Page 16 of Alien's Heart
Start. Right.
She distracted herself with laundry. No one could fault her for laundry.
Pants and underthings went into the cleansing unit. The shirt felt expensive, too expensive to just toss into a machine. The tag, though, gave no indication of special treatment. The jacket was too nice for the machine. It needed to be hand-washed. She treated the stains on the inner lining. Turning the jacket inside out, an identity bracelet fell to the floor.
Nox wore his identity bracelet. Well, he wore someone’s identity. The bracelets were usually worn by children. Adults had chips implanted in their hands.
Ruth held the band to her hand. Nox’s face flashed in the space above, along with an entirely new name.
Gallant Kennet.
Another identity.
Ruth wrapped her hand around the bracelet, squeezing it tight. Anger replaced any lingering embarrassment. She had no idea who the alien tinkering with her water heater was, but he was a crook.
Nox—if that was his name—had some explaining to do.
Marching right up to him and demanding answers guaranteed she’d get lies. No. She needed to wait for the right moment, as frustrating as that was.
ChapterSix
Nox
Nox stepped lightlyin the night. The nocturnal sounds of insects and wildlife covered his footsteps. Unfortunately, those same noises would also mask an intruder. A little stealth would not go amiss.
The list of tasks was neverending. After the repairs to the water heater, there was a leaky pipe. A tread on the stairs that wobbled. The compressor on the cooling unit only worked banking hours, making it useless. The security system’s sensors needed calibration. The cameras were a disgrace, the lenses buried under a layer of grime. The only way to accurately assess the property was to walk the perimeter around the house and immediate outbuildings.
He did not like the way that Geral male had been unsupervised on the property. It was troublesome. There was no security footage to check if he caused damage or tampered with a vital system. Again, Nox needed to visually inspect.
Tonight, he checked the southern perimeter. Little footsteps followed him. Nox grinned, delighted to be stalked by the wuap. The little hunter had taken a liking to him.
He paused, allowing the wuap to twine itself between his feet. He stretched down a hand, and the animal reared up on its back two feet to bump his hand.
“Hello again, little hunter,” he said, keeping his voice low. He stroked the wuap until a sound only it could hear snagged its attention and it dashed away.
Nox turned his attention back to his patrol. Earlier that day, the security system went down completely. All the sensors were unresponsive.
The fencing along the southern edge held the answers. The ground had been disturbed, as if an animal had dug several holes, exposing the underground wiring. Chew marks severed the power. Delightful. Some type of rodent.
Nox crouched. The moon gave just enough light to make out areas where the grass had been flattened. The spots were large enough to be from someone in a pair of work boots and not random animals.
More vandalism.
Ruth sat on the front porch steps, drinking from a green glass bottle. A second bottle sat next to her. The scene recalled a memory of Harmony waiting after his fights with icy cold drinks and some quip about learning to dodge the blows. She always waited for him, no matter how the fights went and how badly he displeased his uncle.
Nox shook the memory off. Ruth was not his cousin. Despite the friendly scenario, she did not appear pleased to see him. Rather the opposite. She chewed on her lower lip and her foot jiggled with nervous energy.
He recognized when someone had second thoughts. Well, the widow having second thoughts about his presence was entirely unacceptable. Could he threaten her? No doubt, but she’d contact the authorities for help the first chance she got. No. Threats were a short-term solution, and he needed a long-term situation to wait out Ashen’s wrath.
Seduction? He eyed her form. Seduction would be no hardship.
“Are you waiting for me, widow?” He joined her on the steps, sitting unnecessarily close.
“Not a widow, and yes,” she said, handing him a bottle. “Any joy with the southern fence?”
“Any joy. I like that phrase,” he said and accepted the chilled beverage. “Something chewed through the powerlines.”
“Huh. I guess a mornclaw could do that.”
