Arin was actually nervous. Nothing much could faze her anymore, especially after coming so close to death in the cold expanse of space, but the prospect of Rykal meeting her mother for the first time sent a little shiver of anxiety down her spine. She suspected her mother knew about Rykal—after all, Alison had seen them together on at least one of the vid-feeds—but it wasn’t the kind of thing one just casually brought up.

“By the way, mom, I’m mated to a Kordolian First Division warrior, and…”

She’d heard the horror stories. Relationships with the in-laws could be difficult to say the least, and her mother wasn’t exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type. General Alison Varga could be downright abrasive. She was notorious for being a straight-shooter, and her acid-tongued chew-outs had put the fear of God into more than one new recruit.

So when Arin had called her up with the whole “there’s someone I want you to meet,” speech, she’d expected an interrogation. Instead, her mother had almost seemed… pleased.

Huh. Who would’ve thought?

As if that wasn’t surprising enough, Alison had informed her that she would also be bringing along a guest. “I also have someone I want you to meet. Let’s do dinner. I’m working late all this week, but I can make time on Friday. Seven. The Astral Sea. That suit you?”

Damn. Now Arin was intrigued. What kind of man would possess balls of steel big enough to break through Alison’s ice-cold exterior? And of course, being the tactically-minded military general that she was, her mother had chosen the Astral Sea Bar, a place where she would be in her element.

Arin had thought about making a fuss about the choice of venue, but since Alison had been uncharacteristically pleasant about the whole thing, she’d let it slide. Besides, Rykal was a pure carnivore, so sashimi worked well.

“The Astral Sea’s fine. You’re paying, right?” Arin-the-brat hadn’t been able to resist a little pushback. What her mother didn’t know was that the bill would be eye-wateringly expensive. Those Kordolian boys could eat, and Rykal seemed to have acquired a taste for raw southern bluefin tuna.

“Sure, Arin. See you Friday.”

And so the battleground had been chosen. So what if Astral Sea was an officer’s hangout? So what if Arin had become a total pariah ever since she’d received her dishonorable discharge? She would enter the wolves’ den without fear, because she had a fucking Kordolian by her side, and not just any Kordolian. Rykal was First Division. Anyone who understood how the former Kordolian Empire worked would think very carefully before trying to piss him off.

Too bad some of her fellow Humans still hadn’t gotten the memo. Although the Kordolians had entered into a protection treaty with Earth’s governing Federation—with the Kordolians doing all the protection—some humans seemed to think that the silver-skinned aliens had no business being on Earth, especially since they had relinquished their status as the unofficial overlords of the Nine Galaxies.

Some people on this planet didn’t realize how close they’d come to total disaster.

Arin shook her head as they walked down the entranceway, a wry smile tugging at her lips. Rows of black-stemmed bamboo lined the path, forming a striking enclosure. Beneath their feet, clear glass panels revealed a glowing water feature that was teeming with schools of tiny river fish. They darted in and out of verdant aquasculpted forests, throwing up momentary flashes of brilliant silver as they wove through dazzling shafts of light.

“Pretty,” Rykal remarked, sliding a hand across the small of Arin’s back. “You humans never cease to amaze me with your non-functional aesthetics.”

“Unlike some species, we like to decorate in colors other than black.” Her smile widened as he sneakily grazed her ass, his fingers coming to rest in the curve of her waist. “You Kordolians need to diversify your palette.”

“I think I’ve sufficiently diversified my palette already.” His lips—and fangs—grazed her cheek as he marked her with a short but possessive kiss.

A group of lads in fashionable Friday night attire—double breasted ivory suits with gold buttons and fine silk neckscarves—sauntered past, shooting Rykal dirty looks.

“Fuckin’ moon-elf. Piss off back to your sunless rock, why don’t you?” one of them muttered in Universal, just loud enough for Arin to hear. She stiffened. Obviously, he’d intended for them to hear.

Rykal didn’t react, even though he would have heard perfectly well. Her Kordolian could hear a pin drop in a hurricane.

Arin turned, glaring at the man. His military buzz-cut gave away his identity—an off-duty peacekeeper. She took a step towards him, intending to put him in his place. “Hey, assho—”

“Arin.” Rykal’s voice was cool and deep, like a bottomless lagoon on a hot summer’s day. “Leave the fool. You don’t have to defend my pride. I can do that perfectly well on my own.”

“There’s no way I’m going to let him disrespect—”

“Shh.” Rykal drew her close, leaning in so that his lips nearly grazed her ear. “Not worth the trouble. Weren’t you just telling me about how this place is such a civilized establishment?”

She stilled, inhaling his crisp scent. As always, Rykal had an intensely calming—and yet terribly arousing—effect on her. “I just don’t tolerate bullshit, especially when it’s spoken about you.” Although Nova Terra was home to aliens from all corners of the Nine Galaxies, the crowd in the Astral Sea was predominantly human, thanks to the bar’s proximity to base. Granted, the occasional high-ranking alien dignitary might come here to be wined-and-dined by one of the executives, but aside from military types, the only humans who tended to lurk here were Federation politicians. Rykal stood out more than ever, and somehow that made Arin feel protective, even though the notion that she might want to protect him of all people was absurd.

“I know you don’t take crap from anyone, my love,” Rykal whispered, “and I appreciate your concern, but let’s not start any fights tonight. I don’t want to accidentally kill anyone.”

“I don’t think you’d be able to accidentally kill anyone here, Ry.” Arin inhaled deeply as his warmth seeped into her, triggering off a delicious chain-reaction that uncoiled in her belly and spread between her thighs. “Why do I always get the feeling that everything you do is a lot more calculated than you like to let on?”

“Calculated?” He raised a silvery eyebrow. “What are you talking about, my love? I enjoy living in the moment, even more so since I found you.” He ran his fingers along the curve of her waist, sending little flutters of desire through her core. “What kind of insult is ‘moon-elf’, anyway? People here seem to keep comparing us to those mythical creatures, so I looked them up on your Networks.” He scoffed. “Elves. Ha. We are nothing of the sort.”

“I know, I know. It’s the ears,” Arin said dryly as they entered the reception area, where they were greeted by the front-of-house, a severe looking man sheathed in an elegant black uniform. Unlike most Earth restaurants, where robot-service was standard, the Astral Sea employed real humans.

“Welcome.” The man greeted them with a slight bow, his expression changing not one whit as he took in Rykal’s alien appearance. “Do you have a reservation?”

“We’re guests of General Varga,” Arin casually dropped her mother’s name like a fat wad of cash, knowing perfectly well how much weight it carried in these parts.

“Very good. This way, please.” He led them through a formal garden decorated with ambient lighting and immaculately manicured plants. Rykal positioned himself slightly behind Arin, his hand never leaving her body. They passed into the bar proper, and as always, it was an immersive experience.

Suddenly, they were surrounded on all sides by tall blue tanks, where schools of tropical ocean fish weaved through colonies of vividly colored coral and gently swaying sea anemone.

Curved booths with white leather seats intimately clutched their guests, who spoke in low voices against a soundtrack of dulcet-toned jazz.

“Impressive,” Rykal murmured.

“It’s a classy place.”

“I was referring to you, not the place, my love.”

“Oh.” Her heart beat a little faster and her mouth turned dry. An irritating knot of anxiety tightened in her chest.

It had been a while since she’d last seen Alison Varga, and the last time she’d set foot in this place, she’d been a peacekeeper with an active rank and station.

Now she was a civilian, and dishonorably discharged at that.

Perhaps it was also the feeling that dozens of eyes were on them, following Arin and her beautiful silver demon as they walked amongst the sharks and fishes.

Rykal stood out wherever they went. She thought she’d gotten used to it.

“Relax, my ashika. Let them stare. You can’t help it if you outshine everything in this room, but if any of them lay a hand on you, I might just accidentally kill someone.”

“I’m not nervous Ry, and I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” But secretly, she loved it when he became all dangerous and possessive like this.

“Your heart is pounding like an Aikun war-drum.” He squeezed her waist as they reached the back of the restaurant. “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll behave myself.” A sleek hammerhead shark glided past, languorous and yet threatening. The little fish ducked for cover behind rocks and corals as the predator carved through the water, its sharp-finned tail slowly waving back-and-forth. “Come.” Rykal slipped his hand through hers and took the lead, suddenly looking very much in his element.

Why did she get the impression that he was actually enjoying himself? He seemed totally oblivious to all the hostile looks that were being cast in their direction, but with Rykal, one could never really be sure. Her Kordolian always seemed to know a lot more than he let on.

A familiar pungent scent wafted through the air, stirring Arin’s long-buried cravings. Juvi. Her fingers twitched. She could really do with a smoke right now, but she’d given the stuff up years ago.

“Please be seated.” The front-of-house gestured towards a booth at the very back of the room. Instantly, the man’s attention was diverted to the woman sitting in the corner. “Your guests, General.”

“Thank you, Chao.” Her mother rose to her feet. Steel-grey eyes widened and then narrowed. “Arin.”

For a moment, they just stood there, awkwardness stretching between them like a taut rubber band about to snap.

“Didn’t I teach you any manners, Arin? Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Partner,” she corrected.

“Mate,” Rykal whispered, so softly that only she could hear. The back of Arin’s neck tingled. He stepped forward, extending his hand in the human fashion. “Rykal Sarakunin.” He flashed his most boyishly charming smile, his fangs glittering dangerously in the dim light. “I am honored to finally meet the mother of the woman who saved my life.”

Indeed, Rykal was on his best behavior.

Saved his life? What is he talking about?

General Varga slowly looked him up-and-down, her cool grey eyes missing nothing. Rykal calmly withstood her scrutiny, his stance open and relaxed. Although he was wearing his friendly smile, his amber eyes were as hard as glittering jewels. How the hell could he act so cool and composed when Arin was filled with this awful tension?

And there was her mother, as formidable as ever, still wearing her work clothes. She’d ditched the stiff jacket and tie and military rank-badges, leaving a crisp white shirt and dark trousers. Her neatly cropped hair had a little more grey at the temples now, and the lines around the corners of her eyes and mouth were a little deeper, but she was still the same hard-ass Arin remembered from her teenage years.

Stars, how they’d clashed back then. They’d flitted from overseas posting to overseas posting until her mother had landed the job at Nova Terra, and every step of the way, Arin had challenged her authority. She’d been nothing but a delinquent military brat.

“I’ve heard some good things and a lot of bad things about your kind, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? You can call me Alison.” Her mother extended her hand and Rykal shook it, exactly as Arin had shown him. So that’s why he’d been practicing the human handshake. “I have questions for you, Sarakunin, but those can wait until after we’ve eaten. I have a meeting scheduled with former General Akkadian next week, and given his, er, reputation, I’d feel a lot better if things got off to a good start.” A flash of some vague emotion—was that trepidation?—crossed her face, quickly concealed. Yes, Tarak al Akkadian was such a badass that even talking about him could cause a flutter of anxiety. “I trust you’ve been taking good care of my daughter?”

To Arin’s surprise, her mother’s eyes crinkled slightly as she met her gaze. What the hell was that expression? Amusement? Affection? Relief?

“On the contrary. She’s the one who takes care of me.” Rykal smoothly snatched the lead, guiding Arin across to the booth. “Without her, I’d be completely lost. Shall we sit?”

“Of course.” Alison slid in across from them, studying Rykal with an inscrutable expression. A half-empty lowball glass of whiskey sat in front of her, alongside an ashtray. A smoldering juvi-stick was balanced on one edge, emitting a long, elegant tendril of smoke that drifted slowly towards the ceiling.

Arin was pretty sure it was highly illegal to smoke inside any public facility on Earth, but… go figure. As she glanced at the empty seat beside her mother, a strange sense of disappointment filled her. “I thought you said you were bringing someone.”

“He’ll be here,” Alison said, taking the juvi-stick between her fingers. She took a long, slow drag, allowing the ivory smoke to escape her lips in the form of a thin plume. “In the meantime, go ahead and order a drink.” A small sigh escaped her lips and her stern features softened a fraction. “Sorry about the uniform. I was supposed to go home and change, but I got held back at work. Something unexpected came up. You know how it is, Arin.” She sighed, her mask slipping a fraction.

“Can’t talk about work, huh?”

“It’s classified,” Alison admitted. “But those are my problems, not yours.” As she waved over a waiter, the lights went dim. “Now why don’t you sit back and enjoy the show?”

This was how it always was with General Alison Varga. There were no hugs. No effusive greetings. No pleasantries. She just got straight down to business, even though they hadn’t met face-to-face for over three years.

The last time they’d spoken, they’d been in space. Alison had been on the other end of a terse comm, and Arin and Rykal had been onboard the Silvermist, a surveillance cruiser operated by Nonhuman Affairs. Rykal had killed a hell of lot of people on that ship. He’d become destruction incarnate, but it had been unavoidable. She understood that now. After all, he was Kordolian. Seriously, what the hell did they expect him to do when a bunch of fanatical agents strapped her to a table and… She shuddered. Did Alison know what had really gone down that day?

Of course she would know. She would have received the intelligence reports. She would have intercepted the surveillance feed. Surely she’d have some inkling of what Rykal truly was.

Beneath the table, his hand dropped to her thigh. Now that the introductions were out of the way, he quickly made himself comfortable, leaning back and watching his surroundings with a hooded yellow gaze.

As he moved his talented fingers back-and-forth, removing any doubt as to who was really in charge here, the tension slowly drained from her body.

Her mother was watching them like a hawk, giving nothing away. Arin tried to keep a straight face, but at the same time, she didn’t have the willpower to brush Rykal’s sneaky hand away. His touch felt too damn good.

The waiter swooped in. “Would you like something to drink?”

Arin glanced at the holo-menu. “Gin and tonic.”

“And you, uh, Sir?”

“Coffee. Double-shot espresso.”

It was an unusual request for seven in the evening, but like all the Kordolians she knew, Rykal liked coffee. He’d picked up on the terminology pretty quickly and had become something of a connoisseur.

“Milk? Sugar?”

“No. Just black.”

“Another whiskey for you, General?”

“Let’s do that. Thank you, Paul.” The smile Alison gave the waiter was warm and familiar and gentle—all the things Arin thought her mother was not. “Which set is Leo playing tonight?”

“Honey and Gold, Ma’am.”

“Oh, good. I was hoping he’d play that one. You’ll enjoy this, Arin.”

To her astonishment, her mother actually winked. Who the hell was this impostor, and what had she done with the general?

Suddenly, the background murmur of voices and clinking glasses was drowned out by a lush chord, strummed on an old-fashioned guitar.

Rykal slid his arm around her. Smooth drumbeats filled the room, melding with the cool, melodic tones of the guitar, and even though they were surrounded by sharks, Arin began to relax.

She had a Kordolian by her side and this other, slightly more chilled out version of her mom seated opposite. Rykal was all over her, but at the same time, he seemed preoccupied.

“What are you staring at?” she whispered. “I told you, you don’t have to do the surveillance eyes here. They might stare, but they won’t do anything to us.”

“Hm.” He tucked his fingers under the hem of her dress, tracing small circles over her thigh. The music settled into an addictive groove. Somebody started to sing.

Arin glanced over her shoulder. A small podium had been set up in the center of the room, and it was occupied by a guitarist and a drummer.

Heart in a vise, can’t take your advice, I just can’t keep my hands off of you.

The drummer was also the singer. His hands were a blur as he wove the mesmerizing beat through his lush, buttery vocals. A faint sheen of sweat made his dark skin glisten. It extended down to his bare chest, which was visible through his half-open shirt.

The singer became the center of the vortex, his larger-than-life presence capturing everyone’s attention. He was a big, charismatic guy, the drums were his mistress, and his voice was just pure fucking magic.

Rykal was still staring at some unknown threat in the corner. His head was half-inclined, as if he were listening to some faint undercurrent beneath the music.

Uh, oh.

Her mother was still staring at them, paying particular attention to Rykal. Her steely gaze dissected and analyzed and reassembled them in the blink of an eye, but Rykal didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care.

A bad feeling uncoiled in the pit of Arin’s stomach. Why had Alison invited them here to the Astral Sea—a viper’s nest of executive officers and politicians—of all places? Wasn’t she worried about being seen in public in the company of a Kordolian?

And who was this mysterious guest they were supposed to be waiting for?

On this strange, surreal night, when Arin wasn’t quite feeling like her old self; when she had the most unpredictable of Kordolians by her side and the contents of half a bottle of delicious pinot noir coursing through her veins…

What could possibly go wrong?