Rainbow Snippets is a Facebook group where authors post a bit of their work every week.
This is another piece from my paranormal sci-fi mpreg WIP. Unedited.
The set-up: Michael is prone to anxiety and has recently found out he’s a werewolf alien and pregnant with his alpha mate’s child. Quinn (Michael’s mate) has taken Michael to the doctor, who turns out to be a species that looks remarkably like the disgusting, giant garden slugs his grandmother used to have in her backyard.
As the slug-man undulated its way into the room, Michael gave in to a full-body shudder.
“I can’t do this,” he said.
Quinn looked really concerned now. “You can’t do what?”
Michael’s eyes went to the doctor, who was adjusting the light over the table with long, glistening fingers .
“Hop up here, Michael, and I’ll have a look at you,” Dr. Gunwanoll said in that voice that sounded as though he was gargling pudding. As the alien moved, Michael could see it left a slick trail of slime in its wake.
Michael shook his head. “No.”
Quinn ran his hand soothingly over Michael’s back.“Michael.”
“No,” Michael repeated, louder this time. He turned and ran out of the room, not paying any attention to where he was going. He turned several corners before slowing down, heart beating almost painfully in his chest. He struggled to bring his breathing under control. There was no way he was letting that—that thing touch him, no matter what Quinn said.
Michael took off one way, changed his mind, and ran in the other direction, covering the same ground like a confused rat in a maze. Finally, he forced himself to stop and think. He needed a place to hide. Spotting what appeared to be a closet, he slipped inside and shut the door.
He heard voices and recognized Quinn’s as well as the glugging speech of Dr. Gunwanoll. Damn, how fast could that mother fucker slide around? Michael tensed, but the voices got farther away rather than closer. It was awful to run from Quinn, and a large part of Michael wanted to call to his mate. He would if it weren’t for the slug doctor.
Michael didn’t know what part of the castle he was in, and he didn’t care as long as he didn’t have to let that gelatinous alien lay its slimy two-fingered hand on him. Taking deep, even breaths, he managed to slow his heart rate and dispel the light-headed feeling that had overcome him when he realized he wasn’t halluciating and that thing was going to touch him. How could anything in the universe look like that and be a talking, functioning being? Shuddering, he covered his face with his hands and tried not remember the feel of the slimy things between his toes on dark mornings when he’d walked out his grandmother’s front walk to get the newspaper.