The Alien Prince’s Omega by Lorelei M. Hart
Hanson
“Just for a while.”The cadence of his speech was off. Not by a lot, but by enough that I suspected there was more going on here than just being almost hit. The doctor in me went straight to the beginnings of shock.
Had he been human, I’d have called for an ambulance. But he wasn’t. He was some kind of shifter, of that I was sure. I just couldn’t place what kind.
From a young age, I could scent shifters. If I had a dime for every time I was scolded for being rude to someone for asking them why they scented the way they did as a small child… It wasn’t until I was in vet school and had a shifter roommate that I discovered exactly what I was scenting. Being human, I wasn’t able to differentiate types, but I at least knew who I was in a room with.
It wasn’t just something I could mention, as some packs were very old fashioned about what happened to humans who discovered their kind. And by old fashioned I meant I’d be challenged, left to bleed out in a circle surrounded by shifters cheering on my death. No. It was best to play dumb, while still protecting him.
“Your vehicle is nice.” He sat beside me—door open and seat belt untouched.
“Thank you.” I climbed out of the car and fixed both for him. If he continued to be this out of it, I was going to call one of the people I knew in town who might have a doctor who could help him. We’d just have to wait and see.
We drove back, neither of us speaking. And really, I was still shaken up by almost hitting this man. But also—it was so much more than that. I felt all these emotions rushing into me at once. I was scared and worried for the stranger beside me. Close to the surface, I was furious at myself for almost running him over. And then there were the layers of attraction and lust building inside of me so inappropriately.
I was the one who was supposed to have the clear head and take care of him, and where did my mind keep wandering? Right back to the stranger, or rather, to my cock, which was far from behaving.
“This is me.” I turned into the driveway. “Let’s get you inside, and maybe I can make sure you're fine?” I hesitated to ask, but something said that me asking before he made the choice to enter my home felt like a better idea.
Not that any of my ideas since I nearly ran him over could be considered exactly good.
“I assure you I have never been better.” He faced me, the light catching his face at just the right angle to give his skin the bluish hue from my dream. Maybe I should be the one asking him to check me out.
“Okay.” I got out of the car and waited for him to follow, but he sat there looking out the passenger side window instead.
I was about to come around to see if he needed any help, when the door clicked open and out he came.
“I apologize. I had to reverse your motions,” he said. It finally started to sink in why he had been so unwilling to tell me where he was from. Now that I’d heard more of his speech, I could tell English wasn't his native language. My guess was that he technically wasn’t supposed to be here.
I made a note to not ask him any more about that.
“We’ll go in and I can look you over and possibly get you something to eat.” I smiled in what I hoped was a welcoming manner, holding my bag in front of my too tight pants.
“You would like to share a meal with me?” His eyes lit up as he asked. Poor guy must have been so hungry.
“I would love to. Let me see what I can whip up.”
I led him inside and offered him a place to sit in the kitchen and started to look around for the best thing to cook in the shortest amount of time, glad I had been too lazy the night before to make my cube steaks.
“Chicken-fried steak work for you?” My grandfather used to make it when I was little, and it had been one of my favorites ever since.
“Chickens are going to do the cooking?” For a second I thought he was serious. But of course he wasn’t. Chickens can’t cook.
Remembering English wasn’t his first language, I explained how it was cooked and why it was called the objectively silly name.
“Sounds delicious. May I help?”
“Next time. You just relax. I did almost hit you with my car, after all.” I might’ve said it in jest, but the guilt was still there. “Is your car there? Do you need a ride back to get it after dinner?”
“No vehicle. But maybe you can direct me to a boarding house where I might inquire about a room after we share the meal of beef pretending to be chicken?”
“I don’t think you’ll find a boarding house in the entire state. They no longer exist, but there are a few bed and breakfasts and inns.” But please don’t go there. There was no reason for me to feel this way, but then again, when did feelings care about reasons?
“That would be amenable.”
He was leaving after dinner. I let out a little sigh as I fished out my cast iron skillet that had once been my grandfather’s. At least he wasn’t leaving yet. That was something.