Page 2 of Chosen By the Alien (Halloween Temptation #11)

I flick ash off the edge of the porch. The ember glows red in the dark.

Behind me, the door slides open. I don’t turn around.

Maybe it’s Jake. Maybe it’s just someone looking for a quiet corner to puke in.

I stay in the shadows, cigarette between my fingers, trying to steady my pulse.

The porch light doesn’t spill far. Out here, it’s just darkness and the occasional flicker of distant fireworks. My cigarette’s half-burnt, the filter warm between my fingers. I take a slow drag and exhale through my nose.

“Is this space occupied?”

A voice, smooth and oddly precise. Like someone reading off a script but meaning every word. Not Jake. Not some drunk college asshole. Not the ex I’d half-hoped might stumble out here with beer breath and regret.

I glance over my shoulder.

The guy from earlier—alien costume. The tall one. Massive shoulders, strange skin in the dim light, mask now off. Not a mask. That face is his. Sharp cheekbones, ridged eyebrows, faint glow beneath the skin like veins of pulsing starlight.

Fuck. He’s even hotter up close.

“I can leave,” he says, misreading my stare.

“No,” I say, flicking ash into a dead planter. “It’s fine.”

He steps onto the porch, bare feet silent on the wood. No shoes. I don’t even know if he wears shoes. Or if he’s sweating. Or if he sweats.

He stops a few feet away, his eyes, golden and luminous, like the sun on water, watching me with a strange intensity.

“You looked uncomfortable inside,” he says.

“That obvious?”

“You were staring into your drink like it might swallow you.”

I huff a quiet laugh. “Yeah, well. Not much of a party guy.”

“I noticed,” he says.

A pause. I glance at him again. Still watching me. Still... there.

“What gave it away?” I ask, trying for casual. “The existential dread or the oversized flannel?”

He tilts his head, curious. “Existential dread?”

“I was joking.”

“Ah.” A pause. “That was humor.”

I can’t tell if he’s fucking with me or not. His face is too calm. Too open. Not mocking. Not blank. Just... like he’s studying me with reverence. Like he’s curious about every blink and breath.

“I’m Tahl,” he says suddenly. “Tahlvorrin, but that is hard to pronounce in English.”

I blink. “That your... real name?”

“It is the only name I have.”

I hesitate. “You’re really committing to the whole alien thing, huh?”

Tahl smiles faintly. “You think this is a costume.”

He says it without a question mark. Just a fact. I open my mouth to answer but nothing comes out.

He steps closer. Just half a pace. I can smell him now, some kind of mineral-clean scent, like ozone after a storm. My pulse ticks up. I can’t tell if it’s the way he smells or the way he’s watching me.

“Do humans often use irony to deflect sincerity?” he asks.

“What?”

“You are uncomfortable, yet you stay. I speak plainly, yet you seem afraid of honesty.”

“I’m not afraid,” I say too quickly. “I just… look, you’re intense. No offense.”

“None taken.”

Another beat. He lets silence stretch between us like it’s a warm blanket, not an awkward void.

I flick ash again, trying to cool the heat crawling up the back of my neck.

“Why are you out here, Tahl?” I ask, trying to flip the attention.

“I wanted to speak to you.”

That brings me up short. “Me?”

“You were the only one who did not stare at me inside. You seemed... different.”

“Different how?”

“You are the only one not trying to impress anyone.”

“Didn’t realize that was a compliment.”

“It is.”

His voice is soft now, almost reverent. Like we’re in some sacred space instead of a shitty party with EDM rattling the walls behind us.

“You came here alone?” he asks.

“No,” I say. “I came with a friend, but he’s around there hooking up with someone probably… hell, it’s like I’m alone.”

“You are also alone in your heart.”

I stiffen. “Jesus. Okay, easy there, fortune teller.”

He doesn’t laugh. He just watches me like he’s listening to something beneath my words.

“You think I’m making fun of you,” he says. “I am not.”

“Okay.”

“You do not believe me,” he adds.

I sigh. “I’m just tired, man. I didn’t come here looking for... whatever this is.”

Tahl steps a little closer. Not enough to crowd me. Just enough for me to feel his heat, literal warmth, radiating from his skin like he’s running hotter than a human. Maybe he is.

“Have you ever felt truly seen?” he asks.

I freeze.

That question. Out of nowhere. Cutting through the haze of noise and alcohol and bitter memories like a fucking scalpel.

He keeps speaking. “Most people fear being seen. But you are desperate for it. You want someone to look and know you.”

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

He lifts one hand. Not fast. Not demanding. Just slow, deliberate, like he’s asking for permission. And then he touches my forearm.

It’s a light brush. Fingertips only. But something... happens.

Heat. A pulse. Not emotional, not metaphorical. Literal. Like static crawling up my skin. Like something humming between us that wasn’t there before.

My body jerks, just slightly, but he doesn’t pull back. His fingers hover there, reverent. Not possessive.

I stare at his hand. Then at him.

“What are you?” I whisper before I can stop myself.

Tahl doesn’t smile. Doesn’t tease. He just meets my eyes and says, “A stranger. But not a threat.”

And god help me, I believe him.

My heart is pounding now. I’m suddenly too aware of how warm it is out here. How tight my jeans feel. How close he is.

“Are you from around here?” I ask.

“No.”

“And you’re flirting with me?”

“Is that what I am doing?” he says, thoughtful. “I am learning. The word ‘flirt’ implies indirectness. But I do not wish to hide my interest.”

I laugh,awkward, nervous. “Jesus.”

“You say that name often.”

“I say it when I don’t know what else to say.”

“Then I will stop making you say it.”

My eyes dart to his. My whole body feels like it’s caught between gravity and something lighter. Like I’m on the edge of floating.

“Tahl,” I say, because I don’t know what else to anchor myself with.

“Yes.”

“I’m not gay.”

He just nods, like I said the sky is blue.

“I believe you.”

“But you’re still…”

“Interested? Yes.”

“And if I was curious?”

“I would be very gentle with your curiosity.”

Oh fuck.

Something pulses in my gut, lower. My hand twitches by my side.

A memory flashes: my ex, her cold voice, the silence between us growing wider each night. The way I hadn’t been able to perform sometimes. The way I’d blamed the stress. The job. Anything but the truth.

“I should go back inside,” I whisper.

“Then go.”

But I don’t move.

Tahl doesn’t either. His hand is still ghosting against my arm, like he knows one inch further might tip me over the edge.

“I don’t even know what you are,” I say. “Are you gay?”

“I am exactly what you need right now.”

God. That sounds like a line. But it doesn’t feel like one. Not from him.

I’m half-hard in my jeans and my skin is on fire and nothing makes sense anymore.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” I ask, half-daring, half-terrified.

“No,” he says simply.

That jolts me.

“Why not?” I joke. “I thought you wanted that.”

“Because you are not ready yet. And because if I kiss you, I will want more. And you are not ready for that either.”

A shudder rolls through me. Part relief. Part... disappointment?

I nod. Slowly. I swallow. “Okay.”

Tahl steps back, letting the cool air slip between us again. But his gaze never breaks.

“Keep having a good night,” he says.

And then he’s gone.

The porch door slides shut.

I stand there in the dark, cigarette burned out, heart thudding like a drum.

And all I can think is…

What the fuck just happened?