by S. E. Smith
He walked up to the door. Her finger twitched on the window control. She should have rolled the window down halfway, not all the way. He peered through the open window.
She stared in amazement at the man’s unusual violet eyes and the long scar on his cheek. He had the same darker skin tone and silky black hair as some indigenous people who lived nearby, but that was where the resemblance ended. This guy screamed biker, serial killer, movie star, body builder, and a half-dozen other names that streamed through her mind like prairie dogs popping up to see what was going on.
She scowled when he stared back at her as if she were the one with two heads, and she shivered, unsure if it was from the intense look in his violet eyes or the blast of frigid air pouring in through the open window.
“Listen, you’re letting all the heat out. Do you need a ride, and if so, where? I’m late for work, and I don’t have time for you to decide if you want to freeze your ass off or hitch a ride,” she snapped, again regretting her impulse to stop and pick him up.
“Paul Grove,” he said.
She blinked at him in surprise before she shook her head and laughed. “Well, isn’t it your lucky day. That is exactly where I’m heading. You must be one of his survival guys. That explains everything. Get in,” she said, pushing the unlock button.
She pursed her lips when he remained frozen for a moment, but then he nodded. He stepped back and scrutinized the door for a second before he pulled it open. She reached over and cranked the fan to high while he shrugged out of his backpack. He tossed it onto the seat before he slid in and closed the door. She quickly raised the window.
“Seat belt,” she automatically instructed before she glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure the road was clear.
He looked around before he reached for the seat belt and pulled it on. She merged onto the highway and sped up. Glancing at him out of her peripheral vision, she noticed he was sitting like he had a rod up his ass. His facial features looked like they had been sculpted from granite. The only thing moving were his fingers as he flexed them and that little vein at his temple. She reached out and adjusted the vent to blow some hot air on him.
“So, what are you?” she casually asked.
“I’m an alien from another world,” he said.
She blinked, her mind going blank, before she began to laugh. The sound started low, but the more she thought of his response, the funnier she found it as her conversation earlier with Annalisa came back to her. He shifted in his seat and frowned at her. His expression was priceless and made her snort.
“Oh, man, that was good,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye with her jacket sleeve.
“You find my answer entertaining?” he asked.
She glanced at him and nodded. “Yeah. I was expecting Marine or Navy Seal, maybe even FBI or CIA with the long hair and jacket outfit, but alien is good. I can go with that,” she chuckled. “So, Mr. Alien, do you come with a name and a title?”
He frowned at her. “Prince Adalard Ha’darra of the Curizan,” he announced.
She looked at him with amusement. It was hard not to laugh again. His face was so serious, like he honestly thought he was a prince.
Not just a prince—an alien prince from a place called Curizan, she thought, unable to keep from snickering again.
“Well, I guess even a princely rock star needs to know how to survive in the wilderness—especially if his bike breaks down in the middle of an August snowstorm,” she replied with a grin.
“Rock star?” he repeated.
She turned on the blinker and grinned at him again. “Yeah, ‘cause no soldier in his right mind would be seen wearing that much black leather in the woods. I give you half a day before Mr. G tags you, but only because he’ll give you a good head start. It would be even less if Trisha was the one tracking you—” she predicted, “unless she wanted to play with you,” she added with a commiserating smile.
“Who are you?” he asked.
She fought a smile. “Samara Lee-Stephens—human, no royal blood,” she teased before she nodded her head toward the windshield. “We’re here, Mr. Prince Adalard of Curizan.”
Chapter Four
A Few Minutes Ago:
Adalard was lost in thought, wondering what could have caused that drain to his powers, when a white transport passed him on the road. He was a little wary when it pulled over onto the shoulder a short distance ahead of him, but a blast of cold air and the falling snow eliminated his hesitation.
He was bound to meet a human, and this would give him time to test his human language skills. It was hard to tell through the back window if the person was male or female. The human was wearing a heavy brown coat and a dark green cap, and continued to face forward so he couldn’t see their face.
An uneasy sensation built inside him the closer he got to the transport. His first thought was that perhaps the enemy tracking his shuttle had followed him to the planet, but he quickly dismissed the idea. He knew the device must have shorted out shortly after he departed Razzine.
He slowed when he noticed the colors of the person’s aura flaring inside the cab. Varying shades of blue swirled with such clarity and vividness that he swore he could touch the strands. By the time he reached the back of the vehicle, the waves of color poured out of the open window, eagerly reaching for him.
He couldn’t have resisted looking inside if his life depended on it. Never had he seen or experienced the draw of another’s aura the way he did now. The bands swirled around him, tightening like steel cables until he was forced to the vehicle’s door. It was then that he knew he was in dangerous and completely unknown territory. He found himself staring at his mate, and it scared the hell out of him.
“Hey, this is where you wanted to come, isn’t it? You said Paul Grove’s place. This is it,” she inquired with a raised eyebrow.
Adalard blinked and nodded. He fumbled for the door of the transport, uncharacteristically clumsy. He cursed when he realized he had forgotten to undo his seatbelt. She shook her head, laughed, and reached over to press the release.
“At the rate you’re going, you may not make it out of the yard before you’re caught,” she said with a cheeky grin.
By Ceran-Pax’s orbs, this female makes me feel like a teen, he reflected with distaste.
He grabbed his bag and slid out of the transport, slamming the door harder than he meant to in his irritation. The metal bent under the force, leaving a dent the size of his hand. Mouthing a silent curse, he focused a shaft of energy and repaired the damage. He frowned when a wave of fatigue hit him.
“Are you okay?” she asked with concern.
“Yes,” he replied in a terse tone. “I am to see a hu—a man called Mason Andrews or Chad Morrison,” he replied.
“Follow me,” she said with a nod of her head in the direction of a structure.
He fell into step with her as they crossed the wide yard. She had retrieved another hat from the transport. This one had a wide brim around it and protected her head from the falling snow. She pushed her hands into the pockets of her thick coat, then paused a few feet from the steps leading up to a long porch and gripped his arm, gently forcing him to face her.
“Listen, I hope you aren’t doing any drugs. No one here will tolerate it, plus it will just get you killed if you go out into the wilderness stoned out of your mind,” she said.
“I have no need for drugs,” he replied laconically.
She gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him before she released his arm and shoved her hand back into her pocket. He was about to argue his point when the back door opened and a man stepped out. Samara greeted the man with a warm smile.
“Hi, Mason. I picked up one of Mr. G’s guys walking along the highway.” She grinned over her shoulder at him before she looked back at Mason. “May I introduce Prince Adalard Ha’darra from the planet Curizan. He’s an alien,” she said with a wink.
She climbed the steps and passed Mason, disappearing inside the
house. Adalard shrugged when Mason glared at him. He climbed the steps, pausing with a raised eyebrow when Mason put his hand out.
“Are you really one of them?” Mason asked as he looked up at the sky and gave a short jerk of his head.
“What do you think? By the way, my planet is Ceran-Pax. My species is called Curizan,” Adalard clarified with a slight grin.
Mason dropped his arm to his side and shook his head. “I wish you guys would give us some notice before you show up. It sounds like Samara doesn’t believe you. Keep it that way,” Mason instructed.
Adalard’s eyes glowed with suppressed power at the stern warning. He was not used to being told what to do. He stepped inside the warm house and looked around. They entered through the rear of the house into a large kitchen area.
He immediately focused on Samara. She was chatting with a woman next to a large stove. Her aura filled the large area and wrapped around him. The woman’s eyes widened when she noticed him. She looked at the man beside him with a concerned expression. Mason briefly bowed his head in acknowledgment before looking at Samara.
“Well, I’d better get to work. I can make up the extra time today—and Mason, if possible, I’d like to talk to you in private before I leave,” Samara said.
“That’ll be fine. I’ll be here all day. I have paperwork I need to work on. Keep an eye on the weather. It looks like we might have more snow later this afternoon,” Mason commented.
Samara nodded. “I heard the forecast on the radio. You have to love Wyoming. It’s either hot or it’s snowing. I’ll bring the horses into the upper barn and make sure they are taken care of,” she said. She held up a steaming cup between her hands and smiled at Ann Marie. “Thanks for the coffee. I missed my cup this morning.”
“Are you sure you don’t want some breakfast? It will only take a couple of minutes to make you something,” Ann Marie replied.
Samara shook her head. “No, I’m good,” she said, and nodded to Mason before she exited through the door they had just entered.
Adalard jerked when the door closed behind her. The snap of her aura away from his made him think of a rope stretched too taut before breaking. He was—bereft at the loss of her power. The emotion was so strong that he took a step to follow her, stopping only when Mason put his arm out to block him.
“I think we need to have a talk,” Mason stated.
Samara paused at the bottom of the steps and took several deep breaths of the icy air. The snow flurries had stopped, but from the look of the heavy, gray clouds, it was only a matter of time before it began to fall again. What was crazy was that it had been almost eighty degrees a few days ago.
A shiver ran through her body. She balanced the coffee in the crook of her arm and pulled her heavy, insulated leather gloves out of her coat pocket, slipping them on. She took a sip of her coffee, her thoughts on the good-looking man, and began walking toward the barn.
The guy’s accent ruled him out as a local. She wondered if he was Hispanic. She spoke a little Spanish thanks to taking four years of it in high school and working with the ranch hands who came by the garage, but that didn’t feel right either. He seemed more European—not that she had much experience with people from overseas.
“He’s got an aristocratic air about him,” she mused.
She unlatched the barn door with one hand and pulled it open. As she stepped into the brightly lit interior, she sighed with appreciation for the neatly parked row of UTV vehicles in a range of models. Her favorite was the Can-Am Defender Max. The thing had more bells and whistles on it than her old truck.
“Oh, yes, you sweet driving machine, I’m here,” she said with a grin.
One thing about Paul Grove—the man ran a class act when it came to equipment. The compact UTV had heated seats, a hardtop, and could go practically anywhere on the ranch. She walked over to the vehicle, opened the door, and placed her coffee in the cup holder.
Minutes later, she was pulling away from the Ranch Manager’s house where Mason and Ann Marie lived. She would pass the main homestead a little farther up the road, and close by was a state-of-the-art barn and paddocks. Besides offering survival training for military, survivalists, and rich people, the Grove ranch also raised and sold prime cattle and horses.
Her job was the care and training of the horses used by the ranch hands. Fortunately, her love for horses as a child had led to her taking the Future Farmers of America courses at school and volunteering at local stables, giving her the background she needed to qualify for the position. Even then, Red, the previous supervisor for the horses, had spent six months training her.
A good horse, trained to work as the rider’s partner, could make the difference between a good or bad day when out in the country. It was a shame she couldn’t train her brothers to understand that. Just the idea made her snort.
“I bet Mr. Rock Star Prince wouldn’t understand the importance of being a team player. He probably thinks the world revolves around him—or the universe in this case,” she scoffed.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she considered the ‘alien’ prince. She shook her head in wry amusement at the image. Some guys never grew up.
“What kind of guy his age claims to be an alien? I know! He is probably some rich, trust-fund baby who still lives at home and is looking for a good time. He should have started out by buying a more dependable vehicle,” she chuckled and ended it on a sigh. “He’s just another loser like your brothers, Samara, with a capital L. Let him play his games and leave. It isn’t like you’ll see him again—or that he was even interested. Hell, he barely said two words. He probably decided that you’re some backwoods, uneducated chick—which you are. He would be a love-‘em and leave-‘em kind of guy,” she cautioned.
Properly self-admonished for thinking about the sexy alien prince wannabe, she focused on the road in front of her. Horses were her passion. She was good at training them. A good trainer could make a decent living. That was going to be her way out of here, not on a spaceship.
Chapter Five
Adalard gripped the strap of his bag and followed Mason down a narrow hallway to a room with a large window, polished dark wood floors, and bright white walls with a high ceiling. Paintings depicting different mountain landscapes hung in strategic places, adding color to the room. There was a large fireplace with several logs in place, ready to be lit.
“I guess the first thing I should do is properly introduce myself. I’m Mason Andrews, Paul’s ranch manager. The woman in the kitchen is my wife, Ann Marie. You’ve already met Samara. Ann Marie knows about you and others like you. Samara doesn’t, and we’d like to keep it that way despite the fact that you already appear to have broken that rule. Speaking of rules, I need to go over a few of them with you, Mr. Ha’darra,” Mason said, speaking as he motioned to a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace.
“Prince Ha’darra or Adalard,” he corrected.
Mason paused in the motion of picking up a rectangular remote from the narrow table between the chairs. Mason clicked a button and the fireplace flared to life before he sat down.
Adalard studied Mason. He was about the same age as Paul. His hair was gray with streaks of brown, and his brown eyes were serious.
“I think it might be best to call you Adalard. Calling you a Prince or your Royal Majesty might create more questions to answer. The key is to keep a low profile. Ann Marie and I have two teenage daughters, Marie and Vicki. I’ll ask that you stay away from them and Samara,” Mason began.
“No,” he replied, sitting back.
Mason frowned. “This isn’t open for discussion. My daughters have no idea that aliens exist, and they aren’t going to,” he said.
Adalard waved his hand. “Your daughters are safe. I am no threat to your children. It is your request that I stay away from Samara that I cannot agree to,” he replied.
A knock at the door prevented Mason from answering right away. Mason rose to his feet when Ann Marie came in with a tra
y. She gave him a nervous smile before she placed the tray on a side table.
“I thought you might like some refreshments while Mason goes over the rules with you,” she stated, giving her husband a pointed look.
“I’ve told him to stay away from the girls,” Mason said.
“Good,” Ann Marie replied with a relieved smile.
Clearly the man didn’t want his wife to know that he had only agreed in part. That was good because as far as Adalard was concerned, the subject was closed. There was no way he could stay away from his mate—even if he wanted to. The moment she left, the restless pull of his energy searched for hers, and it was only going to get worse.
Ann Marie handed him a cup of hot liquid.
“Thank you,” he said with a bow of his head.
She handed another cup to her husband and placed a plate of freshly baked pastries on the table between them. Adalard sipped the hot beverage and recognized it as some kind of tea. He scanned the room, giving the couple privacy when Ann Marie kissed her mate before exiting the room, and closing the door behind her.
Mason sat down in the chair across from him and sighed. “I hope you don’t mind tea. Ann Marie is worried I’ve been drinking too much coffee lately and has cut back on my caffeine. The pastries help make it manageable,” he said.
Adalard tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I did not come to your planet for tea and pastries,” he dryly replied.
Mason sighed and sat back in his chair. “Why did you come?” he asked.
“My brother and his mate have come to retrieve her mother. Trisha asked that one of us check in with you and tell you she, Paul, and the other women who were taken off your world are happy,” he replied.
“That is good to know. It would have been nice to see Paul again. I take it he has settled in to living among dragon-shifters and golden creatures. By the way, that’s another rule—no shifting. Dragons aren’t indigenous here on Earth,” Mason said.