Chapter Eight

Stephanie

The entire ride to Alfie’s, my thoughts alternate between two things. On one hand, I wonder what could be so pressing that he called me here at this time of night. On the other, my mind keeps looping with imagined pictures of him texting me naked.

I’ve met his brother, Theo, and Theo’s fiancée, Zoey. When we’re all together, they joke about Alfie’s penchant for nudity. He’s without shame, defending his choice as he insists that’s the way minotaurs preferred things in their homeworld of An’Wa.

For some reason, the reality of it never struck me when the four of us were laughing and joking about it. Now, though, I can’t push the picture out of my mind. That big minotaur body, striding proudly across his backyard as he makes his way from his studio to his home. Or his cock swinging gently against his thighs as he cooks dinner.

Then my imagination works overtime as the picture changes from a flaccid member to a raging hard-on. My already-heated body becomes an inferno as my mind throws me pictures of what a hard, otherworldly minotaur cock might look like.

“Stop!” I say it so loudly, so insistently, it reverberates through my little Corolla. As my mom would say, my mind was going in the wrong direction.

I yank my thoughts back to the present as I pull into Alfie’s long driveway, its gravel crunching under my tires. My headlights sweep across his cozy cottage, its windows glowing warmly in the darkness.

What could have him so worried that he’d call me here on a Saturday night and offer to pay me double? He’s the farthest thing from a drama queen. Something must really be bothering him.

Letting myself in the front door with the code he gave me on my second day of work, I call out, “Alfie? It’s me.”

“In here.” His deep voice rumbles from the living room. I find him pacing in front of the cold fireplace, massive horns cutting through the air with each turn. His hooves clip-clopping anxiously on the marble floor.

“What’s going on?” I ask gently. “Your text had me worried.”

He hands me his open laptop as I ease onto one of the couches, then sits on the couch across from me. “These are requests for me to do concerts. Look at the last one.”

After scanning the elegant letter from the leader of Ysaria, I look up at Alfie. Before I can ask, he says, “I Googled it. Ysaria is the third richest country in the world. This guy is legit.”

When he tells me what the Ysarian talons translate to in dollars, my eyes widen at the exorbitant sum he’s offered.

“This is incredible! But why has it got you so worked up?” You’d think it would be a dream come true, but by the way he’s clutching his glass of scotch, he’s clearly not thrilled.

Alfie scrubs a hand through the tawny fur between his horns. “Because it means performing in public. Leaving my house. Leaving the country. Dozens of things I’ve never done before.”

I consider crossing the room to place a calming hand on his arm, but think better of it as I say, “Hey, take a breath. We’ll figure this out.”

After gathering my thoughts like playing a game of Tetris as I try to organize all the moving parts of the potentate’s offer, I ask, “Okay, first things first. Does Ysaria allow Others to visit?”

“I don’t think that will be the problem. The buck stops with the potentate, after all, and he invited me. It’s the United States government I’m worried about.”

“Now, about that…” I trail off, my mind casting about in a hundred different directions as I wonder how to make this happen. “Maybe your dad still has some political connections that could help?”

Alfie nods, some of the tension easing from his shoulders. “Worth a try.”

“Actually,” I snap my fingers as a better answer comes to me, “I’m sure you understand politics better than me. You grew up with a senator, after all. But wouldn’t a request from…” I glance back at the email to make sure I get it right, “the Illustrious Highness, Potentate Zephyros Velorian carry more weight than even an ex-senator? If Zephyros—can I call him that?—if he makes a few well-placed inquiries, wouldn’t that do the trick?”

He nods, slowly at first and then faster. “I don’t have a crystal ball, but that sure sounds like it might work.”

His shoulders—why do they have to be so wide?—which had been up toward his ears with tension, ease back to his usual stance.

“And you mentioned finding musicians to accompany you,” I continue. “Where will you look?”

At this, Alfie’s face falls again. Shaking his head, he says, “No idea,” then puts his head in his hands.

“Alfie?” I prod gently. “What is it?”

“If they use electronic reproductions, as I did until recently, any talented musician will do. But that’s not what I want. And I imagine that’s not what Zephyros is willing to pay the big bucks for. I think he’s enthralled with the idea that it’s Others who produce the music. If that’s true, the musicians would have to come from the Integration Zone.” His shoulders slump. “How would I accomplish that?”

Understanding dawns. The Integration Zone, the infamous L.A. ghetto where all of Earth’s Others are confined. A dangerous, rough place that Alfie has likely never set foot in. No wonder the idea worries him.

“Do you think you need to go there? You probably can’t accomplish this with emails and Zoom. You’ll need to meet these people.”

He moans, looking as though he’s going to be physically ill.

“It’s rumored to be unsavory, but not unsafe,” I keep my tone optimistic. Although I knew next to nothing about Others a few months ago, I’ve done a considerable amount of homework since then.

His elbows are on his knees, his head in his hands as he thinks. Finally, he lifts his head and spears me with a poignant look, the corners of his amber eyes creased with worry.

“I’m…” He shakes his head as though still deciding if he wants to reveal what’s on his mind. “I’m… a minotaur raised by humans. Humans see me as an Other. Others will see me as… not like them.”

“Why do you assume that?” It seems a reasonable question. If he’s never met one of them, how can he presume to know what’s in their minds and hearts?

“Theo reached out a few years ago to some female minotaurs in the Zone. He wanted to date, to find a mate. He had some email conversations, some phone calls. None of those relationships progressed to in-person meetings.”

He sits up straighter and rubs his palms on his jean-clad thighs.

“They were all nice people but gave him pretty much the same answer: We’re not a match. You know nothing about your own culture.”

I watch him deflate as I get the picture. His culture is growing up in Georgia in a privileged human family. He has little in common with the people in the Zone. Except he does.

“Sure. At first blush, I’m sure that’s true, Alfie. How could you know much about your people’s history when the government forbids dissemination about how things were on An’Wa?”

He says nothing, but his gaze hasn’t left mine. He’s clearly waiting for me to make my point.

“But look at the opportunity this presents. You’re offering jobs, the chance of a lifetime, world travel. You can bet your ass that everyone who can carry a tune or strum an instrument is going to want to meet you, to audition to be in Labyrinth. In the process, you’re going to get to know them, and begin learning about your culture.”

For the first time since I walked through his door tonight, he looks hopeful, excited.

“Still… I’d have to fly, or drive, cross country. Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to go to that furniture store with you?”

It takes me a moment to think of a rebuttal, but then I say, “With what Zephyros is paying you, charter a plane.”

His mouth opens and closes without a sound as he considers my suggestion.

“Brilliant! That’s why I pay you the big bucks, Steph.”

The room grows quiet, the expression on his face clear that he’s thinking through a hundred different scenarios.

“This could work, but I’ll need my personal assistant to come with me.” He lances me with a challenging look, then flicks his ear, the one with the hoop earrings, in question.

Before I can overthink it, I blurt, “Yes.”

Although he’d looked so sure of himself, so cocky when he asked the question, he whips his gaze to me, shock written across his bovine features. “You’d do that?” His gaze drifts across my face as though he’s searching to see if I’m serious.

I lift my chin. “Of course. What are friends for?”

Friends. As soon as the word leaves my mouth, I know it’s true. Over the past month, Alfie has become far more to me than just my boss. I enjoy spending time with this creative, intelligent guy. His occasional social awkwardness only adds to his charm.

And if I’m being totally honest with myself, I’m finding him more and more attractive. The hard planes of his furry chest as it stretches his t-shirt tight. His soulful amber eyes. The surprisingly sensual curve of his horns.

Wait, what? I force that thought from my mind. Alfie is my friend, nothing more.

Oblivious to my internal struggle, Alfie rises from his couch and steps closer. His whiskey-colored eyes bore into mine as my head tips back to maintain eye contact since he towers over me. My traitorous heart skips a beat.

“You’d really come to the Integration Zone with me? Have you seen pictures? It’s a ghetto. A harsh place where Purists protest twenty-four hours a day outside the gates. There have been recent attacks of arson. Surely you wouldn’t consider accompanying me.”

I nod, afraid to trust my voice, but then I say, “Yes.” As soon as the word is out of my mouth, I realize that I’m not only willing to go, but I want to go. With him. “Yes, I’ll go with you. I’ve never been farther than Birmingham, Alabama. And a chartered plane? Don’t even think of uninviting me. This is going to be amazing.”

He holds my gaze as he lowers himself onto the couch beside me, leaving about two feet of space between us. Then he slowly, tentatively, reaches for my hand. When I don’t pull away, he clasps it in his much larger one.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice so rough and warm it rumbles through me. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. I curl my fingers around his.

I want to lighten the moment, to say something inane like, “Any time,” or, “Sure, no problem.” Instead, I do one of the most courageous things I’ve ever done. I just hold his gaze with mine.

His whiskey-colored eyes bore into mine. My traitorous heart skips a beat as we sit, our hands clasped. A flush creeps up my neck that has nothing to do with embarrassment or anger.

The moment stretches between us, filled with a tense, electric energy I don’t fully understand. I know I should look away, break the spell, but I can’t tear my gaze from his soulful amber eyes.

Alfie’s grip tightens almost imperceptibly. Our joined hands hang suspended in the scant inches between us. I’m suddenly very aware of the heat radiating from his muscular frame, the earthy, masculine scent of him teasing my senses.

I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue and watch his gaze drop to track the movement. My breathing grows shallow. What is happening here? This is my boss, my friend. But in this charged moment, he feels like something more. The very air between us seems alive with possibility.

“Thank you,” Alfie repeats, his voice so deep and heartfelt I feel it in my core. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Stephanie.”

My lips part, but no words come. I know I should make a joke to cut the tension, but I can’t seem to break the spell. I just hold his gaze with mine, letting the moment stretch, the air growing heavier with things unspoken. Though I don’t know where this is leading, I’m reluctant for it to end.