Page 20 of Her Alien Neighbor

AXIL

Vanessa does not speak the entire ride to the grocery store. She seems distracted. By what, I am not sure. She is probably tallying the many ways I am clearly a “typical rural man.” I could correct her. Perhaps Ishould,as making blanket assumptions about anyone is a dangerous, cruel gamble, but what is the point? She sees me as this one thing, nothing more.

It is not as if I seek her approval, anyway. I had hoped, after hearing Lady Norton describe her as a kind woman with the beauty of an angel, that I could become friends with Vanessa. Much in the same way I was with Lady Norton. While there have been a few passing moments with her that have not been utterly infuriating, I would hardly describe us as friends.

Though, it is starting to seem impossible to avoid her. She is so very loud. And with all the time I spend in my shed on the edge of her property, it is easier for me to hear her than any of my brothers.

She does not like us,my draxilio grumbles.

I suppose that is true.

He adds,We cannot trust her.

Also true.

The bond between me in my flightless form and the fire-breathing creature I shift into is a sacred one. It is for all draxilios. My draxilio is a cautious, fearful thing. I suspect this is due to the mistreatment and neglect from our handlers.

He is timid and offers the worst-case scenario whenever I am pondering the outcome of a bold endeavor. He is also restless most of the time, which I cannot blame him for. Though I am able to cloak myself with invisibility the moment I take flight in my other form, there is still not enough room to shift freely on our land without being seen.

We might not be detected as we soar through the clouds, but those first few moments when we stretch our wings, swing our tails, and adjust to the much larger body on land––we remain visible. And being seen is too great a risk to take.

We have built a closed-off area on our property with tarps and ropes tied to trees as a way to shift in privacy, but we must only do so under the cover of night, so my draxilio does not get enough time to exist in his skin. It is an issue I am constantly trying to remedy.

“Ready?” Vanessa asks. It is only then that I realize we have arrived at the grocery store. I even parked, though I do not remember doing it. Vanessa looks at me expectantly as she stands outside the truck with her door open.

“Yes,” I reply. “Yes, of course.”

I notice her taking deep breaths as we cross the parking lot. I am about to ask her what is wrong, but when we enter the store, she stops. She pulls her phone out of her bag and her mood shifts.

“Okay, most of my stuff is in the pasta section,” she says, staring at the list on her phone with intense focus. “Shouldn’t take long.”

She goes to reach for a basket, but I stop her. “I need things too.” Grabbing a cart, I return to her side. “Plenty of room. Now, let us begin with produce.”

Vanessa’s teeth sink into her bottom lip, looking uneasy. She eventually agrees and follows at my side. I do not understand what about grocery shopping could make someone so tense, but it is not my place to prod into her personal life. We are not friends, after all.

By the time we venture down the pasta aisle, the cart is half-full of only the products I have chosen. But once we reach the sauce section, she starts grabbing as many as her small arms can carry from the shelf to the cart.

“This is all you plan to eat?” I ask as she tucks a stack of four boxes of rotini beneath her chin. “Just noodles and sauce?”

“Yes,” she says, dropping the pasta into the cart with a huff. She runs a hand through her short hair, then fiddles with the short pieces on her forehead. “I like pasta.” Her tone has a defensive edge to it, which I do not understand. It causes my muscles to tighten as if Vanessa requires my protection from a looming battle. Perhaps not the type of battle I am used to with fists, fangs, and fire, but something that causes her to resort to these odd food choices.

“I forgot something,” I tell her, “in produce. We must go back.”

She shrugs. “Okay.”

Casually, I grab two red peppers and a white onion, place them in the plastic vegetable bags, and drop them into the cart. I notice Vanessa grab some carrots as we leave the produce section and smile as her eyes light up the moment she sees bread and potato chips. Then I guide her toward the refrigerated meat alternative section, and pick up a package of firm tofu as well as crumbled seitan, the latter a delectable addition to the pasta sauce I make once a week for my brothers. The very sauce I plan to make for Vanessa since she refuses to make balanced, nutritious meals for herself.

“You like tofu? And seitan?” she asks, her brows raised.

I meet her gaze. “What? Your typical rural man does not practice Meatless Monday, I gather?”

Her mouth falls open, and my cock hardens at the sight of it. “You’re serious?”

I think to tease her more about her misguided assessment of me, but I am interrupted by a sharp, most unpleasant voice.

“Oh. My. God. Vanessa? Is that you?”

Vanessa and I turn toward the voice. The source is a woman of average height, slightly taller than Vanessa, but with a leaner frame. Her body and face are made up of harsh lines and pointed angles, and she gives off a cold energy, whereas Vanessa is nothing but warm softness.

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