I squirm in my seat, becoming restless. We’ve been waiting here for what seems like hours, suspended in orbit just above Kythia.

The river-like network of blue lights stretching across the surface of the Dark Planet winks back at us, mysterious and seductive.

I still don’t really understand what the General’s objective is. Since we left the Fleet Station, we’ve done nothing except sit in this small two-person sized transport, watching a stream of traffic through the navigation window. It’s been fascinating, actually. I feel as if the entire universe wants to get to Kythia. There are all kinds of craft drifting past; space vehicles of the like I’ve never seen before are heading for the planet. There are large cargo freighters and small, private transports. Some of the craft look sleek and modern, while others look as if they’re barely holding together. Some are oddly shaped and don’t even look like spacecraft at all.

They’re all entering Kythia’s atmosphere, heading for the blue lights below.

“So let me get this straight.” I turn to face him, swiveling my seat around. “You don’t want to enter Kythia using a military vessel because this is some sort of unofficial business, and you don’t want to be noticed.”

Tarak wears his usual expression of mild irritation. “We are waiting for the right moment,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a child. I roll my eyes. As if that tells me anything.

All he’s told me is that he needs to go to Kythia for something important. And because I’m a rare being in these parts—the only Human this side of the galaxy—every Kordolian wants a piece of me. Literally. So Tarak is refusing to let me out of his sight.

Hence why I’m stuck here in this tiny cruiser, watching the Kordolian version of rush hour.

Still, I could think of worse places to be.

Say, strapped to a dissection table, or imprisoned somewhere.

Tarak’s reclining in the pilot’s seat, sharpening a small blade of some sort. It’s black, like just about everything he owns. The obsidian blade gleams wickedly in the pale starlight. He’s sharpening it on a small metal object with slow, methodical strokes.

The way he does it is almost reverent, as if the blade is somehow sacred.

He inspects it for imperfections, then pops it back in its sheath. It’s all a little bit obsessive-compulsive.

Tarak turns to me, holding out the blade, hilt first. “Take it,” he says.

“You want me to have this?” I stare at the sheathed weapon. It’s compact and deadly looking. Ooh, a strange, alien dagger. Just what I’ve always wanted. How sweet of him.

“One should always carry a weapon. What happened to you on the Fleet Station was unacceptable. You need to be able to defend yourself. When we reach Kythia, I will teach you how to use a plasma gun.”

My first instinct is to wave the knife away. I’m not a fighter. I’m good at running away from things, and climbing, and jumping, and perhaps kicking a guy in the nuts if he steps out of line, but I’ve never seriously hurt anyone in my life.

I don’t know if I could stab someone.

But I’ve landed in the midst of an evil alien Empire, and I’m surrounded by potential enemies. Common sense prevails. I take the knife. Even though I’ve got the General backing me up, you just never know when such a thing might come in handy.

It’s surprisingly light. I wrap my fingers around the hilt, testing its weight. It feels good in my hand.

Tarak grunts in approval, reaching over to adjust my fingers. “Hold it like this.” His large, rough hand wraps around mine, moving my hand so I hold the knife in a more solid grip. “When you use it, move your arm like this, and twist.”

He goes through the motion with me, gripping my forearm. His touch is firm but gentle. It feels good. Familiar. A warm little shiver courses through me, and I let out a small sigh.

Only Tarak could make the act of teaching a person how to stab someone seem romantic.

When I think about it, the intent behind the move is quite chilling. I don’t know whether I could twist the knife once it’s in.

“Now try it on your own.”

“Like this?” I copy the movement half-heartedly.

“Put some force behind it,” he urges.

I do it again, with a bit more effort. I try to imagine there’s a bad guy in front of me, visualizing that creepy Kordolian scientist who had me strapped to a table. I’ll bet he was going to harvest my organs. He seemed the type. He had that psycho-stalker look about him.

Asshole.

“Good,” Tarak murmurs. “That is the correct way.” Despite myself, I feel a little rush of satisfaction at his nod of approval.

I stash the sheathed knife away in a little pocket at my thigh. I’m wearing the clothes Tarak got for me; warm, black, stretchy garments that seem to fit perfectly, moulding to my curves. They’ve got pockets hidden at strategic spots all over them. There’s also a light silver jacket that goes over the top. It’s got a strange closure at the front; when I put it together the whole thing just magically zips up and becomes seamless.

The decadent, white Skaz-whatever fur coat he got me is draped over the back of my seat.

It’s a lot of layers. I feel warm and toasty for once, in contrast to the bone-chilling cold I’ve had to deal with ever since Tarak and Zyara stuck me in that horrible stasis tank.

Looking down at the impenetrable, dark mass of Kythia, I get the feeling it will be even colder once we reach the surface. That’s one of the consequences of not having a sun. I can’t imagine what’s in store for me down there. Funny, the cold never seems to bother the Kordolians. Especially the General, who’s more than happy to walk around without a scrap of clothing on his body.

Not that his blatant nudity bothers me. There are worse sights than a completely naked, muscular Kordolian male.

Heat surges between my thighs. The sheer thought of him is turning me on. I try to keep a straight face. I can’t let Big Bad know of the effect he has on me, especially when he’s right beside me.

Outside the window, the stream of space-traffic continues on, endless and inevitable. Occasionally, a bit of space-junk floats by. There are scraps of metal and bits of machinery and things that look like communication devices, flashing with an array of colorful lights.

And we’re just parked here, waiting.

What the hell is he up to?

“So remind me again,” I probe, trying to put a lid on my growing arousal. “What exactly are we waiting for?”

Tarak stares back at me with a hooded gaze, his dark red eyes like burning embers. His face is expressionless aside from a tiny quirk at the corners of his lips.

“A way into Kythia. It’s coming. But do not worry about that now. There are better ways to pass the time.” He turns his chair to face me, and I’m torn between irritation and desire. Tarak’s ditched his usual exo-armor in favor of a nondescript outfit that consists of black robes. The clothes are worn; almost tattered looking. They’re at complete odds with his hard features and sharp haircut.

They don’t suit him at all.

Is this part of the whole staying incognito business?

Is it supposed to be some kind of disguise? It’s definitely not his usual style.

Before I can piece it all together, he moves so fast I don’t have time to react. The big guy can be lightning quick when he wants. His recent displays of uh, affection have almost made me forget that he’s actually a lethal fighter. A predator.

He kneels before me, looking up. I’m sitting in the passenger seat and he’s running his hands up my thighs, his fingers warm and insistent through the thin, stretchy fabric of my pants.

I grab his hands, stopping him as he reaches the waistband of my pants, just as he tucks his fingers under it, brushing against my bare skin.

“Oh no you don’t,” I growl, pushing his hands away. “Not until you tell me what you’re up to. What’s with all the subterfuge? Where are we going?” I roll my eyes in frustration. “You have to be the most cryptic male I’ve ever met.”

Tarak snorts. Is that amusement flickering across his face? He doesn’t resist me when I push his hands away.

“Don’t just ignore the question,” I snap, but what comes out of my mouth is at odds with what I’m feeling. His touch leaves my skin tingling; leaves me wanting more.

He moves then, all fluid, sinuous grace, and before I know it, I’m lifted up and moved around and I’m not even really sure what happened just now, but I somehow end up in his lap while he reclines on the passenger seat.

He’s got an arm around my waist.

“No, no, no,” I protest, but I’m secretly enjoying the feel of his hard body pressed against mine. “You’re not distracting me with that.” I can feel his erection through the thin material of our garments.

“Oh?” He leans in close, so that his lips brush against my ear. “Abbey of Earth, why are you saying such things when the scent of your arousal is driving me crazy?”

Be strong, Abbey.

“I’m not going to be distracted by your dirty tricks.” I’m only half serious. Part of me wants him to rip my clothes off and just get on with it. But no. He has to know that I’m not just going to stop asking questions because he’s seduced me.

This overconfident jerk. Who does he think he is?

“Tricks?” Tarak raises an eyebrow as I untangle myself from his arms. “I do not play at tricks, female. When it comes to you, I am deadly serious.”

The way he says it, with a rumble in his deep voice, melts my theoretical panties. Theoretical, because I’m not wearing any under all this fancy Kordolian thermo-wear.

Dammit. Why does he say these things that get under my skin, that make me go all jelly inside?

This silver-skinned alien is dangerous. I need to disengage now, otherwise I won’t be able to stop myself. I pull away, leaving him with half-disbelieving look on his face.

“You do not want me to give you pleasure?”

I frown. “I do like it, very much. But not when you’re doing it to distract me from your shady little mission.”

“Shady?” His eyebrow twitches, just a little. “You think I would act dishonorably?”

“I don’t know. You haven’t told me anything. Therefore, one can only assume.” I step back, bumping into the control panel. As I make contact, a shrill beep goes off, and the holoscreen starts talking in a robot-voice. It’s all in Kordolian; I don’t understand any of it. A warning, maybe?

“What did I do?” I back away nervously. Tarak mutters softly to himself in Kordolian. It sounds like swearing. I really need to learn me some Kordolian curse-words. He gets to his feet, grabs me at the waist and gently directs me back to my seat.

“The timing is not ideal,” he growls, sounding decidedly grumpy, probably because his little attempt at getting into my pants has been interrupted. “But you wanted to know what we are doing here? You are about to find out.” He jumps back into the pilot’s seat and feeds some power to the thrusters.

The stream of space-traffic outside has slowed. A huge, slow-moving red craft comes into sight. It’s impossibly long, and as it drifts across, it fills our entire view. Hundreds of tiny brightly lit windows wink along its body. As it gets closer, I realize it’s not in perfect condition. There are cracks in the hull here and there, and various stains and scratches mark the gleaming red body.

Has it been through a few asteroid storms, perhaps?

“What the hell is that?”

“Veronian freighter.” Our little space cruiser starts to move. Tarak guides it between passing traffic as it joins the slipstream, and we come up alongside the hulking freighter. “It’s our ticket onto Kythia, so prepare yourself. We will be boarding shortly.”

As usual, he’s not big on the detail. I’ll have to work on that annoying trait of his. When you’re a badass General who’s used to being obeyed without question, explaining things probably isn’t a big priority.

So it looks as if we’re going to get onto this big red behemoth of a freighter. Veronian, he says? Well, they make those amazing sweets, so they can’t be all that bad, right?

There’s no way the makers of the bliss-cubes could be evil, right?

I guess I have no choice but to stick with the big guy here and find out.

* * *

Abbey gives me a strange look. I don’t know what it means, so I ignore it. But I can’t help the soft dissatisfied growl that escapes me.

I hate being interrupted, especially when presented with such an interesting challenge. I hadn’t expected her to refuse my advances, not with the scent of her arousal wrapping around me, drawing me in so powerfully. She’s full of questions, this Human, wishing to know the reason for our method of entry to Kythia.

What am I supposed to tell her? That the High Council has placed a Kill Order on my head? That I am going to visit an exiled Prince who has hidden deep in the icy wastelands of the Vaal? That she should stay vigilant, in case a dread Silent One, the most deadly of all assassins, appears on our trail?

She would not react well to such news. My intention is to keep her safe and keep her satisfied. She does not need to know the details of Kythian politics.

And no matter how skilled they are, even a Silent One could not take me.

Such things are too complicated to explain. I see little point in it, because we will soon be finished with this business, and I will be able to check on my First Division. They have a difficult task to complete, but I am not concerned about them in the slightest. They are all highly competent and resourceful soldiers, which is why I was able to leave them there in the first place.

I watch Abbey out of the corner of my vision as I navigate our cruiser past a lumbering, ancient looking Soldaran freighter, cutting in front of it. She’s watching everything with bright, curious eyes.

The Soldaran freighter is diminutive in size compared to the Veronian ship. It’s probably bringing workers landside.

I come alongside the massive Veronian freighter. I plan for us to hitch a ride on it. Traveling in on such a large craft, we are more likely to pass unnoticed. Abbey cranes her neck, looking up in wonder at the giant ship. She’s probably never seen one of the characteristic red freighters before. They transport exotic goods from Veronia to Kythia in huge volumes to satisfy the demand of the Nobles.

On Kythia, we do not create anything. All we do is consume. Kordolians exist as parasites in the universe. Only Callidum is produced, mined from great scars in the planet’s surface, and that is kept for making the tools of war.

We hold on so tightly to this barren, frozen wasteland of ours only because of its mineral wealth. Callidum is the key to conquering the universe, and the Nobles, obsessed with history and tradition, refuse to leave this place in search of gentler climates.

There are hundreds of planets Kordolians could have settled on.

As my female stares at the scene unfolding outside, I steal a moment to watch her, unnoticed.

She’s wearing the outfit I ordered for her. She doesn’t know it, but I could have chosen looser fitting garments. Even though they’re tight, the thermoprotective clothes I chose for her fit her perfectly. They hug her curves, emphasizing her rounded posterior. Seeing her walk makes me hard. The way her body moves is perfection.

A trace of pink coloring has spread across her cheeks. Humans, I’ve realized, tend to change color a lot. It’s fascinating. It happens when she’s aroused.

Why does she not just give in and let me pleasure her?

Stubborn female.

I turn away from her, concentrating on the comm. The holoscreen lights up as I make contact with the freighter. “Lyria 4,” I address the bridge, speaking in Universal. “Get Captain Resha on the comm.”

A young Veronian female appears, wearing a typical grey Empire-issued uniform. She blinks, startled by my sudden appearance. She clears her throat nervously. “Ah, eternal greetings, distinguished Sir. I do regret to inform you that your craft is straying too close to our markers. I humbly request that you maintain a safe distance.” She’s speaking in that Kaiin-cursed formal manner. On Kythia, it’s the way that servants address their Kordolian masters. It’s another bit of indulgent nonsense perpetuated by the Noble Houses. I’m thankful that she obviously doesn’t recognize me, dressed as I am in simple civilian robes. Otherwise, she’d probably be bowing. Fucking Vionn and her ridiculous formalities. How can she derive satisfaction from such behavior?

“I will speak to Captain Resha only,” I reply, not wanting to waste time. “Tell him to engage, or there will be consequences.”

She turns to seek advice from some unseen source in the background. She turns to me again, the bright lighting of the bridge adding a sheen to her brightly colored skin. Like Humans, Veronians don’t see too well in darkness. They need the light. “Certainly, Sir.”

There’s movement in the background, then a familiar face appears on screen.

“Y-you!” Resha’s expression is one of shock and dismay. The reality of who he’s speaking with hits him, and his golden eyes widen. He tries to gather his composure, doing that stupid, Imperial bow. “Gen—”

“Resha.” I cut him off before he has the chance to announce my presence to his whole fucking bridge. “Clear your navigation center, now.”

Resha issues orders to his subordinates in his soft native tongue. The other Veronians disappear in a blur of movement.

“There is no-one left?”

He nods.

“Show me the bridge.”

He enters a command and the viewpoint shifts to show me a top-down of the entire bridge. There’s not a single Veronian in sight.

“Good. You may remember me from a previous encounter, but your comrades don’t. Be aware that my presence here is off the record.”

“Uh, no problem, Sir.” The Veronian’s distinctive purple markings start to glow, betraying his anxiety. “But I’m afraid I need you to state your business, official or not. This cargo belongs to the House of Krel, and my Masters have expressly forbidden me from accepting any other goods on this shipment.” He pauses. “Or passengers.”

“Resha,” I say mildly, “who are you more worried about upsetting? The House of Krel, or me?”

His long tail flicks back and forth, a pink blur in the background. Veronians tend to do that whey they’re unsettled. They are the worst at hiding inner emotions. He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

“You will allow us passage on board Lyria 4. It’s not an argument, Captain.”

“Yes, Master.” Resha’s pointed ears droop. He’s unhappy, but he has no choice. The last time I caught Resha, he was smuggling in an illegal shipment of Sylerian. Aside from its medical uses, some Kordolian Nobles take it to get high. After a rather pointed conversation and confiscation of his cargo, I let him go.

The Veronian owes me a favor and he knows it.

“Unidentified craft,” he sighs, “the lateral bay will open to admit you. Prepare for transfer and docking.”

At least Resha has enough sense not to argue with me. I wait until the docking bay opens, guiding our craft into the giant airlock.

Abbey is looking at me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I raise an eyebrow, not liking that look. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

“As if that wasn’t just the most suspicious conversation I’ve ever witnessed.” She rolls her eyes, an action I’ve come to understand is the Human female sign of irritation. “Do you always get your way by threatening others into submission?”

“It’s effective.” I shrug. How else am I supposed to make the slippery Veronian Captain cooperate? And how is it suspicious? For all the other Veronians know, I could be from the House of Krel, coming to inspect my cargo.

I alternate the thrusters, reducing power and balancing the small craft as it descends. The landing gear engages, and the airlock depressurizes.

Veronians start to scurry across the shiny floor of the dock. The place is lit up brightly, and I squint as my eyes adjust to the conditions.

Abbey is looking out across the floor, her eyes, now a soft brown color, going wide. “Who are those little pink and purple guys?”

“Veronians.” I get to my feet, holding out a hand. “Come.”

“The guys that make those amazing, melt-in-your-mouth delicacies?” She sounds almost reverent. I have no idea what’s so fascinating. The thought of eating Veronian food makes me queasy. It’s too rich; too sweet. How does she enjoy the stuff?

Humans are strange.

She looks at my hand, shakes her head and stands on her own.

Strange, indeed.

I pick up the Szkazajik coat and offer it to her. She gives me that look again, before reluctantly taking it.

“You will need it,” I warn, although I’d much prefer her without the extra layer concealing her delicious body. “Once we reach Kythia, we’re on foot. I don’t have to remind you that your kind do not do well in the cold. Put it on now and conceal your features. I don’t want the Veronians to realize there’s a human on board.” They will assume she’s a servant of mine. Such garments are popular amongst many of the alien species that live on Kythia. Most habitable planets in the universe are warmer than Kythia, and most of the servant classes despise the cold.

A fine Szkazajik coat is considered a status symbol amongst servants. Kordolians have no use for the things.

She takes the coat with a raise of her eyebrow, wearing an expression that’s equal parts irritation and desire.

Her eyes are full of defiance and unspoken challenges. Her heady, female scent surrounds me.

Oh Goddess, how she turns me on.

* * *

As we disembark from the cruiser, one of the Veronians scampers forward to greet us. I recognize the guy from the holo-link. He’s called Resha, and he’s the Captain of this red monstrosity.

In real life, he’s taller than I expected, about the same height as me. But of course, the General towers over both of us.

Now that I’ve seen a real-live Veronian, the creations Tarak gave me suddenly make sense. How can I forget that box of mysterious, mind-blowing treats, each one a hidden world ready to explore? Not to mention the brightly colored, mystifying packaging; thousands of tiny hexagons that disappeared into each other. I get it.

A race that looks like these guys would make incredible things like that.

Resha does a weird little bow as he approaches Tarak, his ears twitching. His furry, pointed ears emerge from his head through a thicket of gleaming caramel colored hair. They remind me of a cat’s ears.

I stare at him unashamedly from underneath the cover of my furry hood, even though the damn thing blocks half my vision.

I can’t stop staring at him.

Because he’s pink.

He’s pink all over, with striped purple markings across his cheeks. His eyes are round and golden and huge, and as he takes in Tarak and his grumpy expression, they go a little wider. Me, on the other hand, he barely spares a glance, as if short people in fur coats are a common sight. Tarak’s also made me wear the scarf thing, to conceal my face. Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m a Human. On Kordolian turf. Apparently, that makes me a walking trophy in these parts, hence the disguise.

As Resha looks up at the General, the purple markings on his face start to glow.

In all my time spent in space, I have never encountered such an exotic looking creature. What kind of a place does this guy come from? In my mind, he must come from a planet made up of rainbows and stardust where they ride unicorns. I’m totally fascinated by him.

Tarak, on the other hand, is glowering at the poor guy. Resha’s tail starts moving faster, his delicate features highlighted by the glowing purple stripes across his face.

“Gen- ah, Master,” he says, his voice soft and light. “Welcome aboard Lyria 4.”

Universal is such a boring sounding language, but when Resha speaks, it somehow gains a musical quality.

Tarak’s oblivious to the cuteness. His jaw is stiff, and that little vein on the side of his head is bulging. How can he be annoyed by this pretty little creature? Poor Resha. “You have a cabin prepared for me, Resha?”

“Of course, Master. Will you and your servant be requiring separate quarters?”

Servant? Servant? I clench my teeth, resisting the urge to correct Resha. The General has obviously omitted a few rather important details here. I shoot him a venomous glare. He glances back at me, insolently giving me the slow up-and-down, checking me out even though I’m wearing this ridiculous fur coat.

Is he mentally undressing me right now? It’s not as if he can see what’s underneath all these layers. The bastard. We are going to have words.

“I don’t think separate quarters will be necessary,” he says slowly as he looks at me, his dark red eyes full of heat. Damn him! Underneath that facade of military discipline, he’s such a devious male. “It’s barely a half-phase until we reach Kythia. I assume you’ll be docking at the Trader’s Market?”

“As always, Master. Let me show you the way.”

Tarak turns and starts to walk off, snapping his fingers imperiously. “Come, servant.” And just like that, he’s expecting me to follow. Urgh. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was enjoying this. Tarak with a sense of humor? No way.

“You just wait,” I mutter darkly under my breath as we pass through the airlock and into a huge storage bay. It’s filled with containers of all shapes and sizes. In the background, robotic arms are moving up and down amongst the cargo, sorting, lifting, and scanning.

Some of the containers are open at the top, resembling oversized metal baskets. They hold fruits I’ve never seen before. There are round blue fruits and pink curved ones. There are oblong stripy ones. Those last ones give off a delicious aroma, causing my stomach to rumble. I resist the urge to pilfer one as I walk further, passing sealed barrels and pallets of brightly colored fabrics. The place smells incredible, a mix of spice and perfume and fresh organic matter.

It reminds me of Earth.

Tarak and Resha have gone ahead of me. Without realizing it, I’ve slowed down, because I can’t help but stare at all the stuff. If this is just one cargo freighter, I can’t imagine what this so-called Trader’s Market looks like.

As I pass by another crate, I see something I recognize.

My jaw drops.

Pineapples. They have freaking pineapples. Unless there’s another planet where they grow pineapples, those have come from Earth.

How did they get pineapples all this way without them ripening?

Oh, how I wish I had access to a bio-lab. I could put those things into a recombinant tissue culture and make a killing over here selling lab-grown pineapples. I snort to myself in amusement. Yeah, right. As if I’m going to hang around this frigid place forever.

I’m going to find a way to get back to Earth, one way or another.

“Are you asleep on your feet, servant?” Tarak’s deep voice echoes across the space, jolting me out of my daydreaming. “Hurry up.” He motions to me with a wave of his hand, acting every bit the impatient master.

I am not amused. The General had better watch his back. I am so going to get him for this.

What’s with the sudden attitude, anyway? Even if it’s all an act, it says a lot about Kordolians. Is this whole master-servant thing considered socially acceptable, then?

These bloody Kordolians think they’re the center of the universe, and they expect every other alien species to step into line. What a bunch of stuck-up pricks. They have no right, even if Sector One is the center of the Universe, and all flight paths lead to Kythia.

With an aggravated sigh, I follow Tarak and Resha. Several Veronian workers wearing nondescript grey uniforms pass us along the way. They dip their heads in a respectful little gesture as Tarak passes. They don’t spare me a second glance.

We go through a maze of corridors, some brightly lit, others dim and narrow. We pass offices where Veronians are hard at work under bright lights.

Eventually, we reach a plain looking door. Resha taps a panel and it slides open, revealing a room inside. “Your quarters until we land, Master. There is a separate exit to the outside. You may access it after landing and depressurization.” He gestures towards the inside, his tail waving back and forth. The markings on his face have gone back to normal. Tarak looks down at him, his expression unreadable.

Resha’s tail starts to move faster, becoming a soft pink blur.

“Resha,” Tarak says, after an uncomfortable silence. It’s uncomfortable because of the way the General is glaring threateningly at the poor Veronian. “If anyone asks, we are from the House of Krel. You won’t under any circumstances reveal that I was on this transport.”

“O-of course not, Master.”

“And Resha?”

“Y-yes Master?”

“If I hear there was illegal Sylerian on this shipment, I’ll have to come back. Do not give me a reason to come back. You would not enjoy it.”

“There is none, I promise.” Resha’s stripes light up again as he steps back without even seeming to realize it. Tarak looms over him like a darkening storm. Resha’s furry ears droop. Tarak’s in full intimidation mode, his red eyes narrowed menacingly.

What the hell was that all about? Illegal Sylerian? Isn’t that the stuff that Zyara dosed me with? That would make Captain Resha a drug smuggler. That can’t be. He’s too cute to be a criminal.

I’m about to step in and say something when Tarak diverts his attention to me.

He’s looking at me and his expression is unreadable. His hard, elegant features are like stone. Only his eyes betray him as they darken with hunger.

Oh, come on. How can he be finding me attractive when I’m wrapped up in this Skaz-thing coat?

“That will be all, Captain.” He dismisses Resha with a glare and beckons to me. He pauses, the silence growing heavy between us.

Don’t say it, General, I’ll freaking kill you.

“Come, Servant.” A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

It’s official. I’m going to kill him.

Resha’s scampering off, his tail between his legs.

Tarak’s giving me that damn look, and I’ve got no choice but to follow him into the room. As the door slides closed behind us, he catches me off-guard, pushing my hood back, pressing me against the wall.

My short brown hair escapes, falling around my face.

His rough hands caress my face, pushing down the scarf that conceals my features. He bends over, pressing his lips to my temple, burying his nose in my hair. He inhales, and a shudder courses through him.

I stiffen, pushing him back. It takes all of my willpower, because my legs have gone weak and wobbly. Pent-up desire spreads through me, causing a delicious, infuriating sensation in my core.

I’m trying to be outraged here, and he’s ruining it.

Impossible male.

I give him a dark look. “Since when am I your servant?” My voice is low and frosty. I stand with my hands pressed against his chest, holding him back. He inclines his head, and I have no idea whether he’s laughing inside or deadly serious.

Urgh. Someday, I’ll figure him out.

Just as I’m about to unleash all hell on him, he does the most unexpected thing. He drops to his knees, his hands slipping inside the folds of my coat, caressing my hips with an appreciative growl. He shakes his head. “You? No. You are not the subservient type.” His fingers are tracing little circles on my thighs, sliding over the smooth fabric of my pants, drifting closer towards my pussy. “But that is what Kythian society expects. For me to act any other way would draw suspicion. But in fact, the opposite is true.”

“What do you mean?” That feeling of need grows, and warmth spreads between my legs in response to his featherlight touch.

“I am your servant, am I not, Abbey of Earth?”

* * *

I pick up where I left off before we docked on Lyria 4. Her scent has been driving me crazy ever since. It calls to me, stirring some deep, primal instinct within. I’m guided by my desire.

She thought she could push me away, but what she doesn’t understand is that I am a very persistent male.

She looks down at me, perplexed but aroused.

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” she whispers, as I bring my fingers against the soft mound of her sex. Our skin is separated only by a thin layer of fabric. Her glistening lips part slightly, revealing perfect white teeth.

She is all female; soft, inviting and impossible to resist.

“You do not need to understand.” I stroke her gently and she leans in, unable to help herself, her hips moving forward. “Just give in.”

What I told her just now, about being her servant, is partly true. When I offered my blood for her nanograft, it could have been considered a blood-gift, a traditional Kordolian symbol of bonding between a male and his female.

It is not practised anymore. Not since the ratio of males to females became imbalanced beyond proportion. Our females see no reason to bond themselves to only one mate.

My species has no reason to exchange blood anymore.

I had offered my blood for the graft in desperation, because Mirkel, that spineless fuck, had told me medical nanites were in short supply.

Of course, it was irradiated first, to kill the virus that has infected my nanites and given it such unique properties. Her delicate physiology would not survive that horror. Even I barely survived my first graft.

But the fact remains that she has received my blood, as a gift. Under ancient Kordolian Law, that constitutes a traditional bond, and the rule of the bond is that the male protects his female, always.

Therefore, I am her servant.

And she belongs to me.

“You’re impossible,” she grumbles, her eyes flashing, caught somewhere between brown and green. Her body sways as I slide my hand under the band of her trousers, brushing against her soft skin. I trace my fingers down to the entrance of her pussy and find her wet.

“Impossible,” she says again, breathlessly.

My erection strains against my trousers as I take her in, watching her from my unique vantage point. She shrugs off the fur coat, letting it drop to the floor. Her cheeks have turned a soft pink color, and they gleam with a faint sheen of moisture.

I watch the rise and fall of her chest, appreciating the rounded swell of her breasts.

I circle the tender jewel at the entrance to her sex with one finger. That part is so sensitive, and she’s so, so responsive.

She lets out a soft, shuddering sigh. I increase the speed of my caress and she runs her fingers through my hair, finding the place where the remnants of my horns are concealed beneath my skin.

They’ve been cut and sealed, in the modern fashion. In the military, we do it for practical reasons. On Kythia, it’s considered barbaric to grow one’s horns.

The Nobles disapprove of it.

Abbey runs her fingers over the sensitive points, causing a ripple of intense pleasure. Zyara was right. They’ve been growing back. Somehow, the chemical seal has failed. Apparently, it’s an effect of this so-called Mating Fever. At this rate, they will soon break through the skin.

The horns are an extremely erogenous area. Her touch causes a low growl to escape my lips. The sensation becomes more powerful, and I’m overwhelmed with the urge to take her. I need to be inside her.

I rise to my feet, sliding two fingers between her silken folds. She whimpers at my touch.

It’s a plea for more; she’s begging for release.

The sound pleases me. Oh, I will give her release.

I push her back against the wall, just as a loud, metallic groan reverberates around us. A great tremor shakes the walls and floor of the cabin.

“What’s happening?” Her eyes meet mine and I’m drawn into their mesmerizing flecked depths. Her irises are as complex and intricate as a Veronian puzzle.

“Entering the atmosphere,” I murmur, as I thrust my fingers deeper.

She squirms in pleasure, her back pressed against the wall.

All around us, the room is shaking.

I tug her pants down, sliding them over the smooth curve of her hips. She fumbles with the clasp of my robes. I help her, tugging the garments free, undoing my trousers. My cock springs free, and she takes it into her hand. I tremble, bringing my lips to her neck, inhaling her essence. The smell of her, earthy and wild, with a hint of something sweet, stokes my lust even further.

I can’t hold on any longer.

The giant Veronian freighter creaks and groans, gaining speed as it breaches the skies of my home planet. I withdraw my hand and she moans with need.

I cup my hands around her ripe ass, lifting her. She gets the idea, curling her legs around me as I enter her with a slow, deep thrust.

It is bliss.

She wraps her arms around my neck, her body pressed against mine. I grind my hips, going deeper, pressing her against the wall as need overtakes me. My body is moving of its own accord and she moves with me, her strong legs tightening. We’re melded together, moving as one, lost to the rhythm of our fucking. She’s deliciously tight, and she lets out a low, throaty groan as I increase the speed of my thrusts.

Humans, I realize now, can be exquisitely sexual creatures.

Her fingers dig into the skin at my neck, her soft Human fingernails threatening to break my skin. It’s almost painful, and the sensation adds to my growing pleasure.

Turbulence shakes the freighter, but we’re oblivious to whatever is happening outside. I taste the skin at her neck, grazing it with my sharp canines. She’s fragrant and salty and distinctly Human; distinctly female.

A rare delicacy.

Mine.

I go harder, faster, swept up in a frenzy of lust and pleasure, enjoying her soft cries and the feel of her body against me as I reach the edge of climax.

I slow for a moment, holding us both there, watching her face.

“Please,” she begs. Such a sweet sound. Her eyes are wide, her breathing rapid, her black pupils dilated. The sight of her makes me lose control. I push myself deeper inside her.

I cry out in release as the climax comes, powerful and unstoppable. I’m holding her close to me, consumed by the sensations coursing through me.

Her whole body trembles as she finds her release. And then there’s the sound she makes, innocent and pure, a cry of unbridled pleasure.

Sweet female.

As our lovemaking settles into an afterglow, she curls her arms and legs around me, letting out a satisfied sigh.

The turbulence has passed, and once again the freighter is moving smoothly, soundlessly.

From a hidden speaker above, the generic landing announcement sounds.

“It seems we have arrived,” I murmur, before sucking on the delicate flesh of her earlobe.

“It seems we have,” she replies dryly, her voice a perfect mixture of irony and wonder, making me want to do her all over again.