Page 2 of Alpha Hunger

People knelt before King Tayseer.

Today, we kneel for his son, the prince of Regha, who took over Earth’s throne about four years ago. He is well loved, mainly for ending his father’s Years of Silence by allowing us to have access to Telean technological advances.

“Waitingis not on my to-do list,” a male voice says from behind what I presume is a hologram on my far left.

I stand. “Hello?”

“My personal assistant assists me with my armor,” he says in a voice that sends a shiver down my spine. It’s a deep baritone with a very specific rattle I’ve only heard on TV when he does one of his interviews. Regha Alpha males produce sounds when they breathe, sounds similar to those of a rattlesnake when it shakes its tail.

I take off my one shoe and put it in my purse. I’ll find the other shoe later. The hologram disappears and reveals a wall with a doorway big enough to fit the car I’m gonna buy with my salary. The rectangular hole is an actual door. Newly constructed homes all feature these wall entry points, which only people familiar with the space can locate instantly. If he didn’t leave the door open, it would just look like a wall.

Peering around the doorjamb, I see the prince standing in front of a mirror, his back to me, long red tightly braided hair drapes over his back all the way down to his ass. He’s wearing black leather pants. I’m trying not to salivate over the firm globes of his behind.

He spins around, and I jump back.

“Armor,” he orders, looking annoyed.

I step into a long narrow space filled with racks of clothes on both sides. It’s a walk-in closet.

The prince shakes out his hands, and his shoulder armor falls off. He catches it and flings it in the corner atop more armor.Damn.He’s piled up so much metal on the upper half of his body, I’m surprised he hasn’t sunk into the ground from the sheer weight of it. He stretches out his arms. “Still waiting, Ms. Personal Assistant.”

“Ms. Bennett.”

The prince grunts and hooks a boot under a step stool, then pulls, positioning it in front of him. “Climb on.”

At five foot seven, I’m not short, but this guy is massive, with equally massive biceps covered in armor, which I hang on to as I climb onto the stool. Now I’m almost face-to-face with the alien monster. Under his armpit, I find a tiny latch and snap it open.

The prince nods and lowers his arm. The armor slides off, and he flexes his clawed hand. I do the same for the other arm, then fiddle with the chest armor a little longer. There’re tiny latches everywhere. He can probably do this armor thing on his own, but I’d say it would be annoying to have to do this every time he leaves the Stronghold. Thus, he gets a PA to do it for him. Got it. Chest armor off.

Good Lawd.I think I hear my pussy lips clap.Do not stare, lick, or hump him.

Getting up on my toes, I reach for his neck and wobble. Strong hands grip my hips and steady me. This close to the prince, my heart pounds, butterflies wreak havoc in my belly, and I’m thankful for the Betaren pill I ingested yesterday before applying for a job here. It would do me no good if Ideclaredmy dynamic for my boss, though many Omegas have done it and on national TV. It would do me no good, primarily because I need this job, but also because the prince is known for being reserved and able to resist Omega scent. I don’t want to embarrass myself. Remaining professional is important. It’s best if he never finds out about my dynamic.

The helmet alone weighs more than a watermelon that would feed a family of ten. I unsnap the latches, and when the prince’s hands close over the helmet, I hurry to help, trying to lift it from his head.

“Do you eat watermelon?” I ask.

“I eat most fresh fruit, vegetables, domestic meat, and Omegas.”

Is he joking? Maybe flirting? I hope so. I give up on the helmet. Can’t lift it on my own, so I step off the stool and kick it away, stubbing my toe. Ouch.My toes curl, and for more than one reason.

The prince shakes his head at me, then yanks off his helmet and tosses it to the side.

I have a view of the prince. A real-life prince. He’s green, massive, every muscle on his body defined as if Michelangelo carved him, but his face is his best asset. Regha Alphas are hairless males but for a patch of hair growing at the backs of their heads, with nearly flat noses, black lips, and prominent jaws with high-edged cheekbones. What makes the prince different are his humanoid nose and small ears. A yellow tattoo of a serpent with its tail starting from the corner of his mouth, then curling up his left cheek and over his eye makes his face look like one half of a cobra ready to strike, the other half…tame.

“Thank you,” he says and slips on a sleeveless white T-shirt with one of those hell hounds the Hordesmen ride. I hate those things. Scary as hell and also cannibalistic. The hounds spared no man who didn’t kneel. The Horde raided house by house, neighborhood by neighborhood, all while Teleans attacked from the skies. I was eight and don’t remember much of those years, but Mom told me it was brutal. She doesn’t talk of the war years much. Nobody does.

The prince steps forward, stops right in front of me, and looks down while I’m craning my neck, my lips slightly parted, my body completely immobilized. A frown appears on his face, and he bends his head, low, lower, and my lips part as if I’m gonna receive a candy.

The prince smirks. “If you would move so I can pass.”

Oh my God.I want to slap my forehead. Heat crawls up my face, and I slide to the left.

The prince walks away, leaving me alone in his walk-in closet. I take a second to catch my breath. Not only is he the prince, he is a celebrity and a popular billionaire bachelor. He hired me not to bang me, but to work for him. I love working. Speaking of work…

The Betaren pills better work. My uncle gave them to me with the promise I wouldn’t respond to Alpha vibes, meaning the pheromones Regha Alphas release to entice an Omega’s dynamic into mating them. He also said the pills suppress Omega scent, which is fantastic seeing as I hate the thought of males smelling me like I’m a bitch in heat. Before the Hordesmen, women were women, but something happened to us when the Regha males came. Some of us developed what the Hordesmen call heats. A heat period is an intense ovulation time where our sexual needs surge and override all common sense, such as not allowing myself to get smitten. Even if he is the prince.

God knows he’s paying me enough to assist him in his business and remain professional about it. With that little self-pep talk, I return to the office and stop before his desk, pick up his list, and scan it again. “Would you like some coffee?” I ask.

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