When Earth is conquered by the sinister Greys and the alien who killed Evie's husband returns seeking her help, she must find a way to enact her revenge and fight the growing feelings for the creature who is an exact replica of the man she loved.
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TWO YEARS EARLIER
What the Hell is that noise?
Click-click-click.
I reach the end of the building. My mouth falls open, a chasm opens up in my chest, my heart plummeting the depths.
What is that?
Oh my God, what the fuck is that?
It can't be real. It just can't.
I turn my head sharply to look at Tom, expecting him to be grinning, because this is a joke. Some elaborate ruse he's set up to scare me silly. Maybe even some You've Been Framed TV skit and the joke is on me, because I fell for it. Hook, line and sinker.
Tom isn't smiling.
Tom's mouth is open and moving, but he's not saying anything. He's just wordlessly chewing air. His eyes are wide pockets of terror, his expression so full of fright that it appears to weigh heavy on his face, his muscles and bones slackening under the pressure.
The creature, half-shrouded by the shadows of the alleyway, is tall, much taller than us, but it's hunched over, its back slightly arched at the top. Its arms are longer than they should be, and its fingers are elongated and thin, the knuckles enlarged as if the bones seek to burst out of the skin that holds them. Its head is misshapen, the cranium oversized in comparison to its narrow, pointed jaw. Its mouth is a thin cruel black slash across its face, but it is its eyes that evoke the most fear in me.
Its huge, obsidian orbs are like pools of oil. The surface appears slick and wet, as if you could sink your finger into them and pull it back out and the liquid would just ooze back into place. They are the most terrifying eyes I have ever seen and right now, they are fixated on me.
Me.
I never knew you could see hatred in eyes like this, but I do. I feel invaded by its hatred of me, as if the oil is seeping into my skin, wrapping itself around my bones, coursing through my veins. I'd always considered myself to be a fairly likeable person – not as likeable as Tom, I'm a touch colder, more distant, I can't help it - but once people get to know me, I think I'm okay. At least, I'm not offensive enough to inspire hatred, but I feel the creature's loathing like it's a living thing.
The hatred breathes. In and out. Like it knows me.
'Run, Eve.'
Tom's voice is shaky, barely audible. I hear the terrified rasp in his throat as he tries to croak out the words.
'Evie... run. Now.'
His hand brushes mine as he steps forward, moving in front of me. He reaches back slowly, pushing at me gently with the palm of his hand.
