Twelve Days of Xanthus by Shyla Colt Page B

open door. “Move nice and slow with your hands in front of you, and don’t try anything funny, okay? I’d hate to start the month of December off with murder.”
     
    He followed her directions to the letter and they made it inside the four bedroom cabin in front of a fire in five minutes flat. His shape appeared to take up a large portion of the living room as he sat down on the worn hunter green couch that turned into a pull out bed. He held his hands up toward the fire and rubbed them together.
     
    Now what did she do?
     
    “Whereabouts did you crash?”
     
    “About two miles away from where you saw me in the clearing.”
     
    “Can you tell me anything more specific? The police will need more definite directions to locate your car. Do you need an ambulance?” She squinted. “You look okay to me, but I’m not a doctor.”
     
    “Please do not alert the human authorities!” His eyes went wide and he stood only to hit the floor and bend over once more in the ultimate show of submission. The man’s body shook with what she could only assume was fear- no, absolute terror. It made it difficult for her to write him off. He believed his story no matter how farfetched it sounded. She might regret this later, but for now, her gut told her she needed to further investigate.
     
    She’d dragged a chair away from the couch, and sat with the gun leveled at him. “Get up, sit back on the couch. Now, tell me what you’re so afraid of.”
     
    “Capture. I do not wish to remain a slave any longer. Kala mistreats all her slaves. My time to disappear in the night, never to be heard from again approached and I found I could not allow myself to die so easily.”
     
    His matter of fact tone chilled her. He almost had her convinced. Except the things he said were insane.
     
    “I can sense your disbelief.”
     
    “How did you know what I was thinking?” she whispered.
     
    “I can’t. I only sense heightened emotions.”
     
    No! “ If you are really an a-alien.” She stumbled over the last word. “How would you know my language?”
     
    “The ship equips us with a translator it embeds in our brain. I understand most of your words, but some of your phrases are very odd.”
     
    “Pot meet kettle.”
     
    “Like that one.”
     
    She shook her head.
     
    “You do not believe me?”
     
    “No, Xanthus, I don’t.”
     
    “A slave cannot lie to his mistress. I will show you my powers and you will see.”
     
    He closed his eyes. The TV remote floated up from the table and whizzed over to land in his upturned palm.
     
    Violet jumped. “How did you do that?”
     
    “By manipulating molecules.”
     
    Her body shook and she clutched her shotgun tight. This couldn’t be real. The guys from work must be setting her up. Any minute now, someone would jump out of a closet, laughing his or her ass off.
     
    “Do not be afraid, mistress. I only seek shelter for the next twelve days.”
     
    “Then what happens?” she asked.
     
    “Then the tracking device on my bands will be rendered ineffective.”
     
    He held up his arms and the fire glinted off the black bands.
     
    This is really happening.
     
    She opened her mouth to speak, and a throaty purr came out instead. Horrified by her behavior, she gasped.
     
    “It’s not your fault, Mistress,” Xanthus whispered, his dark eyes sad. Her anxiety skyrocketed.
     
    “It’s the hormones.”
     
    “I don’t care if you’ve got a keen sense of smell, or not, Spock. That’s rude.”
     
    “Not your hormones, Mistress, mine. It’s why the strongest of the Xanths are harvested to mate with the Zenths. Our glands secret something similar to what your people refer to as an aphrodisiac.”
     
    “This cannot be happening,” she whispered. Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead.
     
    “Is it hot in here to you?” she asked.
     
    “Please let me ease the ache, Mistress. It will only continue to worsen until I do.”
     
    “No, no, I’m fine.”
     
    She