An Alien Mate For Christmas

CHAPTER ONE

Kitty

In a long line of bad luck I seemed to attract like a magnet, this had to take the cake. I swore as my little car lurched and spluttered to a halt on the quiet country road, shuddering to a stop with two wheels resting off the narrow road in the snow. My breath fogged in the cold air—the heater had packed it in the week before—as I turned the key in the ignition, whispering a prayer.

Nothing happened.

Come on, I pleaded. I released the key and then tried again. This time the engine turned over once before it spluttered into silence, the headlights flickering off to leave me sitting in the dark. I sighed, slumping forward to rest my head against the steering wheel, my breath misting in front of my face.

December in Ireland was hardly a tropical paradise.

I should have taken the car in to be fixed when the heater stopped working, but on a hotel receptionist’s wages, I didn’t have any spare money for car repairs. Besides, I was saving every bit of money I could. The little Volvo had been my grandmother’s car, and I wasn’t ready to get rid of it. Not yet. Funny how I’d ended up in the same small town I had wanted to escape. I wanted to travel—to get away from the memories—but I needed money to make it happen.

And without money, I was as stuck as the Volvo that refused to go.

I made a half-hearted attempt to start the car once more, unsurprised when the engine didn’t even whisper.

I gave up and reached across to grab my bag from the passenger seat, fishing inside for my phone. The screen was black, the battery dead. Of course it was.

I peered out of the fogging window into the dark of the night. There was nothing for it but to walk. I suppressed a shiver that wasn’t entirely because of the cold.

Don’t be afraid. It’s not like anything ever happens around here. Just walk home and have a nice cup of tea to warm up when you get there.

Pushing the door open with a squeak of hinges, I clambered out into the frosty night air. A gust of wind whipped a flurry of snow around my legs, and I shivered harder—this time because of the cold—and pulled my coat tighter around me. I slung my bag over my shoulder and tugged on a knitted hat and mittens.

Gran had given them to me for Christmas the year before. They’d been her last gift to me before she’d died. Hand-knitted in white wool with a motif of red and green stars, they reminded me of nights sitting around the fire reading while she knitted. I’d lived with her for the last three years while I worked at the hotel, saving for my trip.

I missed my gran dearly. My chest tightened, and I blinked rapidly to clear tears from my eyes. She wouldn’t want me to stop living. She’d ask me what I was still doing here, and tell me to take the trip I’d always dreamed of.

It’s not like there’s anything here to stay for, not anymore.

Snow fell, softly coating the road in white flakes. If it kept up like this, then we’d be sure to have a white Christmas. Not that I had anyone to share it with. Not anymore. And it was unlikely that would change in the next week. Last year I’d had Gran and Sean, and now I had nobody. And it was only a few days until Christmas. I blinked rapidly to clear the tears that rose, staring up at the night sky. When I was sure none would fall, I turned back to the Volvo. I’ll come back for you tomorrow, I said, patting the little car with my gloved hand as I locked the door.

The clouds blocked any light from the moon and stars; the darkness wrapped around me like an ominous blanket. I looked back up the road in the direction I had come, knowing it was hopeless to think someone would come along and give me a lift. And definitely not this close to Christmas. I checked my wristwatch. It was past midnight.

I had been the last person to leave the hotel after running some fool errand for the night manager. And he wouldn’t be heading back down until the morning, far too long for me to be sitting in a broken-down car in the snow.

Especially when anyone with any sense was tucked up under a blanket with a nice cup of tea, which was what my plan had been.

I’ll just have to walk.

The road I was on looped around some fields, the cottage I had inherited from my grandmother after her death last year on the far side. I could follow the road, but it would take far too long. The alternative was to cut across the fields. In the summer, I wouldn’t have hesitated, but now?

A rustling noise in the bushes behind me had me spinning and taking backward steps. A shiver raced down my spine, and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck.

I’m just cold, that’s all. There’s nothing to be afraid of.

I breathed a sigh of relief as a fox appeared before dashing away. But I still felt uneasy. As if this night was going to end up very different from how I'd imagined.

Gran had always told me I had a vivid imagination. I huffed a laugh, my breath puffs of steam in the frosty night air, and shook my head.

There’s a nice cup of tea waiting. I knew talking to myself wasn’t a good sign, but it had been a long day. A long week. A long month.

Who was I kidding? It had been a long year.

I took the first steps across the road toward the field, lost in my thoughts.

Getting dumped by your fiancé in the same month that your grandmother—your only living relative—passed away was bad enough. But then finding out that the reason he dumped you was because he’s having a baby with your best friend? And you all work together at the same hotel? That his family owns?

Yeah. It was past time to get out of this little village. The only reason I was still here was because of the memories of Gran in her little cottage. But even that wasn’t enough anymore.

I tucked my hands into my armpits to keep them warm and lifted my head to look across the field. I couldn’t quite see the cottage, but I knew it was just out of sight over the hill in front of me. The hill was bare of everything but grass and an ancient stone circle.

I crossed the road, my feet skidding on the icy surface, and picked my way across the frozen ground toward the base of the small hill, my breath fogging in front of me in the cold air. I’d been here as a child when I’d visited my Gran for the summer. This field was very familiar to me, but with the shadows of night, it seemed different. Mysterious.

Several weathered stones formed a circle, in the center of which a flat, round rock was partially embedded in the ground. The stones that in the day were just weathered rocks, covered in moss, were now towering sentinels. My breath came in pants, my heartbeat thudding as I walked toward them.

I could have walked around them.

I could have taken the long way via the road after all.

But I didn’t.

Something about the stones called me and, step by slow step, I made my way toward them.

When I reached the edge of the circle, I remembered something Gran had told me when I was a little girl. I’d asked her who made the stone circles, and she’d told me a tale of fairies and magic.

But the thing that had stood out to me the most, then and still now, was what she had said the stone circle did.

I had looked up at her. The smile she usually wore had dropped and her eyes had turned from teasing to serious. Kitty, my girl, the stones are guardians. They keep us safe.

From what, Gran?