Monsters Under Mistletoe

2. Tasi

Chapter 2

Tasi

“ N o, you’re not understanding me,” Debra insists as we walk up 80th Street from 5th Ave. I don’t know if I would have agreed to go to the Winter Holiday party if it had been more than three blocks from the 481 Building where Debbie and I both have units. Despite the longer, denser clothing the human females have been wearing the last few months, it is still too hot for me. Most assume Chrytons go shirtless because of our wings, but truly, I think I’d melt into the turf if I attempted any more clothing than the loosely woven pants I’m required to wear to meet modesty standards. “I know your planet is always cold, but you must have a winter. Everyone has a winter.”

“Of course we have a winter.” And Chrytevin isn’t always cold, but humans are woefully uneducated. Yes, my planet is on the cold end of the spectrum for supporting life, but statistically speaking, it’s a reasonable temperature and very moderate. Pleasant.

Not hot as ‘balls,’ as I’ve heard humans say in the summer, when even they sweat.

“And you guys have holidays, right?”

“We have many holidays.” I miss them, although it is bittersweet. Most holidays are structured to give the unmated Chrytons opportunities to meet Chrytons from other municipalities, with the hopes that we’ll find our mates. I never did, which is not unusual. The norm, in fact. Most unmated Chrytons have good lives and enjoy being unburdened by the pressure to create the next generation.

Not me, though. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. And every holiday, every meeting of another female and the stunning lack of a spark between us, made me feel colder. I was positive my mate was out there, but the Chrytons are a small population, well under one million, and I don’t think there are any viable unmated females left to meet.

“Well, the holiday at the wintriest time, whichever one lands closest to the shortest day of the year, is that one special?”

I’m thinking about it as I open the door to Building 679 for her and she beams at me like I’ve worked a miracle. Human females have the most peculiar reactions to me.

“It is only special because the night is longer,” I inform her. “It is more time for the newly mated Chrytons to bond before they must find a new home outside of their family’s domiciles.”

It’s all bland—and frustrating—for me to explain, but it has Debra’s cheeks flushing and eyes flashing down my body and up again like I’ve just said the most erotic thing ever. She seems to be under the false impression that I could bond with her, which is crazy. None of us, neither me nor the humans, comes to the Space Brothel to find mates.

The elevator to the Blue floor of 679 is more expedient than the elevators in 481, a relief for me as Debra prattles on about the sort of activities that often happen at these ‘office parties’ on Earth. Sex, apparently, and I consider commenting on how even on Chrytevin, where the unmated are free to have sex without concern for the feelings of other partners, it is considered unwise to do so with coworkers. Debra saves me from the frustration of not knowing if it’s worth explaining this when she mentions that people lose jobs and spouses doing that sort of thing.

I’m happy that humans see how dangerous such activities could be, but I’m confused again about why she is telling me this at all until she mentions that there wouldn’t be any consequences like that here.

The perfect moment for the elevator to open.

Usually, the lobbies on the Blue decks lack anything more substantial than a bulletin screen announcing the offerings of that building’s entertainment deck—this is a night club, but in 481, it’s an art studio, and sometimes I go to the theater in 580—but tonight, there’s a garland of evergreen sprigs and red flowers framing the entrance. A tuft of a white-speckled plant that looks awfully parasitic hangs from the archway. The display on the bulletin screen has a similar motif with an announcement that this is a private event.

Despite being closed to the public for the night, the club itself is more crowded than I’ve ever seen. The decor, which is not just garlands but whole trees festooned with colorful balls and twinkling lights, takes up a lot of floor space, but even without that, it would be overwhelming. The music is loud, the lights are flashing, the dance floor is packed. The ladies are all singing along with the song, which I recognize as one of the recent additions to the usual common area playlist. Holiday music.

I’m ready to take advantage of my long legs and that cacophonous dancefloor to escape Debra as quickly as possible. I did want to attend this. I’d like to meet people from other floors. I had this idea when I came to Verlain of making a community for myself with other people who don’t have families, but I never seem to have the time. This seems like a good opportunity for that.

But as I step out of the elevator, I’m hit by a scent unlike anything I’ve experienced before. Coming from a colder climate means my sense of smell can get overwhelmed easily on Verlain. The botanical gardens are challenging to visit, and in the summer, simply walking around outside can leave my head swimming. This isn’t so different of a sensation, except now, I want more of it. I want to track it down and inhale it, but I’m also not sure of how well my legs will carry me. They feel unwieldy.

Also, this is strange, but heat seems to be building from me. Radiating. It should feel terrible, but I wear it like a cloak.

“Tasi?” Debra murmurs next to me.

No, it’s not a murmur. It’s a purr.

I look down at her and see that the color that bloomed in her cheeks on the elevator has now morphed into full-on mid-sex arousal. She looks like she’s about to orgasm just looking at me. She reaches for me and says, “Holy shit, you smell like the best fuck I’ll ever have,” and that’s enough to get my legs moving.

They propel me into the club, both to escape Debra and to track down that intoxicating scent, but I don’t make it very far before a stillness takes over the crowd around me. The music and lights keep going, the smattering of non-humans continue what they’re doing if they’re not looking around in confusion, but the females have all paused. And turned to me. And flushed.

Human musk fills my nostrils, clouding my sinuses and making it harder for me to identify what I’m hunting for. Some females work their thighs together as though they’re just antsy, but others are bold enough to touch their breasts or even their mons. One woman grabs another and hoists her up on a bar stool while they kiss and grind against each other.

I guess I should have been more prepared for this based on Debra’s description of office parties, but she’d made it sound like it was a side-effect of the festivities, not the main attraction.

Several of the women take steps toward me.

Too many women take steps toward me.

I have to push through them. There’s something here that I need to find. Something that I need. Something that’s mine. A part of me.

Two women collide as they near me. One shoves the other, who responds with a screeching “He’s mine, Kayla!” and starts pulling at hair.

That’s when the brawl begins, and I get swept up in it.