Page 9 of Wrecked By My Alien Mentor

She hesitates, then nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” I repeat, my voice clipped. The moment the door closes behind her, I’m on my feet, pacing the room like a caged predator. My skin feels too tight, my veins burning with a need I can’t ignore. I mutter to myself, “Cold shower. Now.”

I take the stairs two at a time, the sound of my heavy footsteps echoing through the empty upper floor. The water is icy when I step under the spray, the sharp sting of it doing little to ease the fire in my blood. My hands grip the edge of the shower, my knuckles white as I try to focus on anything other than the memory of her body against mine.

But it’s no use. The image of Cora—her curves, her scent, the way she looks at me with a mix of respect and defiance—floods my mind. My control shatters, and my hand moves of its own accord, gripping myself with a desperation that borders on madness. I imagine her here, in my arms, her body pressed against mine as I claim her with a ferocity that matches the firein my veins. The roar of the water drowns out the sound of my harsh breaths, but it can’t silence the storm inside me.

When it’s over, I lean against the wall, the cold water doing nothing to calm the heat that lingers. My thoughts are a tangled mess, and I know one thing with absolute certainty: this is going to be a problem.

CHAPTER 5

CORA

The glow of the computer screen casts a pale light across the desk, the numbers from the Asian markets finally aligning into something coherent. My fingers hover over the keyboard, double-checking the last cell. Done. I lean back in Orion’s chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and stretch my arms above my head. The office is quiet, too quiet.

“Two days,” I mutter to myself, spinning the chair slightly. “Two days, and it feels like he’s been gone for a month.”

The silence presses in, heavy and unfamiliar. I’ve gotten used to the sound of his voice, the way it rumbles through the room like a storm rolling in. Even when he’s not speaking, his presence is a constant—commanding, intense, impossible to ignore. Now, the absence of it feels like a void.

I glance at the clock. Midnight. The thought of going home to my parents’ house makes my skin crawl. Last time, I walked in on my dad posing like some Renaissance painting, and my mom wielding a paintbrush like it was a weapon. No thanks.

“Sofa it is,” I say, pushing myself up from the chair. My legs protest, stiff from hours of sitting. I grab my bag and head for the stairs that lead to the upstairs apartment.

The second floor is dimly lit, the kitchenette gleaming faintly in the moonlight streaming through the windows. I toss my bag onto the counter and head for the sofa, pulling the throw blanket off the back. It smells faintly of Orion—something sharp and clean, like cedar and ozone.

I flop onto the cushions, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to me. My mind drifts back to him, as it always does. The way he looks at me sometimes, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle. The way his hand felt on my shoulder that first day, firm but not unkind. The way he’s started to let his guard down, just a little, when it’s just the two of us.

“Stop it, Cora,” I whisper, pulling the blanket up to my chin. “He’s your boss. That’s it.”

But the thought lingers, stubborn and insistent. I close my eyes, the image of him filling my mind—his sharp jawline, those piercing purple eyes, the way he towers over me like some kind of god.

The sharp clatter of something hitting the floor jolts me awake, the sound echoing up the stairs from the office below. I sit up, my heart pounding, the blanket slipping off my shoulders. The office is silent again, except for the faint hum of the air conditioner.

“Orion?” I call out, my voice soft but hopeful. Maybe he’s back early. I swing my legs off the sofa and pad to the top of the stairs, peering down into the dimly lit office.

Instead of Orion, I see a man in green overalls, a bucket and mop in hand, standing near the desk. He’s tall, wiry, and his face is obscured by the shadow of his cap. My stomach tightens. Something’s off. For one, I’ve never seen this guy before, and Orion Plaza maintenance staff wear brown overalls. And for another, who cleans a seventy-story office building at midnight?

I step back slowly, my mind racing. My phone is upstairs, on the kitchen counter. I’ll call security, maybe the police. Betterto be safe than sorry. I turn to head back up the stairs, but the squeak of my sock on the step betrays me.

“Hey, don’t let me stop you,” I say, forcing a casual tone I don’t feel. “I’ll just hang out up here until you’re done with the floor.”

His head snaps up, and I catch a glimpse of his eyes—too bright, too sharp. I turn and climb the stairs, trying not to break into a run. My pulse thunders in my ears. At the top, I glance back. The man is gone. Vanished. My breath hitches.

I sprint for the kitchen, my fingers fumbling for my phone on the counter. I grab it, but before I can unlock it, a voice behind me makes me freeze.

“Who could you possibly have to call at this hour?”

I whirl around. The man is there, leaning against the doorway, his cap tilted back. His face begins to shift, the skin rippling like water. His features contort, elongating into a horrifying reptilian mask—green scales, slit pupils, and a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth.

I stumble back, my phone slipping from my hand. My back hits the counter, and I can’t breathe, can’t think. The creature—the thing—takes a step closer, its forked tongue flicking out to taste the air.

“What’s the matter?” it hisses, its voice scraping like nails on glass. “Never seen a Grolgath in his true form before? I thought all of you Veritas agents were taught about us.”

I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out. My mind scrambles to process what he’s saying—Grolgath? Veritas? None of it makes sense. All I know is the danger, the way my body screams at me to run even though there’s nowhere to go.

My heart hammers in my chest as I bolt down the stairs, the Grolgath’s laughter echoing behind me. It’s a sound that crawls up my spine, mocking and predatory.

“Oh yes, do run away,” he calls, his voice dripping with amusement. “It’s no fun to hunt unless my prey struggles.”

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