Red Handed (Young Adult Alien Huntress 1)

He had dark hair and blue eyes; he was tall. He was—his image disappeared. I fought to get it back, but…nothing. What was wrong with me?

“You got high again,” Mom said, her scorn and disappointment clear. “That's what is going on.”

“What?” I jolted upright. Dizziness hit me in sickening waves, and several minutes passed before the sensation calmed. “I didn't get high.” I knew that much for sure.

I'd gone to the party, I remembered that now. I'd stood on the edge of the glen, watching my friends dance and smoke, but I'd resisted. Yes, I had resisted. And then…what? Ryan Stone had approached me. That's right. Ryan Stone. My eyes widened as the night's events replayed through my mind in vivid color and sound.

Ryan was the one inside my head. His sister, Allison, had been in the forest with us. Outers had arrived and had tried to kill us. A fight had broken out. Guns had flashed and knives had glinted. My friends had almost died.

“I snuck out,” I said, focusing on my mom. “I admit that. But that's all I'm guilty of. I swear I didn't use. Aliens attacked us. They tried to suck the water out of our bodies, but we fought them.” I didn't mention that I'd almost become a victim myself.

Mom glared down at me, and I fought the urge to look away. We were mirror images of each other, Mom and I. We shared the same pale hair, the same big, brown eyes. The same freckles on our cute, pixie noses. The same thin bodies—why couldn't she have given me boobs? Looking at her was like looking at a delicate flower, easily stomped on. I sincerely hoped that was not the image people got when they looked at me.

“I did good, Mom.”

“You get high and apparently think I'm so stupid I won't figure it out. Then you lie to me about it. Fighting aliens? Please. Something like that would be all over the news.”

“I'm telling the truth! I could have run, but I stayed and fought. I helped save lives. I…I thought you'd be proud of me.”

She rubbed a hand over her face, massaging the lines of tension around her eyes and mouth. “Your skin is dry, Nix, as if you haven't been getting enough oxygen. There are circles under your eyes, and your lips are tinted blue. Classic signs of Onadyn use. I should know. I've seen them a thousand times.”

“Mom—”

Tears filled her eyes. “I thought you'd quit. You promised me you would quit this time!”

“But Mom—”

“I'm so disappointed in you, I'm almost at a loss for words,” she said, cutting me off again. “Did you learn nothing in rehab? Did you forget that drugs can and will kill you?”

“I learned,” I insisted. “I know.”

She snorted, wiping at the tears with the back of her hand. “I thought you'd wised up and finally realized you were sinking into a dark spiral of unhappiness and death.” As she ranted, she paced the length of my room. She became a blur against the white walls, the metallic vanity, and the holographic photos of my friends. “I mean, God! You once threatened to help a girl kill herself.”

My cheeks burned in shame.

“I'd never been so mortified and horrified in my life. And now, to find out you're using the very substance that turned you into that monster yet again…”

“I'm not lying to you. I didn't get high.”

“Oh, really? A strange man found you and brought you home last night. You were unconscious and unresponsive. I thought I was going to have to take you to the hospital so they could give you a transfusion of oxygen-rich blood.”

“A strange man brought me home?” I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. “What did he look like?” Had Ryan brought me here? He'd knocked me out, so it was entirely possible.

Thinking of the way he'd tricked me, the way he'd unmercifully rendered me unconscious, caused my anger levels to spike. My hands clenched into fists. Why had he done that?

“What did he look like?” I insisted.

“What does the man's appearance matter?” my mom said, suddenly hysterical. “He had dark hair and hazel eyes. Happy? He told me he'd found you passed out in the forest and read your ID to learn your address.”

For some reason, that sounded familiar to me. I didn't know why, and my head hurt trying to reason it out. I did know the man who brought me home hadn't been Ryan. His eyes were freaky blue, not hazel.

“The man could have been a murderer, a ra**st, or an alien,” Mom said. “He could have killed you or worse, hurt you to the point you wished he'd killed you, and no one would have known. I would have spent years crying for you, worried about you, praying. Once again my life would have been thrown into turmoil because of you.”

“I swear to God I'm clean!” Maybe I would hunt Ryan down. He'd been there. He knew the truth. My mom refused to believe me, but maybe she'd believe him.

“I'm so frustrated with you, Nix. The drugs are destroying us, and I can't take it anymore.”

“Mom, you have to believe me!” My voice broke. I kept my gaze on her, silently begging her to trust me. Just this once. I was a different person now and wanted her to see it, to acknowledge it. “You can test…my oxygen levels,” I finished lamely. If my water level was down, would my oxygen levels be down, too? If so, I'd appear guilty. “Mom, please.”

“Changed your mind about the test, did you?” Laughing without humor, she tangled her hand in her pale hair; the sound of that humorless laughter echoed off the walls. Her shoulders sagged with dejection. “I'm sorry, Nix, but the evidence speaks for itself. I don't need to pay for a test.”

My stomach knotted painfully. I'd never done anything to earn her trust, I knew that and was ashamed of it. I don't know why I'd expected it now. But for the first time in years, I was telling the truth.

I dropped my chin onto my chest and stared down at my hands, twisting grooves into my comforter. Purple and blue branched from my knuckles to my wrists. They were so swollen, each movement of my fingers caused a sharp lance of pain. My skin was flaky.

Try again. “Mom—”

“Save it. Obviously I can't control you, and like I said I'm tired of trying. I'm worn-out. I'm so stressed I can't sleep anymore. I have headaches all the time now. I have no social life, no friends. I'm too busy chasing after you.”

“I'm sorry,” I whispered.

“I—I just can't do this anymore.”

My head whipped up, and I peered at her with dread. “Don't send me back to rehab. Please. I didn't use. I didn't! All I want to do is make you proud.”