Twelve Days of Xanthus by Shyla Colt Page A

be . She pinched her arm.
     
    “Ow.” No, not a dream at all.
     
    The man wore two strange black cuffs around his wrists and a tiny, fur loincloth that left nothing to the imagination. He must be freezing. The reality of the situation sank in. A man three times her size and weight walked toward her at a steady clip and if his ill-equipped clothing was anything to go by, he wasn’t quite right in the head. Violet spun on her heel and bounded for the door. She flung it open, grabbed the shotgun they kept by the door in case of wild animals, turned off the safety, and placed the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. As the second oldest of a family that boasted five boys, she knew her way around a firearm.
     
    “Don’t come any closer!”
     
    The man’s eyes narrowed in what appeared to be confusion. Lined with a thick fringe of lashes and winged eyebrows, they were an impossible black. With his broad forehead and strong jaw line, he was gorgeous.
     
    “I am sorry, Mistress, I mean you no harm.”
     
    He had a strange accent that sounded like nothing she’d ever heard before.
     
    Mistress?
     
    “What are you doing out here? This is private property.” When he remained silent, she growled, “You start talking, or I’ll start shooting.”
     
    The man sank to his knees and bent over. His body sank into the thick snow.Her jaw dropped. There weren’t any mental hospitals nearby she’d never heard about, were there?
     
    “Please don’t be angry, Mistress. This is where my craft crashed. I did not know the land belonged to you.”
     
    She relaxed. He crashed? That would explain what brought him to such a remote location, but not the weird attire, or what she heard earlier. No car would ever make that sound and she would’ve seen the smoke from an airplane wreck. Heat spread over her body. Maybe he and his woman were into kinky sex games. He did call her mistress. Anger burned hot in her belly as another idea struck. The production staff had put him up to this.
     
    “Get up now!” He complied immediately.
     
    “Okay, Paul, Brad. You had your laugh, now call him off and give him a blanket before he freezes to death.”
     
    Silence. She lowered her gun about half an inch. It’s not like he could be concealing anything. She looked him over once more. Even his feet were bare. Her gaze lingered on his loin cloth. I wonder if the anatomy the cloth covers matches his massive build . She cleared her throat, praying the cool wind would counteract the flush she felt in her face.
     
    “Where did you crash?”
     
    “Over there a ways, Mistress. If it pleases you, I’d like to join you in your… dwelling.”
     
    “I’m not so sure I want you that close to me.” She jerked her chin up. “Why are you dressed like that?”
     
    “This is the way all slaves dress on Zenton.”
     
    Say what?
     
    “I didn’t catch that.”
     
    “I do not understand. I didn’t throw anything.”
     
    Jesus I have a real life, Castiel. The quote from the television show Sanctuary popped into her head.
     
    “I meant, repeat what you just said.”
     
    “This is the way all slaves dress on Zenton.”
     
    “I’m not familiar with that city. Where’s it located?”
     
    “It’s not a city, Mistress.”
     
    “Then what is it and why do you keep referring to me as mistress and yourself as a slave?”
     
    “Because that is what I am. Zenton is a planet and Mistress is the proper title for all of the Zenths, though you are the smallest one I’ve ever seen.”
     
    Her head spun. Alarm bells went off and a red flag rose. She knew crazy when she heard it. He seemed harmless enough but letting her guard down didn’t sound like a good idea. He began to shiver. His teeth chattered and his skin tinged blue. If he stayed out here exposed much longer, he’d get hypothermia and die.
     
    “What’s your name?”
     
    “Xanthus.”
     
    “Come on up and get in the house.” She waved the gun away from him toward the