Monsters Under Mistletoe

3. Gwyn

Chapter 3

Gwyn

T he holiday party isn’t terrible , I tell myself as Allison and I slurp down our drink rations and join the crowd on the dance floor. The one nice thing about the entire technocolony being off-limits to human men is I don’t feel nearly as self-conscious about dancing to Mariah Carey as I would have on Earth. I wouldn’t exactly call this dance music, but who cares?

“Think we can score another drink?” Allison yells over the beat, shaking her empty glass at me.

I take a glance around. A lot of people are definitely looking tipsy, but alcohol is a strange thing on Verlain. It’s strictly rationed on the prison stations, and it’s not like on terrestrial prisons where they have the means to brew it in the commodes. It’s not so strict on Verlain, but our health is still closely monitored. So despite how wild everyone is acting, it might not actually mean anyone’s gotten third drinks.

But then I look again, and it hits me that the other women aren’t just acting drunk. Many of them are acting horny . Several are dancing way too closely with each other, looking more like they’re recording a music video or performing in a strip club than getting down to All I Want for Christmas .

Despite Verlain being a brothel colony, everything’s fairly on the up-and-up here. I’ve felt encouraged but never pressured to engage in sex work, and the fact I chose not to hasn’t affected how I’m treated here. But I still find myself holding my nearly-empty glass up for the strobe lights to catch it, as though I might be able to see the remnants of some sort of aphrodisiac in the bottom. As though the elevator doors are about to open and a bunch of marauding males are going to storm in to pillage us.

Crud, this wasn’t the gang bang they were talking about in the end-of-week meeting, was it?

“Fuck, it’s so hot in here,” Allison says. Moans .

I glance nervously to the elevator bay, but the only male I see is Tasi, and he isn’t exactly marauding. If anything, he looks like the drunkest out of the bunch, his wings stretched out to add drama to the way he dips and weaves about.

I’m unable to look away. Like, I want to look away. I don’t want him to catch me staring at him, especially not when other women start to approach him and whatever oddity is occurring has them throwing themselves at them.

I’m paralyzed, my attention riveted to him. He’s even more infuriatingly handsome in person. And deep inside, what I’m feeling isn’t fright over the paralysis or shock over the fact we’ve been drugged and certainly not the arousal striking everyone else. It’s anger.

Anger at everyone else.

Anger at the women who are closest to Tasi.

Fury at the woman who grabs one of his wings and attempts to snag an icy, shimmering feather from the array.

Tasi spins away in time, but he’s wobbling. Whatever’s wrecked his balance wins, and he tumbles.

The women rush toward him, all the women except me. There are a dozen aliens, both males and females, in the club as well. None of them seem affected the way the women are, but none of them are affected the way I am, either. They jump into the fray, peeling the women off, breaking up the kicking and hair-pulling that’s happening, one of them finally reaching Tasi and helping him up.

For a moment, Tasi continues to look dazed. His hair—I think it’s hair, but the way it frames his face looks a great deal like icicles hanging from eaves—is a jumble, his feathers are sticking out in crazy directions, and there are fingerprints all over his slick skin.

Why is his skin slick? I’m sure I would have noticed that on the weekly virtual meeting, but it’s always had a faintly textured and shimmering look; either frosted or flocked, I couldn’t say. Never wet, and never with fingerprints.

Never with other women’s fingerprints.

I was worried for a second there, although everything moved too quickly for me to catch it, but now I’m back to angry. Those women had no right to touch him.

My eyes drop lower, to his pants, which also took some damage in the tussle—most notably, the button is gone.

Someone attempted to rip his pants right off him.

I lurch forward, but it’s as though I’m glued to the spot.

That’s when Tasi sees me.

Chaos is all around us. There’s no DJ and the light show is automated, so we still have that party atmosphere happening, but the dance floor has thinned out to some couples making out and—

Well, and that orgy happening right there.

Women are still clawing toward Tasi, still fighting each other, and the aliens are doing their best to neutralize everyone. Roddy, the Velkin from my team, has resorted to zapping the women he gets a hold of, dropping them to the floor. He’s a good guy, so I’m pretty sure he’s not killing them. I’m less sure of the Senalko, who’s flicking quills into women’s necks. I’ve talked to her once, and she’s kind of a bitch, so I wouldn’t put it past her to murder them.

But I’m not worried about that right now.

I’m not worried about anything.

The entire world is just kind of falling away, leaving only Tasi and me.

He’s mussed and confused and frigid and sexy as sin, and he’s ruining my career. And when his eyes meet mine and he takes a big breath, it’s like my own breath is stolen from me.

Not stolen. I want him to have it. I hate him. He’s a total jerk. And my breath is his.

He takes a step toward me. Another, and another. Each sturdier than the last, until I’m forced to tip my head up to continue holding his gaze. He lifts a hand up, bringing it toward my mouth. I part my lips for him to stroke them, but he doesn’t actually touch, only hovers. I feel his temperature, though. I can’t say body heat because it’s cooler than the air, but it fills me the same.

He whispers, “My mate.”

“I hate you,” I reply.

He stares into my eyes, right into my soul. I can feel him everywhere, like his essence is filling mine, like I’ve only ever been a vessel and didn’t realize it until this moment. His breath his heavy, his pupils dilated, as he murmurs, “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re ruining my career,” I eke out.

“I love you so much.”

“You’re the most irritating person on this technocolony.”

The space between us vanishes, and he finally does touch me, for real, his arms going around me and lifting me off my feet just to close some of the massive difference in our height. He’s cool and slick, just like I imagined he’d be from across the room, but it’s comforting in a way I can’t really explain. Not at all fish- like. Not slimy. The slickness doesn’t transfer to my skin. It’s just nice, and I want to sink into it.

I rest first my hand, then my cheek on his chest. This is wonderful.

“Wait, did you just say you hate me?” he asks.

I tilt my head up. Lifting me actually made the difference between us more difficult to navigate because now I’m staring at his chin.

“Umm, did you just tell me you love me? What the heck?”

“And you’re my mate and you’re beautiful, yes,” he says with all the confidence of a man who has no idea what he’s talking about. He beams like he’s proud of himself, too. “What’s your name?”

I snicker and shake my head as I squirm against him, but that slickness is suddenly a trap, and I somehow end up slipping up closer to his face. “I think we were drugged. Someth— oh crap,” I gasp as I look over his shoulder.

He turns his head to see what’s alarmed me.

The women.

They’ve broken free and are running for us.

“I’ve heard humans are scared of heights,” he says. “Is this true?”

I don’t get why he’s asking me that, but that’s not important. “I’m more scared of the stampede.”

He nods and tightens his hold on me, making my legs wrap around his waist, thankfully tapered enough that I can link my feet on each other at the small of his back.

Because he takes off in a dead run.

Unfolds his wings.

And holds my head to protect it as he launches himself right out the closed window of the 243rd floor of the 679 building.