Harper:

When I open my eyes, several realizations sweep over me, each one more disconcerting than the next.

I have no idea where I am.

Two hot, naked-to-the-waist guys are in the room with me. They’re holding my hand in theirs, and as I watch, drops of blue blood spill on the silver sheet.

And I’m not wearing a stitch of clothing.

I’m not sure if I should freak out or part my legs for the hunks.

I settle for neither. Drama isn’t really my style, and though I have nothing against hook-up culture, if I’m going to put out, I’d like a meal and some attempt at conversation first. In a world where courtship has been replaced by swipe-rights, that makes me high-maintenance.

Hang on, Harper. Two strange guys are holding your hand, their blood is freaking blue, and you’re thinking about Tinder?

The memories slowly start to return. Alien spaceship. Crash landing. Injured Zorahns leaking blue blood. Green and blue moons, pink skies.

Viola, Ryanna, Sofia, and I had set out to find food and water so we could survive the next week until the Zorahns used their superior technology and rescued us. We were walking toward Penis Mountain, but I’d tripped, and some orange goo had tried to kill me.

Since I’m not dead, I guess I’ve been rescued and treated, and unless blue blood is super-common in the galaxy, the two men at my side must be Zorahn.

I look around covertly. I thought Zoraht would be filled with sleek metal and glass towers and little airships buzzing about in the sky. Probably because I read too much science-fiction as a kid. This room isn’t very high-tech. The texture of the walls looks like wood, though the colors—pink, green, and black—remind me that I’m not on Earth. The effect is a little psychedelic. Groovy, baby.

The two Zorahn aren’t looking at my face; their attention is focused on my arm. I’m assuming they’re observing the effects of the orange jello from hell. Their expressions are somber. I swallow nervously. “Is it bad?”

Both their heads snap up at the sound of my voice. The taller and broader of the two men says something, relief etched on his face.

Unfortunately for me, I have no idea what his words mean.

Great. I’ve managed to lose my translator.

“Hey, buddy?” I try to sit up, and my head swims. I feel nauseous. Ugh. I hate being sick. “You know one of those golden thingies that go in my ear and shock the heck out of me? I’m missing mine. You can’t rustle up a spare, can you?”

I point to my right ear at the same time. I’m being a little flippant since I assume neither man can understand me, but at my snark, both men’s eyebrows rise, and an amused smile curls around the lips of the non-linebacker. He gets to his feet and moves to a corner, returning a minute later with my own personal babel-fish.

Shit. I see the golden translator embedded in his ear, and it dawns on me. I can’t understand them, but they can understand me just fine, and they probably think I’m an idiot.

My cheeks heat as I reach for the little device. Non-linebacker, who has dark hair that falls in sexy, shaggy waves around his face, and vividly green eyes, doesn’t hand it to me. Instead, his fingers stroke my forehead and he tucks a strand of hair behind my ears, before inserting the golden disk into my right ear.

Whoa. Tingles. Tingles everywhere as the hot alien touches me. My arm might be sore, and there appears to be a gash in my palm, but my girl-bits are humming happy songs.

Stupid girl bits. I’ve met Beirax, and the tall alien has a massive stick up his butt. Zorahn men might be easy on the eye—and trust me, these two are very easy on my baby blues—but fun to hang out with they’re not.

I sit up, slower this time. “Where am I?” I ask them. “Is this Zoraht? Where are the others? Are they safe?”

Mr. Linebacker speaks for the first time. “Your companions are well, Harper Boyd.” When he smiles at me, his caramel eyes warm and kind, my insides do a funny flip. I thought Beirax was huge, but this Zorahn makes Beirax seem puny. He’s tall, broad and muscled. His chest is crisscrossed with scars, but they don’t do anything to detract from his gorgeousness. If anything, they just make him hotter.

“Where’s Viola?” She’d told Sofia and Ryanna to take me back to the ship, while she went to find water and food. The two women were supposed to put me back into stasis. Is that what happened? “Is she okay? Did you find her before you whisked us off the prison planet?”

An expression of consternation flashes over the linebacker’s face. He looks at the other alien, who clears his throat. “This might come as a shock,” he says gently. “You aren’t on Zoraht. You’re still on the prison planet.”

My brain struggles to comprehend his words. “But why?” I stammer. “The spaceship went down. They’d have to know we crashed—they must have radar, or whatever they use in space. Why haven’t they come for us? They told us we were under the personal protection of the High Emperor. Surely that’s got to be good for a rescue mission.”

The green-eyed alien raises an eyebrow. “Lenox’s word?” His tone makes it clear he doesn’t think much of the High Emperor. That’s not a good sign. The other Zorahn seemed to think that Lenox was the best thing that had happened since sliced bread.

Another thought occurs to me, one that causes anxiety to rise in my chest. What had Viola said before we set out? This was the world in which the Zorahn exiled their criminals. Draekon, she’d called them.

The two aliens sitting next to me aren’t Zorahn doctors. They’re not to be trusted. They’re to be feared.

My arm throbs and my head spins. The room goes blurry, and I fall into a dead faint.