Page 37 of The Alien Who Saved Christmas

Most of the time, Sullivan went through the motions of living, mired in apathy and loneliness, but he felt alive when Teja was with him. In his whole life, that crazy woman was the only thing that made him believe in magic.

That pissed him off more than anything.

When he kissed her, something deep inside had roared that she was his .

All his instincts had lit up like fireworks, telling him that he was finally where he belonged.

But almost as soon as their lips touched, Teja had panicked.

Clearly, whatever the rest of the Cult had offered her to seduce Sullivan, it wasn’t worth going through with actually seducing Sullivan .

She’d whispered, “I can’t do this,” and disappeared from his arms. Leaving him alone and unbelievably frustrated.

He hadn’t seen her since. So many times since that night, he’d searched around town for her, but she wasn’t there.

She’d even apparently stopped her idiot family from shadowing his every move, (“guarding him” they’d called it) so Sullivan suspected that she was done with him. He’d probably never see Teja again.

But he still always looked for her.

Sullivan sighed when he once again came up empty. Teja wasn’t there. Christ, why did he even want to see her? She was gorgeous and magical, but the woman was a weirdo. Wherever she was, Sullivan’s goal should be to send all the rest of the Cult off to join her.

He couldn’t trust Teja or anyone else.

Scanning the crowd for the brunette bane-of-his-existence wasn’t a total waste of time, though. Since he was keeping tabs on every Cult member he saw, he used his phone to surreptitiously snap pictures of the ones he didn’t immediately recognize and make notes on their distinguishing features.

The colored stripes in their hair had to signify something.

Maybe some kind of rank. They all had them, and they came in a variety of hues.

He needed to ask Randa about it. Since Sullivan was colorblind, it was hard to differentiate all the shades, but he did his best. This group had one navy blue streak, three neon green or maybe orange, one that might have been brown or…

He abruptly stopped his analysis, his instincts firing up.

Sullivan lifted his head with a snap, looking around.

Something was wrong. He could feel it. He didn’t believe in premonitions, but, all his life, he’d had an uncanny ability to sense when things were about to go FUBAR.

There was just enough time to brace himself and then a tornado slammed into him.

The concentrated cyclone of air lifted him off his feet and sent him flying. He felt his body twisting. He heard screaming as people scattered. He saw the palm tree he was about to hit headfirst and knew it was going to fracture his skull.

…But somehow it didn’t.

The tree seemed to move at the last second.

Sullivan had no idea how, but he missed it.

He hit the ground twenty feet from where he’d started, but without a snapped neck.

He didn’t believe in miracles either, but the physics of that near-miss seemed impossible.

It was like the tree just shifted out of the way for him. It was definitely weird.

At the moment, though, he had bigger problems than vanishing vegetation. Swearing fluidly, he pushed himself up onto his elbows and already knew that this was the Cult’s fault.

“Hand it over, human!” A male voice bellowed. “You know you can’t win this.”

Christ, he hated it when they called him “human.”

Sullivan’s world was still spinning as a pair of gigantic hands seized him.

A monstrous Cult member dragged him to his feet.

Since Sullivan topped out at just over six and a half feet, he was used to being the biggest guy in the room.

Whoever this Cult member was, he had Sullivan beat.

The guy was like a giant on steroids. His blond hair was shaved into a Mohawk, except for the yellow streak at his temple.

Dressed in black and grinning at the havoc he’d caused, he tossed Sullivan backwards like a sack of flour.

“Don’t bother fighting, because you can’t win, boy.” The guy taunted as Sullivan hit the sand for the second time. “Just give me the box and live to lose another day.”

Box? This was about that rumor Randa had been talking about? Someone actually believed that shit?

“Are you fucking stupid?” Sullivan got out, standing up again.

The guy obviously didn’t like that question. He let loose another volley of air. It hit Sullivan’s chest like a cannon, and he skidded across the beach, wondering if his ribs had just cracked.

“Son of a bitch .” He glared at Mr. Mohawk, his hand going to his injured side. “That’s it. You are under a-goddamn- rrest , asshole.” He staggered to his feet yet again, because Sullivan had never known when to stay down. No matter how stupid it was, he always kept fighting.

The guy gave a slow smile as Sullivan faced him. “I kinda hoped you’d be a warrior. It just makes this more fun.”

“No!” A woman ran forward, looking panicked. “Stop!”

A couple months before, she’d introduced herself to Sullivan as “Hadlyn Red-Cloud. The Cult seemed to favor names plagiarized from the American West. Hallie was one of the more persistent weirdoes shadowing him. Last week, she’d offered to buy him an airplane in exchange for going out to dinner with her.

Sullivan had turned it down, but she still wasn’t giving up.

Like a lot of Cult members, she kept asking him out, no matter how many times he locked her up for stalking.

As a group, they weren’t great at taking hints.

“Sax, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!” She shrieked. “Job said Sullivan was to be protected, and you know it. Haven’t you Air Phases done enough damage without you hurting…?”

“I don’t give a shit what Job says!” The giant named Sax interrupted.

“And I’ve been Banished by the pussies in the Air House, so I don’t give a shit about them, either.

As for you and the Weather Phases, you need to go back to planning afternoon showers and stay out of my way, Hallie.

I’m finally going to get the power I deserve, and no one will stop me.

Not you and not him .” He jabbed a finger at Sullivan.

“This filthy primate is going to give me what I want, or I’ll break every bone in his body. So, fuck off unless you want the same.”

“He could be someone’s Match, you idiot!” Hadlyn insisted. “Parson was his grandfather. He’s the best hope we have of…”

“Hallie, get away from him.” Sullivan interrupted and pulled his gun free.

Actually, it wasn’t his gun. It was the one he’d found hidden at the small of his back that morning he’d woken up on his front lawn.

From the position of it in his waistband, Sullivan had known he was the one who’d put it there, but damn if he could remember where it had come from.

It had to be some kind of Cult weapon. “Sir, I’m going to ask you nicely to get on the ground and put your hands behind your back. ”

Sax made an incredulous sound. “Or what? You’ll shoot me?

” He gave the universal “Ooooh, I’m so scared” face that all ten-year-old boys mastered on the playground.

Whatever the gun was, he obviously didn’t recognize it as a threat.

“Do you really not understand what I am, human? Do you really think a bullet will work on an Elemental?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve been anticipating an opportunity to find out.” Instinctively, Sullivan knew that the gun was dangerous to them. It was why he’d hung onto it. Sullivan didn’t trust anyone else, but he always trusted his instincts.

Sax spread his arms and kept coming closer. “Do it, then. I dare you.” He smirked. “You’re a dirty mongrel, but there’s Wood Phase in your DNA someplace. I’ll give you a chance to prove you come from real warriors, before I beat you down.”

Sullivan’s eyes flicked past him, counting six other Cult members with yellow streaks at their temples moving into position to back Sax up.

At least, he thought they were yellow. Maybe they were a pastel green.

Whatever color their hair was, the men were all on the same team, and it sure wasn’t his.

“I don’t have your box.” He reported, because he always liked to give folks one last chance not to be morons. “And I don’t want to fight you. Stand down.”

They clearly didn’t share his desire for peace. Another blond man came stalking closer, his face set in determined lines.

“Yasil, don’t!” Hallie shouted as the guy advanced. “Sullivan’s the only male half-breed that we know of. He’s priceless.”

“Not to me he’s not.”

Sullivan swiveled the gun to sight on the blond man, his ribs aching and his head swimming. “I don’t want to fight you,” he repeated calmly, “but that doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”

The guy actually laughed. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, human, if you think that little gun will…”

Wham!

Three more Cult members arrived, appearing beside Sullivan.

One of them he recognized as Alder I-Don’t-Have-A-Last-Name-Because-I’m- Alder-Of-The-Fire House.

Sullivan had locked that guy up so many times, he’d briefly considered hiring him as the station’s receptionist. If Alder was going to be there anyway, he might as well answer the phones and make himself useful.

For once, Sullivan was glad to see the freak.

Alder was Teja’s nephew. Logic told him that he was better off forgetting she even existed, but his feelings didn’t agree.

Those same damn whispers that kept him alive when disaster struck, sparked to life whenever he thought of that annoying woman.

He had no idea why. It was like she was key to his survival, as far as they were concerned.

His instincts growled in satisfaction because his link to Teja was back .