Chloe

Two days, three bottles of wine, twenty-four panicked texts to Amelia, and about forty-seven miles walked as I paced around my decrepit loft was all it took to receive the magical call I’d been promised. The match was accepted, which meant I was sort of engaged. To a man I would meet for the first time in a few days. A man I knew nothing about except that he had some sort of damsel in distress fantasy, which I found hilarious. Come home with me; see the shithole I live in. You can rescue me anytime, sir.

What the hell had I done?

“So you’ll be meeting Cutlass this Friday at the Atheneum Suite Hotel. He’ll join you in the room.” Ms. Ampetheia practically crooned as if this was the greatest thing ever. Meanwhile, I was caught up on the whole he’d meet me in the room line.

In. The. Room.

Room…singular. Not so much with the plural.

It had to be a joke.

“Wait, we’re sharing a room?”

“Of course,” Ms. Ampetheia said, almost laughing. “All our couples start out this way. You’ll love it.”

You’ll love it—all the cool kids are doing it.

As I’d waited for that call, I’d vacillated between being ready to jump into something and wanting to run away screaming. With the whole single-room-with-a-stranger plan laid out for me, I told myself no, that I wasn’t going to do this, that it was insane. I was adamant I would withdraw from the process. Regrets, be damned.

Yet somehow, the words that came out of my mouth went something more like, “Great. Thanks. I look forward to meeting him.”

So long as he isn’t a serial killer.

And that’s how I ended up on the ninth floor of the Atheneum Suite Hotel on a Friday afternoon, my hands shaking almost uncontrollably, and my one and only dressy top practically sticking to my skin. I was a nervous sweater, and meeting my future husband—don’t heave, don’t heave—for the first time was apparently an anxiety-inducing experience. This would not go well.

What was I thinking, anyway? This was a bad plan. A horrible plan. Just because cobwebs were growing in my vagina didn’t mean I should hook up with some stranger. This was a horrible, bad plan, but I’d thrown caution to the wind and let the agency decide who my perfect match would be…sight unseen. And to compound matters, I’d let them talk me into spending a weekend alone with him.

I had never felt so stupid.

Still, there was no turning back. My mind was made up, and I could be a stubborn bitch when I wanted to. Even to myself. So I took a deep breath, tossed my hair over my shoulder, and opened the door. Yes, I was stupid…but apparently, I was also determined to follow through on my stupidity. Such a great combination.

First impression of the hotel room? There was only one bed—one—and I was going to share it with someone named Cutlass. Like the car.

“Why is there no air in this place?” I waved a hand in front of my face and tried to talk myself down. At least my future husband—okay, seriously, stop thinking that word—wasn’t in the room to see me freak out. The lady at the agency had said Cutlass would be arriving after I did—something about me maybe needing time to prepare. I didn’t know what I was expected to prepare for. It wasn’t as if I was going to slip into something more comfortable for a man I’d never met. Though, I’d brought more comfortable. Technically, less comfortable, but really, in case this guy turned out to be some Gerard Butler or Channing Tatum look-alike, I was ready with the lace and sheer. A girl had needs.

And right then, I needed some motherfucking AC, but the thermostat would not let me change the temperature.

“Stupid, defective room.”

With my stomach tight and my heart racing, I paced. What if he wasn’t attractive? What if he was? What if he didn’t find me attractive? Oh God, the chill on my skin suddenly felt like needles. Why was I sweating so badly?

I glanced at the bed.

Oh, yeah. That.

I picked up the pacing again, staying far away from the bed in a loose arc. I needed a plan. Or two, really, because there were at least two ways I saw this thing happening. My mom had always said to give yourself options so you weren’t disappointed. Those words had never seemed more important than at that moment. So I sat—not on the bed because I really didn’t want to throw up on my own shoes—and I plotted.

Plan A: The guy who walked through the door was more of a Danny DeVito than a Channing Tatum. Upside, I wouldn’t have to worry about sweat or shaving or figuring out how to get my curves into something strappy. We could talk, then I’d leave to go back to my apartment for the few days I might have left living in it before being evicted and moving in to my car. Awesome plan.

Plan B: The guy who walked through the door was attractive and attracted to me. Upside, I would get laid. Hopefully, he’d be good in bed. Hell, this was totally my plan and my imagination—he’d be phenomenal in the sheets. Downside…

I thought and thought, but nothing came to mind. All win, that plan. I mean, sure, if I did happen to want more than a night or two, he might not be down for that. Fine. The matchmaker claimed this great rate of successful marriages after the completion of the two-week trial period, but no one agreed to forever from the start, right? It wasn’t as if we were going to run down to the courthouse and get hitched before Monday morning. Maybe I could get a single, dirty little rendezvous out of this. Possibly a date or two. Yeah, that was all I needed. One night of hot, sweaty, toe-curling…

I swear the bed was leering at me, and the room was a fucking oven.

Okay, back to pacing. My head spun, my breath coming faster with every step. Why couldn’t I stop and relax? This was nothing—a dalliance. I hadn’t been honest with him, and he probably hadn’t been honest with me. Who could be in letter-form? We’d meet, exchange pleasantries, and then I could choose to stay or go. Done.

But my nerves… Maybe I should have hired an escort instead of writing a letter with all my deepest secrets and fears in it. Maybe I should have tried hitting up the bars and clubs to find a man, instead of relying on an agency to find me some sort of personalized Mr. Right. Not that I could afford an escort, though I might end up having to be one if I couldn’t figure out how to pay rent. There was always my landlord’s son. He’d been propositioning and catcalling me since the day I moved in. He might exchange sex for rent, which should probably be looked at as a real possibility considering where my life was at.

Shit, it really was hot in the room, and the thermostat was as broken as my future.

Plan A, I ended up homeless. Plan B, I got laid then ended up homeless. Either way, screwed.

A quick knock was the only warning I had before the door swung open. A man walked in, and I finally stopped pacing. In fact, I damn near froze in place. Holy shit. Plan B it was.

---

Cutlass

The hotel teemed with people when I walked in. Humans in all their shapes and colors filled the meeting area and crowded the doorway. Just what I wanted. I grunted as I stalked through the chaos, scowling at the ones who dared to look my way.

Try to be nice. The humans scare easily.

Ampetheia’s words from when she gave me my match assignment picked at my memory. Be nice…how? Reithhar warriors were not built for nice. We were built to hunt and kill, to either break things or fix them. We were designed to survive the harshest of elements and the most dangerous of threats. Humans were small, weak, soft, and easily frightened. Exactly what I didn’t need in a mate.

And yet, I had hurriedly accepted my task from Ampetheia. Meet my match in a hotel—a building filled with sleeping quarters for traveling humans—and work to attract her. Fine. If I could get a mate out of this assignment, perhaps it would be worth the trouble. Doubtful, but perhaps.

I did my best not to scowl at the little beings running every which way and hurried to the box Ampetheia had called an ellah-vaddohr. There was nothing to tell me how to use the box, of course. Apparently, humans didn’t need instructions for the things. While I was not human, I was a Reithhar machinist. I could figure this machine out.

With one last glance at the scattered humans, I placed my hand over the metal panel with the small, round lights and let my Reithhkoneccs find the right parts and pieces to make the thing work. Ampetheia had said no powers on Earth, but that was almost impossible. My Reithhkoneccs, my sense of how small pieces were meant to work together, was not something I could turn off. I was a fixer and had been since my earliest days. Asking me to hold that back was akin to asking me not to protect myself during a battle. Ridiculous.

My Reithhkoneccs worked just as I had expected it to. Every tiny switch and wire pulled together under my guidance to move the box. The doors popped open before a single human seemed to notice me pressing my hand to the panel. Perfect.

The box smelled unpleasant and shook as if untethered to the building, but I entered it as directed. Ampetheia had given me a piece of paper with a shape on it and told me to touch that shape in the ellah-vaddohr. It took me far longer than I’d like, but I found the strange intersecting lines and touched the one on the panel. The doors slid closed, trapping me inside, and the entire machine shook and groaned. If I died in this moving box, I would still find a way to kill Hohddshoun for this idea. He deserved it.

But a hand on the control panel told me everything was working as expected, so I restrained myself from breaking through the doors to escape. At least for the moment.

As the ellah-vaddohr rose with me in it, I rubbed my eyes, the thin lenses provided by the agency gritty and irritating. Ampetheia had demanded I wear them to cover my so-called unusual eye color. Unusual on Earth, not on Xouthhgros. But I wore them without complaining…much. There was no way I could hunt with these things, though. If this mating didn’t take, if the female I was assigned to did not make my esehhnce croon after these few days together, I was going to talk my team into leaving this Earth behind. Find a hospitable planet with a more advanced technological footprint. Somewhere we could be of service. Our machinist skills were always in demand, and our hunters were lauded throughout the galaxies. We could move on.

But first, I had to go through with this whole match process.

The contraption came to a rough stop, and the doors opened without request. Silly machinery, really, but effective. Again, I had to hunt down a series of squiggles and lines to locate the proper door. All too soon, I stood in front of the entry to the room Ampetheia had said housed my match.

And then I froze.

What if this didn’t work? What if my esehhnce refused to croon for her? If the match didn’t take, I’d feel like a fool for attempting it.

But my matched partner was behind that door, so I needed to stop stalling. I was a warrior, a hunter, and a master machinist. I had fought battles far greater than Earth had ever experienced, across galaxies they didn’t know existed. I would not be afraid of a simple female.

With a single deep breath, I pressed my hand against the metal latch of the door. In no time, the lock popped. I almost bared my teeth and made the smile. Too easy, this place.

I knocked twice, as I’d been told to do, and walked inside. The human woman across the room spun, her long, dark mane flying out behind her in a mesmerizing wave. And when she faced me, when her gaze met mine, I nearly stumbled back out the door. She had the biggest eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes staring right at me and framed with a deep, dark fringe of some sort of fur. Intriguing.

But she was so small. Gentle and almost weak in her appearance. The warrior in me stood at attention, ready to protect her. Ready to keep her safe as we completed the mating dance to determine compatibility. The male in me, well, he stood at attention too, for an entirely different reason. Small, soft, and carrying a scent of sweetness, this female definitely had my attention. Still, I pushed aside the thoughts of rutting and mating and the needs my hard cock tried to burden me with and gave her one of her beings’ smiles.

“Klow-ee?”

She flinched, the act of frightened prey. Was I scaring her? I’d practiced the facial movements to bare my teeth as her kind did. Perhaps I’d gotten the move wrong. Before I could try again, the female stood a little taller and stiffened her shoulders.

“Are you Cutlass?”

Her quiet, sweet voice called to me, initiating a warmth through my body I’d not experienced before. Even though Cutlass was not my real name, I liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Experienced much pleasure from watching her lips form the different sounds. Something to tuck away and think over later.

I nodded, inspecting her as she seemed to do the same. My instincts wanted me to go to her. To touch that silky looking mane, run a finger along all that smooth, golden skin. To find out how she felt under my hands. But Ampetheia had been very clear on that aspect of this odd ritual—the human female initiated the touching. I was not to stun her, drag her, push her, or force her to do anything she did not express interest in first, even though my kind tended to lean toward the aggressive side of the mating spectrum. But she was not Reithhar, she was human, so I would wait for her interest. Ampetheia had said to have patience, to hunt as if she were skittish prey. Earth females were apparently easy to bed once you were able to master something called the woo.

I would woo her, all right. Woo her straight onto my cock so I could experience the softness of the human form.

The female took a deep breath, seeming to shake off some of her fears. “Hey. I’m Klow-ee.”

She stepped closer and held out her hand in an odd gesture. I had seen pictures of such customs in the pamphlet on human habits. There had been one about meetings, with an image of two hands coming together. Something about…shaking. I could do that.

Trying my hardest to match her movements, I reached for her, sliding my hand into hers. The moment we touched, the moment her skin met mine, an electric tingle shot up my arm and down to my gut. That tingle, the attraction, the way my cock grew painfully hard with a single, simple brush of flesh, was all the sign I needed. This was a good match, one I could work with to see if there would be crooning from my esehhnce.

A chance.

“I am Cutlass.” I moved our hands up and down, pulling her slightly closer as I did. Unable to resist. “Many greetings.”

Her deep, wide eyes stayed on mine while a lovely, darker color rose along her neck and up her cheeks. And her scent—she wasn’t just sweet, she was aroused. One touch, and I’d made her want me.

Maybe Hohddshoun wouldn’t need to die, after all.

Klow-ee pulled her lips up in a smile, her small, blunt teeth shining. Not nearly as worrisome, though, as when Ampetheia had made the same expression.

“Many greetings to you, as well.” Her words came across as a weird sort of double whisper in my ear as they were translated through my communicator core. A distracting quality, but workable. At least I could understand her.

“I am glad to be meeting you, Klow-ee,” I said, letting my voice rumble just a bit. The sound of a hunter on the prowl. “Should we get to the eating out now?”