Page 1 of Her Alien Hero
Chapter 1
Astrange scent—like fresh-fallen snow sprinkled with pine needles—sent a spike of alarm through my brain.
No, I don’t want to wake up.
Keeping my eyes closed, I willed myself to slip back into sleep and pulled the soft, warm comforter to my chin. The scent lingered in my nostrils, reminding me of how Jeremy smelled after a long day of chopping wood at the back of our cabin—his sweat mixing with the sunshine and freshness of the outdoor air.
But he's dead nowwhispered an internal voice of truth and pain always lying in wait during my weakest, saddest moments.
No, he’s not dead. Please. I don’t want it to be true.
Jarred awake, I launched to a sitting position and stared into the darkness of night, my hand reaching for his side of the bed, hope making my heart race.Once, just once, let the last two years be a terrible nightmare.
The blankets were cold and flat, and the memories of his loss crashed me into reality once more.
"I miss you," I said, choking back tears and caressing the pillow,hispillow. "What I wouldn't give to bring you back." The pain of his death lingered like an injured animal. "Will I ever learn to let you go?" How empty my life had become.
If we’d been able to get pregnant or if I’d pushed for adoption, maybe you’d still be here.
Knowing it was a selfish thought, it didn’t change the fact that had we started a family, things could’ve been different.
We'd both wanted kids, yet after several years of trying, a doctor had given us the bad news: Jeremy had been sterile. We'd discussed adopting, but something always got in the way.
Maybe we just weren't meant to be parents.Though tears had been shed, we'd managed to keep our love alive and dreamed of the day we'd be financially secure enough to adopt and have a big family. One year turned into five, and ten years turned into twenty. We'd finally managed to take the first step with an application when I'd turned forty-one and he'd hit forty-five, then tragedy struck.
No one in his family had ever experienced heart issues. Why didn't I make him go to the doctor for a checkup?
But I knew why. He seemed so fit and healthy. I'd never suspected his arteries were clogged and stiffened with cholesterol, not with how well we'd eaten."Genetics,"the emergency department physician had said."Even the healthiest person in the world can't fight their genes. I'm sorry."
How I'd longed for the opportunity to be a mother, to raise miniature copies of me, of him, of caring foranychild, so we could grow old and enjoy grandchildren, have the big family that we’d both yearned for.
He would've been a great father.I wiped sweat from my brow and inhaled deeply, knowing there'd be no more sleep tonight.
The slightest whisper of sound brushed the still air, and I frowned.What is that?Why did it smell like fresh-fallen snow?Summer currently reigned supreme even in the mountains of Colorado, with temps in the seventies and eighties most days, though the cool, fifty-degree nights felt delicious against my skin. I always left the bedroom window cracked when I slept. The sounds of wildlife and trees blowing in the breeze were a comforting background noise for rest.
But something's disturbing the night.The hackles on the back of my neck stood straight up. My intuition rarely failed me, and right now, it screamed wariness.
Gingerly, I slid open the drawer to my nightstand and dug around, sweeping my attention across the darkened bedroom. With no neighbors for miles on One Peak Mountain, I’d learned to enjoy my freedom but be cautious. If someone tried to break in, they'd find a five-foot woman with mousy brown hair, mismatched pajamas, and a sour attitude aiming a cocked pistol at their chest.
There you are.My fingers grazed the handle of my Glock's cold metal, sending a reassuring calm through my blood.
Bright, piercing light from outside flooded the windows, turning the dark bedroom into a blazing sun.
"Jesus.” Out of reflex, I jerked my fingers from the gun and protected my sight. The agony from the sudden blast of light piercing my brain.
It's the middle of the night. Why does it feel like the sun is eating the world?
As quickly as it started, the light seemed to turn off.
Probably some jackass teens outside got lost and used the driveway to turn around.
I opened my sight to the dark room once again. My retinas were still imprinted with a bright afterglow. I blinked a few times, hoping my night vision would return.
Swinging my feet out, I sat on the edge of the mattress. The coolness of the wooden slats pushed against my toes. My irisesslowly adjusted, revealing the hard angles of my dresser, of the bench at the end of the bed, and the door cracked open a bit, letting in the subtle glow of the hallway nightlight.
Wait. I closed the door before I went to bed—I’m sure of it. I can’t sleep otherwise.
A terrifying sensation crept up my spine.What ifI'm not alone?
