“What the hell did you think you were doing, soldier?” Iskar resisted the urge to massage his temples as he stared up at one of his subordinates, a young infantryman called Borak. He’d woken up with a splitting headache, and he was in a foul mood. What he really needed was a hard sparring session with one of the First Division guys. Although he would never win against one of those genetically enhanced insta-healing bastards, they were the only opponents who could truly push him to his limits, and Iskar had a few tricks up his sleeve—enough to seriously injure them on more than one occasion.

Violence was the only antidote for the frustration he was feeling right now.

Violence, or…

Fuck.

Borak shrugged. “She wanted it. What was I supposed to do?”

“I personally reviewed the vid-footage provided by the Federation Peacekeepers. The human was clearly intoxicated.”

“She came up to me.” The young soldier’s forehead creased. “Some of these human women are… Kaiin’s Hells, they’re in-your-face, aren’t they?”

I know. Iskar didn’t reveal that he’d faced a very similar temptation last night. By the Goddess, he’d been so fucking close to claiming her. The human had no idea.

Instead, he glared at Borak. “According to the report, the female you took advantage of is already mated.”

“I know, Sir. She told me the same thing. Her so-called mate was on the other side of the club, getting it on with two human females. She wanted to give him a taste of his own fuckery. I simply obliged.”

“Your helping out led to a mass brawl, costing the establishment thousands of credits in damage. I specifically warned you not to cause any trouble in the human city. Do you know how much of a fucking shitstorm I have to deal with now?”

“Sir, with all due with respect, I don’t understand why we have to appease these humans.”

Iskar’s temples throbbed. A stabbing pain crept behind his eyes. He sighed as he leaned back into his chair, steepling his fingers. “There is a lot you don’t understand, soldier, and I am not going to waste my precious time trying to explain Universal politics to you. If I tell you to behave, then you fucking obey.”

Borak’s reasoning so was typically Kordolian. Why not just subjugate Earth and be done with it? Why did they have to abide by Earth’s laws? Iskar had asked himself the same questions over and over. Humans were a weak, technologically primitive species. With the General’s blessing, he could have conquered their planet with a fraction of the Kordolian fleet.

But ruling the Universe wasn’t so simple. There was always a catch.

“Absolute power always comes at a price, Commander. I am tired of being seen as the universal face of oppression. I am weary of guarding against hate-filled assassins. Isn’t it better to put on a civilized veneer and rule from the shadows?” When Akkadian asked him that question, everything had fallen into place. All of a sudden, he’d caught a glimpse of the General’s vision of the future.

It was a good plan, one that granted Iskar and his men freedom from a lifetime of servitude, but it required a different approach. They couldn’t just play by the brutal old Imperial rules.

A little subtlety was in order.

“Discipline is the one trait I expect in my men, Gunner. If you can’t show me discipline, then get out.”

A sliver of apprehension crept into Borak’s eyes. “S-sir?”

“We’re a private corporation now. You’re on the General’s payroll, just like everybody else. If you don’t toe the line, I will cut you loose. Do you want to leave the Darkstar Corporation, Gunner Borak Amantul?”

“No.” Borak’s apprehension turned into full-blown panic. For a soldier who had been conditioned to embrace a life of service in the military—who knew nothing else but war and fighting and the strict military code—there was nothing worse than the possibility of a forced discharge. “I do not.”

Iskar gave a sharp nod. “I am still deciding on your punishment. For now, you are confined to base. You will report to the bio-dome in the Green Quadrant. I believe General Akkadian’s mate requires volunteers for agri-work.”

Borak nodded slowly, appearing unconvinced. For a Kordolian warrior, the thought of having to carry out mundane physical tasks was akin to torture, but he would know better than to protest.

“I don’t need to remind you of how you should conduct yourself in such a situation, do I, Borak?”

“Sir, I’m not a fool, Sir.”

“I am still waiting to be convinced of that,” Iskar said dryly. Pain lanced the backs of his eyeballs, and a strange kind of tension worked its way into his chest. Despite the near-freezing temperature in his office—he’d set it that way to replicate conditions on Kythia—he felt hot and restless. “A quick word of warning: the General is in today, and he tends to check in on his wife when she is working. Don’t fuck anything up.”

Borak looked suitably nervous as he nodded.

Good. It was good to keep the young ones on their toes. Predictability bred boredom, which bred insubordination.

“Dismissed,” Iskar snapped. Borak gave a fist-on-chest salute and disappeared, leaving Iskar alone with his migraine and that strange, persistent yearning to do violence, and thoughts of…

Her.

The human.

He hadn’t even asked her name. She existed in his mind as a bronze-skinned, blue-haired temptress, and he just couldn’t shake the memory of those luscious red-tinted lips.

He couldn’t forget her sweet, Earthy scent.

He couldn’t forget the sensation of her perfectly rounded curves as they molded against his body, teasing his already straining cock.

“Fucking hypocrite,” Iskar muttered under his breath. Of course, he was referring to himself. Here he was, trying to discipline some young whelp for failing to keep his dick in his pants, and all he could think about was a certain human female who aroused his senses like no other.

His headache was getting worse, and the desire to fight thrummed in his black veins, threatening to tear away his rigid self-control. Even the sensitive stumps of his severed horns throbbed with dull pain. He yearned for the gentle touch of a female’s deft fingers across those deeply erogenous zones.

Only her talented fingers would do. The mere thought of her turned him into a mindless savage.

What the fuck is this?

Iskar closed his eyes and took a deep breath, thankful for the darkness and silence. He pressed his fingers into his shoulder, feeling the site of his recent injury. The fibrogel patch had facilitated only basic functional healing, and when he’d returned to base, Zyara al Sirian had completed the repair with a quick nanograft. When she’d seen the unusual injury, her only reaction had been a slight raise of the eyebrows.

Perhaps she’d read his mood. The First Division’s medic understood discretion, and thanks to her skill, there was no sign of the original wound. It was as if the incident had never occurred.

He could forget about the entire thing and move on.

So why did the human still invade his thoughts, and why had he woken up with an excruciating headache and the emperor of all erections?

No… it can’t be…

Iskar cursed long and hard as the realization struck him.

Mating fever.

He’d heard the stories. He’d witnessed strong men fall victim to the infernal condition. Even the indomitable General was rumored to have suffered from it.

Perhaps he’d have to ask the boss himself for advice on how to manage this unexpected problem.

Is it really such a problem? What is there to keep you from just taking what you want? Just claim her already. The dark voice of temptation whispered in his mind, reducing him to little more than an animal.

You’re here to work, not lose your mind over a female. What kind of example would this set for the men under your command?

But you know you want her… just take her and be done with it.

Iskar tasted bitter blood as he clenched his teeth, his fangs puncturing the soft skin of his lower lip. Of course, he got urges just like any other full-blooded Kordolian male, but he’d always found a way to rein them in.

Violence became a salve. The simulation chamber was his refuge, a sanctuary where he could release all of his pent-up aggression.

It wasn’t going to help him this time.

His comm came alive, interrupting his lustful thoughts. “Commander, your transport is ready.”

Iskar ran a hand over his close-cropped hair and sighed. “What’s it like out there, Nakiva?”

“Cloudy, Sir. Unusual weather for this part of the planet. The ultraviolet index is still high, though.”

“As expected. I will be there in a siv.” Iskar rose and tugged at the edges of his formal dress coat, straightening it. With its long-tailed jacket and sleek trousers, the black dress uniform of the Darkstar Corporation was almost identical to the old Imperial one, except that the red accents had been replaced with gleaming silver.

At his breast was a small Callidum pin depicting the seven-pointed dark star of Ithra. This was their new insignia, and it was fitting. As Akkadian had said, “we were born under a dark star, and we must never forget our origins.”

To humans, it was an attractive symbol, nothing more. To Kordolians, the dark star meant life, death, and rebirth. It was glorious and sinister and powerful, and Iskar wore it with pride.

He retrieved a metal tube from his desk-compartment and held it against his jawline, pressing a small button. A faint ripple stretched across his face as ultraviolet-blocking nano-gel covered every cell of his exposed skin. The gel had recently been developed by Zharek al Sirian and his team of med-techs as an antidote to the harsh Earth sun. Iskar slipped on a pair of dark lenses—the gel’s coverage didn’t extend to his eyes—and strode out of his office.

Although his thoughts were consumed by that stunning woman from the Glory Strip, Darkside wasn’t where he was headed today.

No, he was going to Teluria proper, the skyport city in the middle of the desert. As the High Commander of the Darkstar Corporation’s armed unit (the humans knew him as the Head of Security), part of his job involved networking with high-ranking humans.

It was a pain-in-the-ass, but someone had to do it. Today, some infernal event called the “Mayor’s New Year’s Day Luncheon” was taking place, and he would be attending alongside the former prince, Xalikian Kazharan.

Unofficially, he would act as Xal’s bodyguard alongside Torin Mardak and a core squadron of six carefully selected fighters. They would be a silent presence in the background, just intimidating enough to plant a seed of doubt in the minds of the humans.

It wouldn’t do for these humans to get too comfortable now, would it?

And as he stood guard, watching the world through dark lenses, he would silently contemplate this slow-burning torture, this most unexpected of developments, and figure out how to deal with it.

In truth, there was only one way to deal with the mating fever, and Iskar suspected he would be paying a visit to the slums of Darkside very soon.