mate. Though podlings were prohibited from mating with natural-born draxilios or other podlings, that did not stop a few that came before us from trying. Our eyes turning red was a way for our handlers to maintain control over us. If our eyes turned red, we were to be executed immediately as our focus would no longer be on serving our king, but instead, on worshiping our mate.

It was a new modification our handlers had never used before, so we were not sure what to expect when it finally happened to one of us. Luckily, it happened here on Earth with Luka and Harper. Unfortunately, his eyes turned red at the worst possible moment during their courtship, frightening Harper to the point where she almost ended it with Luka.

Luka described the feeling as an intense itching sensation around his eyes, and Harper has told us that his eyes were red for several minutes before the red started to blink, similar to a turn signal inside a car. The blinking continued until Harper accepted him as her mate. But his eyes did not turn upon first meeting Harper or even the first time they had sex. It was later when his flightless form and draxilio form became aligned in the knowledge that Harper was the only one for them. It was the syncing of the two halves of Luka that caused his eyes to change.

Since then, Zev, Kyan, and I have avoided sexual intercourse, in the chance that our eyes would turn red while buried deep inside a woman’s cunt, frightening our mate in a moment when she should feel anything but fear. There is no telling precisely when our two halves will agree on a mate. It can happen at any moment.

Mylo has chosen not to conduct himself as cautiously. As a librarian, he has read more on the human race, and more stories written by them, than any of us. He is convinced humans see what they want to see and remember what they choose to remember. He also believes humans can be convinced of anything, and should he find himself red-eyed while in a compromising position, he remains confident he can talk his way out of it. And while his job requires him to be of service to the public, he does not hold humans in high regard. He finds them amusing in a harmless sort of way.

I, on the other hand, hesitate to underestimate them. I keep them at a distance by rarely leaving my home and not showing my face anywhere in relation to my business. Where humans are concerned, I prefer to remain as anonymous as possible.

“Do you ever miss Sufoi?” Kyan asks, staring off into our backyard. “Specifically, the work we did for the king?”

Mylo scoffs. “You mean, killing anyone who wronged him? What is there to miss about that?”

Kyan shrugs, still facing away from us. “It was part of our identity, to kill. Sometimes I find it hard to forget.”

I watch the muscles in Kyan’s back tighten, and I imagine he is currently lost in the memories of our former lives on Sufoi. He is right, it is hard to forget the things we did during our time as the king’s assassins, but being on a different planet eases the pain. It does for me, at least. “Are you well, brother?” I ask, not knowing what else to say.

Finally, Kyan turns to face us. “Do you think any of you would do it again? Kill, that is?”

“A human?” Mylo asks, aghast. “Of course not. They pose no threat to us.”

“No, but they pose a threat to each other,” Zev says, shaking his head. Then he turns to Kyan. “Is that what you mean? Would we kill a human to defend another?”

Kyan nods.

Mylo wrinkles his nose. “It seems like it would be quite messy, but I suppose I would. If the human I am defending is my mate.”

“As would I,” I reply easily.

“Agreed,” Zev adds.

Kyan remains quiet and turns to face the yard once again. Despite the strange, unpleasant sounds coming out of Zev’s speaker system, I am too distracted by Kyan’s question to enjoy it. I find myself annoyed at how quickly he soured the mood.

Eager to extricate myself from Kyan’s darkness, I make my way around the back of the house toward my shed, but stop short when I find it covered in white paper draped loosely over the roof and around the exterior. Stepping closer, I realize it is toilet paper. Lifting the end of one roll, I find myself impressed. Annoyed, but also fascinated by Vanessa’s chosen method of payback. This must be for the trash I left beneath her window or my intrusion during her meeting with Denise. Or, most likely, both.

“Son of a bitch,” I hear someone grumble on the other side of my shed. “How did she even,” then a strained groan, “get you…up here?”

Stepping around to the front side of the shed, I find Vanessa scratching and clawing her way up the trunk of the large red oak tree that grows between our houses. “What are you doing?” I ask.

She turns, panting from exertion, and sneers. “You again.” As she resumes her––I guess you could call it a climb though her feet remain on the ground––she hollers, “Pick up your damn trash, by the way.”

“I believe you left some trash as well,” I reply, pointing toward the mess behind me, “all over my shed, in fact.”

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