Page 7 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

“Sir,” I say, my voice steadier this time, “I’m here to prove myself. However you see fit.”

His smirk widens, and there’s a glint in his eyes that sends a fresh wave of heat through me.

“Good. Then let’s begin.”

Orion walks away from me, his movements deliberate, almost predatory. He stops by his computer, his broad shoulders blocking the screen for a moment before he glances back at me. His eyes narrow, and I feel like prey caught in the gaze of a predator.

“Come.” The word is a command, low and rumbling, and my body moves before my brain can catch up. His fingers snap, sharp and demanding like a whip crack. I’m at his side before I even realize I’ve taken a step.

“Yes, Sir, Mr. Weller,” I say, the words tumbling out in a rush. My cheeks flush as I fumble over the titles, my tongue tripping over itself.

“It’s Sir or Mr. Weller,” he says, his tone laced with something that might be amusement if it weren’t so sharp. “You don’t have to use both.”

“Sorry, Sir.” I can’t meet his gaze, my eyes darting to the screen instead. The spreadsheet displayed there is a labyrinth of numbers, formulas, and projections. I take it in at a glance, my mind already racing to piece together the puzzle. “Is this the financial projections for second quarter, Sir?”

His silence stretches for a beat too long, and I glance up to see him studying me. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in the way his eyes narrow, a flicker of something that might be approval. He’s impressed. I can feel it, and it sends a jolt of pride through me, even as I force myself to stay focused.

“I suspect an error has been made on this Excel document,” he says finally, his voice a deep rumble that seems to vibrate in my chest. “I want you to find it and fix it.”

He doesn’t move, his massive frame looming over the desk, so I squeeze in beside him, my arm brushing against his as I reach for the keyboard. His presence is overwhelming, his height and breadth making the space feel impossibly small. I can smell his cologne—something dark and earthy, like a storm brewing on the horizon.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, pulling up linked financial documents, cross-referencing numbers, and verifying equations line by line. His closeness is distracting in ways I don’t want to admit, but I force myself to focus on the task at hand. I won’t let him see how much he’s getting under my skin.

Orion sighs, the sound impatient and gravelly. I glance up at him, my fingers pausing mid-keystroke.

“It’s easier to concentrate when you sit down,” he says, his tone clipped.

“I’m fine,” I reply, my voice steady despite the way my pulse quickens under his gaze. I want to prove myself, to show him I don’t need to be coddled.

His eyes narrow, and before I can react, his hand is on my shoulder, firm and unyielding. He pushes me into the office chair, the motion rough but not painful. The leather seat is warm from where he’d been sitting, and I feel a shiver run down my spine as my body sinks into it.

“Sit when you are told to sit,” he commands, his voice low and firm.

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, my voice softer than I’d like. My thighs squeeze together involuntarily, a warmth spreading through me that I’m not ready to examine. Being manhandled by him—even in such a small way—stirred something deep inside me, something I’ll have to unpack later.

Much later. In the privacy of my bedroom, late at night when I can’t sleep and the memory of his touch lingers like a ghost.

CHAPTER 4

ORION

Pyke leans back in his chair, the metallic frame groaning under his weight. His red scales catch the light from the holoscreen behind him, giving him an almost luminescent glow. His grin stretches wide, showing just a hint of fang.

"She doesn’t entirely displease you, huh?" He drums his thick fingers on the desk, the sound echoing like a drumbeat. "That’s practically a love letter coming from you, Oriyn. Should I start planning the wedding?"

I glare at him, crossing my arms over my chest. The hologram of "Orion Weller" flickers faintly, a reminder of the human disguise I wear like a second skin. "Your humor is as subtle as a plasma cannon, Pyke. I said she doesn’t displease me, not that I’m ready to carve her name into my armor."

"You’re defensive. That’s new." He cocks his head, his eyes narrowing with amusement. "Tell me, does she know yet? About what we are? About why we’re here?"

"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. "And I don’t see the need to rush that particular revelation. She’s still adjusting to the idea of taking orders without questioning everysingle one. If I tell her I’m not even human, she’ll either run screaming or start writing a memoir about alien overlords."

"She hesitated, you said. How bad was it?"

I shrug, though the memory prickles. "She stood there for a full three seconds when I told her to sit. Three seconds. That’s an eternity in a firefight. And when I’m close, she stumbles over her words like she’s never seen a commanding officer before."

Pyke laughs, a deep, rumbling sound that fills the room. "You’re towering over her in a hologram that makes you look like some kind of corporate titan. Of course she’s nervous. Have you considered that maybe it’s not fear? Maybe it’s… admiration?"

"Don’t." My voice drops, all humor gone. "I’m not here to play mentor or idol. I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get herself killed when the Grolgath come sniffing around."

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