The canal was icing over, a thin crust at the banks. Beautiful high-pressure morning, maybe five below. The hill should be perfect, she thought. Maybe...twenty below with windchill at three thousand feet, should be good hard crusted snow. They would dance the mountains today. She rang his doorbell ten minutes later. He took ages to get his kit into the car. Of course he had a hangover, not that he admitted it. As they headed northwest on the A82 and his sour breath filled the interior, she. He coughed as the Krell peered down at him, its amber eyes reflecting what dim torchlight penetrated the bead curtain from the walkway outside, nictitating lenses blinking at him. Did she see him as a lover? As a mate? Perhaps as prey? It didn’t matter at this point, he was as hard as steel, his heart pumping like a pneumatic drill as a strand of the alien’s saliva broke to fall to his forehead.It was ... no, ‘she’ was so large, so powerful. Fifteen or sixteen feet from nose to tail, perhaps. More

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