Page 8 of Her Alien Boss

“I’m an employee, he’s my boss,” I repeat.

Hard to keep that front up now that I am walking along on an alien’s leash, but I knew I’d have to adapt to challenging circumstances when I signed up for this job.

“Well, a human is never really an employee,” the Antari says. “It’s a matter of classifications. And a female human has uses beyond work. There are plenty of workers in this quadrant without needing to reach beyond the stars to…”

“You’d love Rustle,” I interrupt. I know I’m going to work for a rich guy. I get it. I know he owns a lot of territory, and that in alien terms that means dozens of planets and whatnot. I’m used to that. In the sciences, we’re constantly being asked to associate with rich dudes with money in the hope we will get some of that money for our research.

This won’t be any different.

“We shouldn’t keep him waiting,” he says.

And we don’t. I am marched down one of the many gangways that extend from the ship and out into a port that would make anyone who had spent a life on Earth cry from the wonder of it all. The interior of this place is so vast it seems to me it must be a complete city. Like Athens and her ports, everything here revolves around travel and trade and you can feel it. We are somehow inside and outside at the same time, and the space overall is so vast I can’t take all of it in. A swarm of aliens are moving around this ship and others. There must have been tens of thousands of souls aboard, maybe more.

I am taken out as one in thousands, ushered through the crowd by the guard who seems very comfortable with all that is going on. I don’t know how we are not immediately lost given the way we are almost entirely swept up by the swirling mass of aliens moving from one place to another.

I am even glad for the lead, though I get closer to the guard in order to avoid being pulled away from him. Personal space is not being respected at this point.

Fortunately, we find a ramp that is protected by a set of red barriers. There are not nearly as many aliens going up there. Seems like a special area. I guess it’s more or less a VIP sort of arrangement for the aliens who are rich and powerful and don’t want to get tossed around like popcorn being actively popped.

The red gates then lead to gold gates. Through them, there’s even fewer aliens, and the ones who are here are fancier than the ones down below. The ones I saw down there were dressed relatively plainly. A lot of tunics, actually. It’s a garment that suits almost every possible configuration of limbs.

“Almost there,” the guard says. “Come along.”

He shortens the leash, almost as if he’s more afraid of something bad happening here where there’s room to move than he was down in the crowds below.

We go through a set of silver doors and then we are inside an antechamber that has a great many mirrors and fancy alien light things that I don’t know the name for, but find myself absolutely entranced by. They bounce and spin around in front of the mirrors, throwing off displays of what seems to me to be arcane energy.

“Your pet, sir,” the Antari says.

“This is her?” A voice so deep I feel it resonate through my gut emanates from behind me. I turn to face the voice, but I get caught in the tangle of the leash and for a second there’s a flustered moment where I pull at the lead and toss it over my head.

When I do finally turn around, I find myself eye to chest with my new employer.

“Human, this is Lord Arkon Thornhall,” the guard says. “Lord Thornhall, this is the human you ordered.”

“Thank you, you are dismissed,” he says. Every word is another rough delight, running through the core of me. This alien absolutely embodies the concept of mastery.

The Antari hands him my leash, spins on his heel, and walks out of my life forever.

I barely notice. I am, er, distracted.

Lord Arkon Thornhall is eight feet tall. His silver hair is braided down his back. His eyes are luminescent like two golden suns. They are shaped somewhat like a human’s, but really more dragon-like with the shape of the brow and the orbital space. His brow is prominent and angular and it juts out over those bright eyes. Dark lashes rim his eyes. He is wearing an impressive suit that looks like it would be as at home on the battlefield as it might be in a feasting chamber.

I try not to stare at him, but I cannot tear my eyes away.

His shoulders are broad, his legs are long. His two pairs of arms are presumably muscular, though it is hard to tell because his shoulders are encased in large shining pauldrons. Four sets of rippling forearms hint at a body that is likely even more powerful than my heated imagination is capable of predicting.

I swallow.

This is the worst possible way to meet a guy. I mean, I know he’s not a guy. We do classes on the human impulse to treat aliens like they’re just other people. The Antari was easy to treat like an alien, on account of all the eyes. But this man, this alien, he is so damn hot everything in my body responds to him. I am immediately turned on, and that is not a professional reaction.

I remind myself that he is an alien entity. He doesn’t think like I do. He doesn’t have a mind that operates on the same software. He probably doesn’t feel reciprocal desire. To him, I probably look like a corgi or something, which is further reinforced by the collar around my neck.

He looks down at me from his imposing height, holding my leash lightly between his long, agile fingers. There is a slight awkwardness to the motion, as if he did not expect it. But he was the one who commanded it, so?

“Is this going to be necessary? It may interfere with field work,” he says.

Maybe he wasn’t the one who commanded it.