the one man he currently watched with a rudeness that his mama would chastise him for. Alun. That name, that face, had dominated his thoughts, shoving the rest aside with regularity every time he’d tried to focus on something else—something relevant, such as how he could protect his species from an escalating alien war. Every effort he’d made to lay out plans for the near future had been upended by the intrusion of Alun’s lovely face. The memories of their first encounter—at Our Safe Place in particular—were strong and warm. They weren’t tainted by the horror of the massacre.
It had been a time in which Craig had only had to worry about how he might approach someone coming off an abusive relationship, as well as adjusting to how, for the first time, he was attracted to someone who was more of a twink than a carbon copy of himself. That new reality was more of a mind-bender. He understood trauma—although only from a professional standpoint—more than his own shifting view of with whom he might spend the rest of his life. Alun’s experiences hadn’t seemed like an insurmountable problem. The man needed time, space and patience. He had a long road ahead of him to regain his self-esteem and forge a future. Alun had a lot of baggage.
Alun had a womb.
That one fact from Trey’s hasty information dump stood out among all of the crazy shit rattling around in Craig’s head. It was now being reinforced by the arrival of an obviously pregnant young man who was also not transgender, which meant his state had been artificially created through the ingestion of blood from the scariest of the scary hulks who occupied this house. Well, maybe it was more accurate to say it had occurred through a natural process, if one counted an alien event as natural. The jury was still out on that. There was no denying, however, the solicitude and plain old love that this otherworldly creature was showing his human husband.
“Val, how many times do I have to tell you that I am perfectly capable of walking?” The boy, Mackie, spoke with a long-suffering tone that was belied by the way he curled into his man’s embrace.
This one image was enough to convince Craig that he was on the right side of this war. As he watched with unabashed interest—because it was way better than staring at Alun like a creep—Val carried Mackie over to the large sectional sofa across the room and gently placed him there.
The alien ran his hand down the back of his husband’s head. “I’ll get your breakfast.”
“Here.” Alun raced out of the kitchen area with a plate filled with an omelet, a couple of sausage links and an iced bun. He held it out to Mackie. “Have this.”
Mackie beamed at him. “Thanks.”
Before he could take it, though, Val intercepted him. “That’s Alun’s.”
Mackie’s face fell. “Oh, then you should keep it. Damien will make one for me.”
Alun practically shoved it to the boy. “No worries. I’ve already had some toast and can wait for more. You can’t. Do you want a glass of milk or calcium-fortified orange juice?”
Mackie looked at Val in an obvious plea for the guy to make the call. There was some kind of BDSM thing going on, highlighted by the leather collar worn by the boy. That was a little disturbing, except Craig knew that plenty of humans were in the lifestyle and happily so. It didn’t necessarily bode ill for the alien’s behavior.
With an audible sigh, Val took the plate and passed it to his husband. “Thanks, Alun. I’ll get the drink, and you’ll have both milk and juice,” he added with a look at Mackie, who was already stuffing his face.
Alun stood wringing his hands. “It’s no trouble. I’m happy to—”
“Alun!” Damien called from the kitchen. “Here’s another omelet for you.” The cook put the plate on the counter next to Craig and gave him a slightly warning look before retreating back to the stove.
There was almost a defeated expression on Alun’s face as he padded to the counter and slipped into a chair. “Thank you.”
He’s not used to the kindness. He doesn’t know what to do with it. That realization wasn’t exactly a bombshell. Craig understood the complex emotions that plagued survivors of abuse. It was hard for them to accept another’s generosity, to believe that they were worthy of it. They didn’t trust easily and were always on the look-out for a change for the