Page 9 of Oh No, I Stole An Alien Furball And Kissed A Beastmaster

With quick movements, he’s grabbing hold of the net, relieving me of the weight of the net and creatures. My entire arm shifts with the net, still tangled in the metallic fabric. I’m vaguely aware of how Taruk fumbles with the fabric, freeing me from the confines. My heart hammers in my chest from both adrenaline and something more… something that feels all too much like arousal.

A Volscian alien rushes up to us, an excited grin on his face. His white suit and red skin seem remarkably out of place.

“Is this another event?” the Volscian asks, running a hand over one of the towering horns jutting out of his temples.

“Rathdalia,” I greet through gritted teeth and a tense smile. Our resident hotel critic. He’d witnessed Elana’s daring escape and rescue, which resulted in the hotel practically being destroyed in a gunfight. She’d made up some wild and wacky story about the hotel hosting a special event as a cover-up, which led to Rathdalia’s awe-inspiring review. No doubt the number of guests here and the hotel’s success are all thanks to that one review. And for some reason, Rathdalia just doesn’t seem all that keen to move on.

“Event… yes,” I stammer. I’m not like Elana, able to come up with grand schemes out of the blue. If anything, I seem to be just making a mess of everything. “We are just testing out a couple of ideas for events.”

“Oh, I do hope I get invited to participate this time around,” Rathdalia exclaims. Of course he’s completely oblivious that I nearly just fell to my death, or serious injury. Then again, aliens seem so much tougher than humans. A fall off this balcony is probably like jumping only two steps for them; inconsequential.

“The staff will announce any events well in advance,” Taruk says over my head as he drags me to my feet. Taruk passes the net of squirming Yumz to me. I clutch at it, wishing I could sink into the background. I feel like I’ve just been stuffing up constantly. I’m more of a burden than a help to everyone around me.

I gasp when the world tilts around me. Taruk lifts me bridal style, net wedged between us.

“If you’d excuse us,” Taruk says to Rathdalia. I’m at a loss for words—I’ve never heard Taruk talk so politely to anyone. He’s normally just grunts and grumps. To say I’m a little jealous is an understatement.

Before I know it, he’s walking past curious-gazed human staff as he makes his way back inside and towards his own little retreat—the animal stables.

“You can put me down now,” I say as my cheeks flame with heat. It’s one thing to crush on these guys, but an entirely different thing to be treated like a damsel in distress. They have to know that I’m willing to pull my own weight. I’m not here for a free ticket to ride.

“Shhh, female,” Taruk says, not even glancing down at me. “All you humans seem to do is talk.”

I scoff in disbelief at the alien brute carrying me so gently. “Did you just tell me to shut up?”

Taruk’s eyes pierce down at me. For the first time, I notice that his eyes aren’t truly black, but an incredibly dark brown. Why does such a revelation leave me breathless? Oh, maybe it’s because I’m being carried around like I weigh nothing, like the chub on my thighs means nothing at all.

“Yes, I did. I told you to shut up,” Taruk replies.

Oh boy, does this alien have another thing coming.

Chapter

Seven

TARUK

Again, I know I’ve said something wrong. Zoe glares up at me fiercely, narrowing her eyes in what she thinks is a threatening display. I’m almost tempted to laugh and tell her that she’s cute, but that would most likely inspire more of her ire.

The very fact that I find this little waif of a female cute is alarming enough.

“You humans talk and talk, even to the point of ignoring your own injuries,” I tell her as I step into my private area. “Is this some defense mechanism for your species? I, for one, cannot allow you to be hurt.”

“Injuries? What are you talking about?” she asks, looking utterly bewildered.

I place Zoe gently down on a table, gingerly taking the net of Yumz—as she has named them—from her. I quickly shove them into a cage. Hopefully, this time she isn’t going to try and flee with them again.

I grasp her much smaller hand in mine, fingers smoothing over the inflamed surface of her wrist. Already a bruise is forming on her delicate flesh.

“You should go to the medical bay to properly treat this, but this will help until then,” I say. With quick actions, I gather some tape from a nearby drawer and begin binding her wrist.

Zoe shrugs her shoulders. “It doesn’t hurt that much. I’ve had worse. This one time at work, I nearly broke my arm when I slipped and fell. The rest of that shift really sucked, let me tell you…”

She flexes her wrist, testing the binding. Her lips tighten as she tries to hide her pain.

I stare at her in bewilderment. She became hurt at work once and continued her assignment? Did her employer not see to her care?

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Zoe asks.

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