Page 77 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
He exhales, slow and steady—like releasing centuries of caution. “I’ve been holding my breath for years,” he says, voice husky. “Since I landed here. Since I met you.”
My heart clenches. I trace his fingers with mine, every careful touch speaking more than any speech.
We remain that way until the cicadas loosen their song and the porch light dims, one circuit short of fading.
I speak. "So what now?" My question is fragile, hope alight within it.
He lifts his head, regards me with that warrior-soldier intensity softened by something deeper—vulnerability. "Now, we build. One moment at a time. Together."
And I realize, in the hum of night and the brush of fingertips, that’s exactly what I want.
I rest my head again and whisper, "Together."
He doesn't pull away. Instead, he wraps an arm around me, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something shift. Maybe I don’t need a grand gesture. Not tonight. Not right now.
Tonight, this—leaning into the unknown, tethered by honesty and choice—is enough.
CHAPTER 23
RYCHNE
The town council chambers feel smaller than my ship’s command pod—its ceiling too low, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving, the murmurs of concerned citizens echoing off wood-paneled walls. My pulse thrums like a reactor on diesel, and though I've studied human public assembly protocols, nothing prepares me for this moment. The trap is set—evidence files loaded, affidavits ready, council members leaning forward in their seats—but the final reveal is all that remains.
Nessa steps to the podium first, her spine straight, voice crisp. Each word she speaks lands like a hammer: dates, figures, moving parts of Lipnicky’s plan laid bare. “Thirteen properties targeted in the last six weeks,” she asserts, “all evictions approved, but homeless shelters remain empty. Contracts for new construction have contractors connected to Lipnicky’s firms.” The room hums with uneasy energy. She doesn’t flinch, and neither do I.
When Lipnicky stands to counter, his human charm sliding back on like a snake shedding old skin, I can see it flicker. I wait. Let him twist words, half-smile, lean on fabricated warmth. He speaks of progress and revitalization, his tone honeyed—anEarth politician’s practiced drawl. Then he names me with a grin: “And our good neighbor Richard, the accountant?—”
He pauses. The moment hangs in the air. He glances toward me, expecting a smile, a wave, anything. Instead, I stand.
The silence gobbles up the pause, swallowing it whole. I strip the image inducer from my face. Flesh melts back to red scales, golden eyes alight with star-born fire. The chamber gapes.
The gasps ripple across the room—shock, fear, accusation. A member rises, reaching for a gavel—but words catch in her throat. I hold up a hand.
“This being is not one of you,” I say, voice amplified by my internal acoustics, resonant and unwavering. “He is Grolgath—a manipulator of timelines, a destroyer of futures. His aim: destabilize Earth so humanity never joins the Trident Alliance. His camouflage—legal contracts, polite smiles, friendly nods—has fooled you long enough.”
The air crackles like a prelude to a storm.
Lipnicky—revealed now—his human facade sliding, reverts to his true reptilian form: mottled green scales, bulbous eyes closer to pits than orbs, claws scraping at the podium’s edge. A guttural hiss issues from his throat, and the chamber erupts into panic. Chairs skid. People scream. Council members scramble through side doors.
I don’t hesitate. I launch forward, but he isn’t human. He steps aside with inhuman speed. My tail whips, knocking over chairs. A dozen phones record from shaky angles. The echo of my heavy boots meets his curses in Grolgathese.
I spring into the melee, tackling him through the scrawled plywood wall—thunder cloaked in muffled thumps—and back into the parking lot, lit by the dull glow of streetlamps and cell-phone torches. The cold night air hits me—sharp and bracing—flashing my senses awake.
Lipnicky claws at my chest, but I break free, then sweep his leg. He lands hard on the asphalt, claws sliding uselessly against concrete. A cylinder of council documents sprays between us. He roars and surges again; I redirect him toward the back of a truck. The guardian instinct swells in my chest.
“Humanity is not prey!” I roar, ducking a snapping jaw. I thrust him away with both hands, watching his reptilian face twist in frustration.
Sparks crackle from the truck’s light fixture as our impact shifts its alignment. Council staff gather, their faces masks of horror and fascination. Sirens wail in the distance.
I plant a foot over Lipnicky’s chest. “The evidence is in your files, word for word,” I growl in a low rumble that shakes his scaled skull.
He’s not human, but he bleeds at my pressure. Council members circle, overwhelmed, uncertain if I'm monster—or savior.
I release him and step back. “He is exposed. The bond with Earth is not ours to destroy.” As I say it, I catch Nessa’s anxious eyes shining from the threshold of the closed chamber door. Her shoulders slump in relief.
Police flood the lot. Officers rush toward us—not with weapons drawn, but with restraining grabs. I stand down, slowly, allowing them to secure Lipnicky still writhing in his true form.
I lock eyes with Nessa before they escort me away. She meets my look, tears glistening, not fear—but awe, gratitude, something fierce and raw.
