The face of the nurse — Laura — crossed Kyan’s mind for the hundredth time.

He kept his expression blank so no one would read his thoughts. Today was the most important day since he’d arrived on Earth. He needed his full attention.

But he could not focus.

Laura was the first female to stare at his face without fear or horror. Anything outside of normal represented danger. Her fearlessness chewed at the back of his mind, requiring explanation.

“Any update on the contraband medkit?” Kyan’s older brother, Pyrochlore “Pyro” Onyx, asked.

His chest, still covered in bulky bandages distorting the tailored black suit, led to his question.

Pyro should not be standing in the executive suite of their former rival’s company — and so he was sitting behind the imposing CEO desk of Carnelian Clothiers. But the arrival of their newest employee could not be missed. He had cut short his convalescence to come to the office.

His injuries were Kyan’s fault.

“We confiscated additional medkit pieces from a farm outside Boise,” Kyan replied. “Human authorities are tracing the farm owners’ movements.”

And so was Kyan.

He had a guess as to who was responsible. But without proof, he could not bring charges. Not against humans. Not against dragons.

Red scales jumped beneath Pyro’s skin. He scratched at the edge of the bandages beneath his collar. “There’s no predicting the minds of lone crazies.”

Kyan disagreed. He spent all his time evaluating threats. Lone crazies were predictable.

Pyro had been kidnapped and assaulted by a human male who feared “lizard aliens” using mind control or psychokinetic powers to take over human politics. The cultish movement had been around long before dragons reappeared in the blue Earth skies, but coincidentally, dragons fit the “lizard alien” profile and thus the cult had experienced an unfortunate resurgence.

Dragons could shift forms and fly. Females breathed fire. Smaller, weaker males needed to chew and partially digest brimstone to produce a flame.

They had no mind control or psychokinetic abilities. Numerous times in Kyan’s career those powers would have been useful. But they were not his to have.

Dragon shifters also had zero interest in human politics. They had a vast Dragon Empire to fight over. Causing political instability on Earth would interfere with business.

But logic did not sway the followers of this lizard alien cult. Kyan had been tracking its members since shortly after the Onyx Corporation set its offices in a field outside Vancouver, Washington. The area had been far removed from the most active cult members, who hoarded guns and planned violent secessions from their human governments.

Now, they’d begun fanning out.

He’d shared warnings and information with other dragon families on Earth. But he hadn’t kept a close enough watch on his own cities.

Or on his own siblings.

Unlike Kyan’s fearful differences, Pyro easily passed as “normal” among humans. He should never have been a victim. Kyan’s protection had failed.

He would never fail again.

Not all humans feared Kyan.

Laura’s sweet face flashed in his mind.

She was the kind of female any male would crave to touch. Silken skin he wanted to stroke, luscious curves he needed to squeeze, blonde curls that would fan across his lair’s bed as he buried his iron-hard cock deep into her sweet wetness and she lost herself in ecstasy—

He tilted his head a fraction to shake loose her image.

No distractions today.

His clear earbuds clicked and the slick voice of his ops manager filled his ears. “Target sighted. Heading to Carnelian Clothiers.”

He informed his older brother. “Chrysoberyl Carnelian will be here in minutes.”

Pyro grimaced. “You knew he’d come here. Too good to follow directions? What an aristocrat.”

Behind Kyan, the dragons in the hallway shuffled and coughed.

They, too, were aristocrats. All employees of Carnelian Clothiers were. Since the takeover by the low class Onyx family, Kyan had been waiting for their resentments to boil over.

So far, they had exhibited exemplary self-control.

Illustrating it, the head of Carnelian Clothiers security, Syenite, approached Pyro. “Do you require coffee?”

“No.” Pyro tugged his collar to display the tip of a white med patch. “I stole one of Flint’s sugar-caffeine strips. It’s not properly dosed.” To Kyan, he said, “If I collapse, carry me to the meeting.”

Syenite glanced back at Kyan.

He cultivated impassiveness. The aristocrat’s eyes hid behind black tactical shades. Black security earbuds filled his ears. A bulky black leather jacket obscured his figure.

Kyan didn’t trust him.

And neither did Pyro. Which was why Kyan was here instead of at the Onyx Corporation home office.

Pyro’s desk intercom chimed at the same moment Kyan’s clear earbuds buzzed with an update. “Chrysoberyl Carnelian has arrived.”

Pyro pushed the intercom button. “See him in.”

“Sir.”

Disagreement filled the hallway. “—and you will let me through. This is my company!”

Pyro stood. His face drained to unnatural pale, he wiped sweat beading on his upper lip, and he stared at the far wall of the lush office as though willing himself to remain upright.

Chrysoberyl Carnelian swept into the CEO’s office with an imperious flourish. “Get out.”

Shorter than his brother, Chrysoberyl nevertheless carried the weight and importance of his family. A formal black suit embroidered with custom red threads fit his broad shoulders. Aristocratic piercings dangled from his brows, cheeks, and nostrils. He was bald, like his brother, and his bared teeth gleamed with silver.

His aggressive yellow-green gaze hacked Kyan and Syenite to pieces before focusing on Pyro. Stalking across the room, his shiny piercings tinkled with authority.

“Did you hear? Get out.”

Pyro stared at him silently.

Kyan tensed. Syenite did the same.

Would they have to protect Pyro or Chrysoberyl? Normally, the radioactive red dragon answered any challenger with his fists. But today, Pyro remained still in front of Chrysoberyl’s growling rage.

“I told you to get out!”

Pyro rested his palms on the huge mahogany desk in a gesture of ownership.

The aristocrat frowned. “Are you mute or stupid?”

Pyro’s lips twitched.

“What is this joke?” Chrysoberyl’s head whipped side to side, searching the den of disapproving dragons. “Explain!”

Pyro held his position, silently making the point that there was one sole commander of Carnelian Clothiers — and it was him. “You’re expected at the Onyx Corporation.”

The imperious younger aristocrat raised his chin “This is my company and these are my employees.”

“No.”

“Did you just challenge me?”

A dangerous gleam of radioactive red glowed in Pyro’s irises. “Did I?”

Chrysoberyl frowned and repeated his order more slowly. “I want you out of my office. Now.”

“I’ve already removed my items from your office.”

Chrysoberyl looked down at the desk that bore his family’s aristocratic crest. Scorch marks blackened the impressive wood.

His older brother, Sard, had occupied this desk until a few days earlier when he’d given it to Pyro and returned to Draconis. That day had been peaceful. Fraught with the same tensions, but controlled.

Pyro placed his palm on the Carnelian crest. “Your new vice presidential suite is at the Onyx Corporation.”

The aristocrat growled. “Do not insult my status. I rule my family’s company. Now, and forever.”

Pyro smiled with his teeth.

“Murkite!” The aristocrat turned to address someone who was not behind him. “Where are my employees?”

Pyro looked at Syenite.

“Detained,” Syenite said.

“Bring them here this instant.”

Pyro raised his brows at the impassive security officer.

Syenite’s opaque shades reflected nothing. “The building is closed during this historic merger. Security.”

“You do not appear to understand. He is not your CEO. I am.” Chrysoberyl thumped his palm against his chest. His hand shimmered with yellow-green scales. “This company bears my name. A pure aristocratic name found in the walls of the Palace! Unpolluted by a brimstone miner’s blood.”

Pyro’s irises gleamed red from the insult. The bad boy brawler had changed since marrying his uber-responsible, elementary teacher wife, but he was still dangerous.

“I will not mingle with Outer Rim dragons. I will not lower myself to the level of fallen aristocrats. I am a pure blood and I will be surrounded by the same!”

Chrysoberyl’s elitist attitude was the reason for this merger.

Syenite and the other employees of Carnelian Clothiers had committed a crime, lost favor with the Empress, or otherwise compromised their pure status and became “fallen.” Still aristocrats, and therefore ranked above Pyro or Kyan, they existed in a gray zone below pure Chrysoberyl.

Sard cared deeply about his fallen employees and had struck a bargain with the Onyx family to protect them.

No lower caste dragon should dare take over an aristocrat’s company. No aristocrat should allow the dishonor. Only here, on this backwater “Earth,” could pure aristocrat Sard Carnelian merge Carnelian Clothiers with the low caste Onyx Corporation. It was a historic moment in the Dragon Empire.

Historic moments tended to end in violence.

Pyro tilted his brow at the ranting, sweating, younger brother. “Do you know exactly how far you are from Draconis?”

“The Empress rules over all planets in the Empire.”

“And the Empress offered marriage to my brother. Right there.” He jerked his chin at Kyan. “After Mal and I turned her down.”

“You turned her down! Bastards low caste trash. You have no comprehension of what you’ve denied yourself.”

Pyro yawned. “We do things differently out here.”

Chrysoberyl sputtered. “You won’t get away with this—this—this theft! By right, I should be the CEO of both companies. I should be the … the … the ruler of Earth! Of this galaxy!”

Pyro finished his yawn with a click. “Ruler? No. This galaxy, and Earth, have no rulers. We are under a diplomatic protectorate like all the Outer Rim.”

“You—”

“As a resident of Draconis, you wouldn’t know.”

“Of course I am aware of the status of the Outer Rim!”

The intercom beeped. Pyro hit the button.

Their oldest brother shouted gruffly over the connection. “Pyro? Where’s my new vice president?”

The young aristocrat blinked.

Pyro’s smile finally held real amusement. “He’s here.”

“He’s there? Hellfire. Can’t he follow simple directions? Our meeting has been delayed for hours.”

“We’re on our way.”

“Finally!” The intercom clicked.

Chrysoberyl straightened. “Malachite Onyx? I refuse—”

“Mal’s gone.” Pyro released the button on the dead connection and nodded to Kyan and Syenite. “Shall we?”

Syenite opened the window and exited.

“You are making a serious mistake,” Chrysoberyl said. “I—”

Pyro followed Syenite, stepping off the sill and flying away from the building, his suit flapping in the breeze.

Chrysoberyl broke off. He eyed the empty desk as though considering a hostile takeover.

Kyan stepped behind him.

He jolted in sudden awareness. His gaze focused on Kyan’s scars. His lip curled. Disgust.

He clambered out the window, muttering. “Low caste ugliness. I should not be forced to witness this. Sickening.”

Kyan endured the familiar words and tone.

This should have been Laura’s reaction.

But instead of gagging, she had studied him. Touched him. Even pressed her soft lips to his wrecked mouth.

I wish I could kiss it and make it better.

That was the answer! Relief mixed with disappointment. He had figured her out.

She was a natural healer. So, her kiss was nothing but a healer’s desire to ease an illness. She’d kissed him so her healing saliva would render his face more endurable.

That was the only possible interpretation.

Golden, late evening sun disappeared in the maw of high, gray clouds as the dragons soared across fields, along the Columbia River, and over the network of primitive roads, bridges, and infrastructure of the human villages.

“Native trash,” Chrysoberyl grumbled, smoothing his new suit. “Do you think I don’t know what happened to you, Pyrochlore? Kidnapped and tortured. If they dare to attack an aristocrat, Earth’s diplomatic protections will crumble. All lesser creatures will bow or be crushed under Draconis military rule.”

Pyro ignored him.

Kyan gritted his teeth.

His threat rang true. Injuries to non-aristocrats were ignored. Fighters in the Colony Wars had to be low caste or fallen because those deaths did not require avenging.

A pure aristocrat could petition the Palace for a flotilla of warships to avenge his injuries. Real or imagined.

“My uncle is captain of the Gnashing Teeth. It could lase every city to rubble before the natives even blinked,” Chrysoberyl bragged.

Kyan’s gaze flicked to Syenite.

The silent security head remained impassive.

Sard Carnelian had been a powerful adversary, but he had never threatened the diplomatic treaty. His younger brother was shaping up to become a bigger security risk than Kyan had thought.