It had been a time in which Craig had only had to worry about how he might approach someone coming off an abusive relationship, as well as adjusting to how, for the first time, he was attracted to someone who was more of a twink than a carbon copy of himself. That new reality was more of a mind-bender. He understood trauma, although only from a professional standpoint, more than his own shifting view of with whom he might spend the rest of his life. Alun’s experiences hadn’t seemed like an insurmountable problem. The man needed time, space and patience. He had a long road ahead of him to regain his self-esteem to forge a future. Alun had a lot of baggage.
Alun had a womb.
That one fact from Trey’s hasty information dump stood out among all of the crazy shit rattling around in Craig’s head. It was now being reinforced by the arrival of an obviously pregnant young man who was also not transgender, which meant his state had been artificially created through the ingestion of blood from the scariest of the scary hulks occupying this house. Well, maybe it was more accurate to say it had occurred through a natural process, if one counted an alien event as natural. The jury was still out on that. There was no denying, however, the solicitude and plain old love that this otherworldly creature was showing his human husband.
“Val, how many times do I have to tell you that I am perfectly capable of walking?” The boy, Mackie, spoke with a long-suffering tone that was belied by the way he curled into his man’s embrace.
This one image was enough to convince Craig that he was on the right side. As he watched with unabashed interest—because it was way better than staring at Alun like a creep—Val carried Mackie over to the large sectional sofa across the room and gently placed him there.
The alien ran his hand down the back of his husband’s head. “I’ll get your breakfast.”
“Here.” Alun raced out of the kitchen area with a plate filled with an omelet, a couple of sausage links and an iced bun. He held it out to Mackie. “Have this.”
Mackie beamed at him. “Thanks.”
Before he could take it, though, Val intercepted him. “That’s Alun’s.”
Mackie’s face fell. “Oh, then you should keep it. Damien will make one for me.”
Alun practically shoved it to the boy. “No worries. I’ve already had some toast and can wait for more. You can’t. Do you want a glass of milk or calcium-fortified orange juice?”
Mackie looked at Val in an obvious plea for the guy to make the call. There was some kind of BDSM thing going on, highlighted by the leather collar worn by the boy. That was a little disturbing, except he knew that plenty of humans were in the lifestyle and happily so. It didn’t necessarily bode ill for the alien’s behavior.
With an audible sigh, Val took the plate and passed it to his husband. “Thanks, Alun. I’ll get the drink, and you’ll have both milk and juice,” he added with a look at his husband, who was already stuffing his face.
Alun stood wringing his hands. “It’s no trouble. I’m happy to—”
“Alun!” Damien called from the kitchen. “Here’s another omelet for you.” The cook put the plate on the counter next to Craig and gave him a slightly warning look before retreating back to the stove.
There was almost a defeated expression on Alun’s face as he padded to the counter and slipped into a chair. “Thank you.”
He’s not used to the kindness. He doesn’t know what to do with it. That realization wasn’t exactly a bombshell. Craig understood the complex emotions that plagued survivors of abuse. It was hard for them to accept another’s generosity, to believe that they were worthy of it. They didn’t trust easily and were always on the look-out for a change for the worse. And on top of every other emotional baggage the man carried on a daily basis, he had to be out of his mind with worry about his son.
Although Craig had picked up on the fact that Merlin had been a difficult kid, he hadn’t missed the quiet ferocity with which Alun had defended him among the angry crowd of aliens the other night. He bet that as nice as everyone was being, they didn’t necessarily realize that aspect of Alun’s feelings. They probably weren’t thinking that they had to reassure him, but someone did.
Taking a chance, he slid closer to Alun and plunked his ass down on an adjacent chair. He was careful not to get too close. Man, he’d been a dumbass the way he’d taken the liberty of touching Alun and even holding him in place so that he didn’t cater to Val with an ingrained need to please. It had been gratifying that Alun hadn’t jerked away or shown any other signs of fear. It was also good to see that Val had learned his lesson and was getting drinks for his husband instead of expecting Alun to do it.
He watched Alun pick at his food for a few seconds before saying, “It’s hard to have an appetite, isn’t it?”
Alun froze for a few seconds before glancing his way. The guy never quite looked him in the eye, which was understandable and frustrating. “I’m not used to eating much.” He took a small bite of omelet. “It’s delicious, though. I should be more grateful.”
“Bullshit,” he said as gently as he could. Alun was startled enough to look fully at him for a few seconds. “These people made the decision to bring you into their home. The least that they owe you is good and plentiful food. You don’t owe them anything.”
Now Alun looked at him as if he had lobsters crawling out of his ears. “You say the strangest things. Sorry,” he added hastily. “That was rude.”
“It’s okay. You can be as rude as you like. You don’t owe me anything, either. I’m only trying to help you understand your worth. And,” he added with a shake of his head, “I can see in your eyes that you don’t believe that you have any.”
Alun almost bristled, which was a damn good sign. “That’s not true, mun. I have a lot of useful skills that help the family.”
“I’m not talking about your role as domestic help, but let’s put that aside for the moment. What I meant about your lack of interest in eating was that it’s because you’re worried about your son.”
With a drop of his fork, Alun curled into himself before clutching at his chest with one hand. Beneath the thin-knitted sweater he wore, there was a distinct outline of a chain and what might be a cross that he now had his fingers around. That surprised Craig. He had assumed the aliens didn’t worship the way many humans did and wouldn’t have tolerated their slaves doing so. He certainly didn’t expect to see signs of Christianity. This unexpected news gave him an ‘in’ where Alun was concerned.
Reaching inside his own long-sleeved T, he pulled out the cross his parents had given him when he’d graduated from the police academy. He made a point of holding it up for Alun to see. “I find that this gives me hope and courage when I most need it. I’m not sure if anyone is actually listening when I pray, but it’s a source of comfort, nonetheless. It reminds me of Sundays with my family, going to church and eating a big dinner with everyone around the table. It really isn’t something I should hide away.”
So saying, Craig deliberately let it hang against his chest where it could be seen. After a few seconds, Alun did the same with his. It was lovely, bigger than Craig’s, shiny gold and a crucifix, not just a cross. Alun kept his hand around it for even longer before slowly releasing it and picking up his fork again. He took a larger bite of his omelet than he had before.
“I’m that worried about him,” he said eventually in a low voice. “Merlin.”
“I know and understand. He’s your son. Of course, you are.” He dared to pat the man’s arm but was careful not to indulge himself by keeping it there. “They’ll get him back.”
Alun merely nodded and kept eating, slowly, steadily. By the time the others had come down in greater numbers, the man’s plate was clean and Damien had placed one in front of Craig. It was double the size of Alun’s and everything on it smelled delicious.
“Thanks, man.” He made a point of trying the bun first and he didn’t have to fake his delight. “Fantastic. Would you mind giving me the recipe?” he asked between bites. “I’ll
see if I can sweet-talk my mama into making them for me.”
As he slid off his chair with his empty plate and utensils in hand, Alun smiled—not a big one, but genuine, to Craig’s way of thinking. “You don’t bake, then? Of course not, you’re a warrior.”
It was silly, but something about Alun referring to him in that medieval way made his chest puff up. “It’s not that. I would like to cook but my efforts have proved disastrous. It’s in everyone’s best interest if I stay out of the kitchen.”
Alun’s smile increased. “I’ll be happy to make them for you any time.” With that, he hurried to help Damien.
Craig grinned like a maniac, pleased with that small gesture of—dare he think—affection? An arm slung around his shoulders unexpectedly enough to make him jump.
Willem bared his teeth in a mockery of the smile that was now wiped off Craig’s face. “If you hurt him, we’ll rip out your throat.”
Craig only had to cough once to find his voice. Really, this was another good sign. These aliens were protective of Alun. He appreciated the threat, actually. “I hear you, man. You’ve got no worries on that account.”
With a nod and a pat, Willem stepped back. “Good. Eat up quickly. We’ve been doing some satellite recon of Dracul’s hidey-holes and have a meeting planned for right after breakfast. We could use another set of eyes and some brain power to plan our next move. We assume you’re here to help, not ogle.”
Serious now, Craig went into cop mode. “Damn right I am.”
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About the Author
Samantha Cayto is a Boston-area native who practices as a business lawyer by day while writing erotic romance at night—the steamier the better. She likes to push the envelope when it comes to writing about passion and is delighted other women agree that guy-on-guy sex is the hottest ever.
She lives a typical suburban life with her husband, three kids and four dogs. Her children don’t understand why they can’t read what she writes, but her husband is always willing to lend her a hand—and anything else—when she needs to choreograph a scene.
Samantha loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website details and author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com
Final Dance: Part One (Alien Blood Wars Book 8) Page 24