Page 11 of What Makes an Alien a Dad?

“Maya, can you open the door please?”

“Um...”

“It’s important.”

“Okay. Just give me a second.”

Shoving a hand onto the doorframe, he hovered over it, waiting for what felt like an eternity. He was seriously considering kicking the fucking door down after all when it finally opened, though not very wide.

Maya poked her head out. She’d washed her face, but it remained obvious she’d been crying. The whites of her eyes looked red.

Did she always have such dark irises?

He paused, stunned for a moment. Voranian eyes came in many different colors, but he’d never seen any that looked like Maya’s. Her irises were the darkest shade of brown, almost drowning her black pupils. And he suddenly felt like he was drowning, too, absorbed by their bottomless depth.

“Professor? Are you okay?” She glanced down his white, long pajamas.

He hadn’t even thought about at least putting a robe on when rushing out to check on her. What was wrong with him? He’d never acted so irrationally before.

“Me?” He blinked. “Yes. I’m fine. But what about you? You should be in bed.”

She gave him an incredulous look.

“Is that why you’re here? To put me to bed?”

“Yes.”

If she was so irresponsible as to neglect her daily schedule, he had to correct that. Even if it meant personally putting her to bed.

She kept staring at him in disbelief.

“You were crying again, Maya,” he reprimanded.

Her thick, dark eyelashes dropped, shielding her reddened eyes.

“Something happened today, didn’t it?” he prodded.

She lowered her head, avoiding looking at him.

“What is it, Maya?” he insisted. “What can I do to make it better?”

To his horror, a loud sob tore from her throat. She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his middle and burying her face in his chest. Whole-body shudders rocked her as she bawled loudly, no longer hiding her distress.

Utterly stunned, he stood rod-straight, his arms at his sides. He halted his breath, unsure what to do.

He’d faced death more times than he cared to count. He’d fought fescods, sometimes with not much more than his bare hands and horns. But there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that terrified him more than a crying woman.

This was the worst situation. And he had no idea how to handle it.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he forced his arms to move around her, finally enclosing her in a hug. He had never hugged a person in his life, other than his father and brothers. And even then, it had been just a firm, quick embrace, followed by a pat on the back or shoulder.

Never in his life had he had to hold someone for this long. He tried a small pat on her back, hoping she’d take it as a signal to let him go. But she only clung to him harder. The gentle swell of her belly pressed against his crotch with a rather unsettling sensation. Her body felt warm against his front, making him severely aware of the contact.

It was extremely awkward, but not entirely unpleasant.

She felt warm. Her hair smelled nice, similar to the berries in the drink he’d let her have at lunch today. It looked so thick and glossy. He’d never touched hair before. Voranians had fur. Ravils, the people of the planet Tragul where he’d fought during the war, had beautiful wavy hair, but he’d certainly never held any of them like this.

Lifting his hand, he ran it down the length of her hair, from her head down her back. A shudder shook her body as she pressed herself closer to him, crying uncontrollably. But somehow, he sensed it was working. His touch was welcome.

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