Page 3 of Enticed By the Alien Chef
I wanted to see my human. I wanted to know what kind of female she was and if I could convince her to talk to me, to trust me. When I sat down, I kept my lower arms behind my back and ate with the upper set. Did she think I was a freak for having an extra set of limbs? Some aliens disliked it, but I’d heard that humans were very versatile. That’s why they were so coveted.
Then I caught a glimpse, and I understood—truly understood—why the species was so sought after. Pale skin, a hint of dark brown hair, and then a green eye peered at me through the narrow gap behind the bin.
My heart started racing at the sight, my lower fists clenching and unclenching rhythmically. I felt that look down in my bones, burning into me like it was a brand. I knew in that fated instant what my parents had often talked about on the mother planet: the look of a true mate.
That female hiding behind the dumpster was meant to be mine, and the look we were sharing said it all. As long as that eye wasfocused on me, I felt like I could see into her very soul, and she could see right back into mine. I battled urges that surged through me, which I knew wouldn’t be welcome. I wanted to leap across the distance, smash the bins aside, and pull her into my arms.
I knew she could read the desire in my eyes, and I knew she’d flee if I did that. This was a delicate balance; I needed to earn her trust before I could even bring up the subject of mates. I also felt a calm settle over me. I had faith that this would work. She was still looking, she hadn’t broken the contact; which was a very good sign. I justknewthat like me, she could feel the potential of the bond vibrating between us.
It was the sound of the timers on my oven in the kitchen going off that broke the contact, a good twenty minutes after my break was supposed to be over. With the potential of my pies and bread burning when I needed those to feed my mate, I rose to my feet. I did it slowly, despite the insistent beeping of the kitchen timer.
She was still looking at me without flinching when I unfurled my big body to my full height and flexed my arms at my sides. I had four; she only had two, and I was gently testing to see if my physique would scare her off. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d sent a person running with just a glare, but then, usually, my reputation preceded me. I doubted this human girl had heard of me.
I left the door open again when I went inside, hoping against all hope that she’d follow me like a stray Batan or Riho. It was a foolish thing to hope for, but a male could dream. Dream like I’d dreamed last night, of silky skin and soft moans. I hadn’t even known she was mine then.
When Drova stalked into the kitchen on the heels of those lewd thoughts, I felt appropriately punished. The old Asrai male had red skin like mine, but his face was covered with skull-like markings. I was told that these were meant to be threatening, but really, nobody knew why they had evolved with faces like that—just that they were creepy. Drova was washed out and yellowed, like a skull that had sat in the Ov’Korad sun for too long and cracked under the heat.
If I could, I would wring his skinny neck and be done with him, especially since I’d found out what he’d been doing to Jenny. Thank the stars the female had escaped with that strange alien when she did yesterday. The shady, gambling-addicted bar owner rarely came into my domain. I had a feeling he was scared of me; that would be one of the only wise thoughts he had in his ale-addled skull.
“You’re going to have to serve food as well as make it today, Rex,” Drova said loudly as he stopped just inside the door. He braced his hands on his hips, near the belt with the stunner. If he thought he could get away with wearing a laser pistol, I was certain he would have, but the Ovters who ran this planet weren’t keen on handing out gun licenses to just anyone. Especially not crooks. That didn’t mean Drova didn’t have one; I knew he kept a big gun beneath the bar for protection. He just didn’t dare threatenmewith it.
The implication that he could reach for his stunner at any moment was there, though. It was supposed to warn me not to try anything, but really, he needed that to feel safe. I knew all about bullies. Offering him a placid smile, I simply turned my back to him and pointed at the apron Jenny had left behind on a hook on the wall.
“No waitress,” Drova snapped. “But my creditor is dead. I’ll get a new one soon.” He bared his teeth, the left incisor chipped from a brawl before I met him. “You’re not sinking your paws into more of my bar. Got that? Now get to work.” He spun around and stalked out of the kitchen without a backward glance. As always, he seemed to think that my lack of a voice meant I was deaf as well, and he’d spoken at peak volume, which meant that my little human out back might have heard all of that, word for word.
I turned on my heel, purposely making my movements slow, and peered out the door to see if she was there. Our eyes met, hers a pretty green that reminded me of the mother world, of the lush forests I’d grown up in. I jerked mine toward the apron on the hook and raised one of my shoulders as though I was posing a question. My heart pounded wildly in my chest as I waited. Did she get it? Did she understand?
Chapter 5
Kara
I was starting to think that my alien chef was the quietest, calmest guy I’d ever met. He was also wickedly competent in the kitchen, which was both pretty sexyandentertaining to watch. I’d woken from my nap because I’d felt his eyes on me, and then we’d just locked gazes, all magnetic-like. I couldn’t really describe how it felt to truly look him in the eye; intense was the only word that came to mind.
Then I’d spent the next few hours watching him work. He made meat pies that looked very tasty, even if the dough was red. Watching him chop vegetables was a work of art. He wielded two knives at the same time, mincing two things at once. The multitasking was impressive, as were his muscles, which I got to admire all day thanks to his shirtlessness.
I knew what kind of alien had walked into his kitchen, just before what was probably going to be the dinner rush too: an Asrai. That’s what I remembered from my Kertinal safety classes. They were supposedly almost always twins or triplets, and telepathic or psychic in some other way. This guy was older—I could tell by the way his skullish, Day-of-the-Dead-like markings had faded to yellow. He was also without a twin, which gave him this sad, sort of downtrodden appearance. I couldn’t really explain it, because I’d never met an Asrai before, but he seemed to be missing something.
My chef was called Rex. I’d learned that much from the brief, one-sided conversation I had overheard. And Rex knew I’d beenwatching and was now silently offering me a job if I wasn’t mistaken. His eyes flicked to the apron on the wall twice, one of his shoulders rolling. Eventually, when I didn’t move from behind the bin, he gave up and turned back to his food.
I wasn’t sure what to think. A job was… What was it? I didn’t even know. Good? But was it a trap, charity, or something else? It all came down to trust: did I trust my chef enough to crawl out of this hiding spot and walk through that door? He was putting stuff on a plate, and it smelled so good. I couldn’t believe I was letting another meal tempt me to get closer, but I was. To be fair, I hadn’t eaten lunch. My stomach was rumbling from emptiness.
My feet ached, as did my knees when I rose from a seated position into a crouch. I wrapped the blanket around myself because I felt exposed, naked, and I wasn’t even out from behind that giant metal trashcan yet. That’s what I got for being barefoot and in my freaking pajamas when they kidnapped me from Ker.
The blisters on my feet didn’t like it when I walked on them, but I ignored the pain. The food waiting for me on the table was as tempting a lure as the pretty white apron that promised a future beyond this dark alley. Itwasdark now that the sun had dropped behind the slanted roof of the bar. Shadows had cooled the stone, so it no longer burned, and I could make my way safely to the door.
My chef was by the stove, his back turned, and his lower arms down by his sides while his upper arms stirred in pans. He wasn’t anywhere close to the door, which meant he couldn’t catch me by surprise and snatch me. I drew in a deep breath, still hesitating about stepping across the threshold. Once I wasinside, escape would become much harder, but did I really need it?
I couldn’t sit in that alley for the rest of my life, waiting for his scraps. Never in a million years had I expected to be homeless and on the streets in an alien world—a very hostile, dangerous alien world. I had to dosomething, just like I’d done when I’d woken up trapped in that drug-making factory. I’d escaped, and if this was a mistake, there was only one way to find out.
My chef didn’t talk, didn’t move from the stove, but I knew that he knew I’d walked into his kitchen. And it really washiskitchen, even if that Asrai guy had implied he was the boss. Acted like it, and acted scared too. The plate of food was on the table closest to the door; the apron was farther away, hanging on a hook across the room.
When I started for the plate, which was far more tempting than the job on an empty stomach, my chef made a noise. Not a sound so much as he shifted on his feet and his wooden spoon tapped against the side of the pan. I jerked my head up, fearing the worst, but all he did was jerk his chin toward the sink. I felt a hot wash of shame almost immediately. He was right; my hands were dirty, and I’d forgotten all about manners in three days. My mom would be so disappointed.
It felt normal, like I was falling back into myself, when I crossed to the sink and started washing my hands. I’d done this action a million times; it was familiar, and it made me feel human. I grabbed the soap and scrubbed at my dirty fingers, soaping up all the way to my elbows before rinsing. Almost, I ducked to wash my face too, but my back was to my chef, and my shoulder blades were tingling. He was looking at me.
Looking, yes. But he hadn’t moved from the stove, even if he appeared to have forgotten about the pretense of stirring things so he looked busy. Awkwardly, I brushed my hair behind my ear and shuffled to the food on the table. It was a bowl of fragrant, steaming stew, with a sturdy wooden spoon next to it. That bowl was as big as my head, and when I was next to it, I suddenly feared that I’d mistaken his early dinner for a peace offering. It smelled too good to hold back now, and my stomach rumbled angrily to remind me that food had been scarce the past few days. He didn’t tell me to stop when I picked up the spoon and took an eager bite.
When I looked up from savoring that first bite, I realized that he was smiling, still by the stove, his many hands clasped behind his back. The freckle-like spots that dotted the bridge of his nose and cheeks were glowing yellow against his dark red skin. I could be wrong, but I had a feeling that color meant happiness—his smile was a good indication. So, even if it was his food, he didn’t mind. I was starting to believe that my alien chef was a good guy. Could he help me get back to Ker?
