The Dark Prince's Prize

Chapter 3-3

Samara glanced at the clock on her phone and muttered under her breath. She hated being late. A quick call to Mason before she lost signal helped ease a little of the tension she was feeling. Still, it burned that her family issues had interfered with her job. It reminded her too much of her brothers and they were the last people she wanted to be compared to.

She frowned when she saw someone walking along the edge of the road. They were in the middle of nowhere. It was six miles from town and another six miles to Casper Mountain.

She slowed and crossed the double yellow line as she passed the man. He didn’t look like a hiker. His long hair ruled out his being one of Mr. G’s military guys that came for training.

“He looks more like a biker who lost his bike,” she said with a shake of her head as she thought of the number of city folk who didn’t understand Wyoming weather.

Fat snowflakes struck the windshield. She glanced in the mirror again. The guy wasn’t dressed for cold weather. Up at this elevation and especially this time of year, there was always the chance of a sudden snowstorm.

She silently cursed her tender heart. “He better not be a serial killer,” she growled as she pulled off the road and waited for him to catch up.

She kept her eyes glued to the rearview mirror and impatiently drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. A moment of self-doubt filled her when she got a closer look at him, and she bit her bottom lip in indecision. She had to force her foot to stay on the brake pedal even though her sense of survival was screaming for her to go.

It would be rude to give the guy hope of a ride then take off like a jackrabbit with a coyote on its tail, she silently admonished.

Yeah, but at least the jackrabbit is smart enough to run, you i***t!

“s**t!” she cursed, pressing the power button to the passenger side window when he reached the back of her truck. “Hey, do you need a ride?”

He walked up to the door. Her finger twitched on the window control. She should have rolled the window down halfway, not all the way. He peered through the open window.

She stared in amazement at the man’s unusual violet eyes and the long scar on his cheek. He had the same darker skin tone and silky black hair as some indigenous people who lived nearby, but that was where the resemblance ended. This guy screamed biker, serial killer, movie star, body builder, and a half-dozen other names that streamed through her mind like prairie dogs popping up to see what was going on.

She scowled when he stared back at her as if she were the one with two heads, and she shivered, unsure if it was from the intense look in his violet eyes or the blast of frigid air pouring in through the open window.

“Listen, you’re letting all the heat out. Do you need a ride, and if so, where? I’m late for work, and I don’t have time for you to decide if you want to freeze your a*s off or hitch a ride,” she snapped, again regretting her impulse to stop and pick him up.

“Paul Grove,” he said.

She blinked at him in surprise before she shook her head and laughed. “Well, isn’t it your lucky day. That is exactly where I’m heading. You must be one of his survival guys. That explains everything. Get in,” she said, pushing the unlock button.

She pursed her lips when he remained frozen for a moment, but then he nodded. He stepped back and scrutinized the door for a second before he pulled it open. She reached over and cranked the fan to high while he shrugged out of his backpack. He tossed it onto the seat before he slid in and closed the door. She quickly raised the window.

“Seat belt,” she automatically instructed before she glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure the road was clear.

He looked around before he reached for the seat belt and pulled it on. She merged onto the highway and sped up. Glancing at him out of her peripheral vision, she noticed he was sitting like he had a rod up his a*s. His facial features looked like they had been sculpted from granite. The only thing moving were his fingers as he flexed them and that little vein at his temple. She reached out and adjusted the vent to blow some hot air on him.

“So, what are you?” she casually asked.

“I’m an alien from another world,” he said.

She blinked, her mind going blank, before she began to laugh. The sound started low, but the more she thought of his response, the funnier she found it as her conversation earlier with Annalisa came back to her. He shifted in his seat and frowned at her. His expression was priceless and made her snort.

“Oh, man, that was good,” she said, wiping at the corner of her eye with her jacket sleeve.

“You find my answer entertaining?” he asked.

She glanced at him and nodded. “Yeah. I was expecting Marine or Navy Seal, or maybe even FBI or CIA with the long hair and jacket outfit, but alien is good. I can go with that,” she chuckled. “So, Mr. Alien, do you come with a name and a title?”

He frowned at her. “Prince Adalard Ha’darra of the Curizan,” he announced.

She looked at him with amusement. It was hard not to laugh again. His face was so serious, like he honestly thought he was a prince.

Not just a prince—an alien prince from a place called Curizan, she thought, unable to keep from snickering again.

“Well, I guess even a princely rock star needs to know how to survive in the wilderness—especially if his bike breaks down in the middle of an August snowstorm,” she replied with a grin.

“Rock star?” he repeated.

She turned on the blinker and grinned at him again. “Yeah, ‘cause no soldier in his right mind would be seen wearing that much black leather in the woods. I give you half a day before Mr. G tags you, but only because he’ll give you a good head start. It would be even less if Trisha was the one tracking you—” she predicted, “unless she wanted to play with you,” she added with a commiserating smile.

“Who are you?” he asked.

She fought a smile. “Samara Lee-Stephens—human, no royal blood,” she teased before she nodded her head toward the windshield. “We’re here, Mr. Prince Adalard of Curizan.”