I can’t believe what I’m doing.

General Dost scares the crap out of me. With his tall, imposing frame and his steely gaze he’s a force to be reckoned with.

The alien warrior even lifted me up as if I was weightless, which I most surely am not.

If he finds out I’m not half the mechanic I’m pretending to be, he could have me locked up, or worse, walk the proverbial plank. I’m not quite sure how serious a crime it would be, but I don’t ever intend to be on a Zoran’s bad side.

So why am I gripping his leg for support? Why is my stomach fluttering, and why is my heart beating so fast?

It’s got to be Stockholm Syndrome. I’m not actually falling for this alien warrior. Sure, he’s strikingly good looking. And tall. Muscled. Powerful. Completely and totally in command.

But he’s also an alien warrior. I partly blame the Zorans for the Nezdek attack, for Grace’s abduction.

Most of the blame, however, falls on my own two shoulders. If I hadn’t been so stubborn and just let her come with me to Japan, I’d never be on this cursed shuttle, having to hold onto a Zoran general for support as the ship seems to shake itself apart…

The shuttle shakes violently, and I can’t help but utter a cry. My fingers dig deeper into Dost’s leg, sliding up his thigh. He places his strong hand on mine, holding me tightly.

“We’re safe,” he says. “I’ve got you.”

His low, powerful voice fills my helmet, and I close my eyes and focus on the pleasant sound. It makes my heart thump, and the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

The rumbling stops, but my hand remains on his leg. I don’t want to pull away yet. With his hands on me, I feel safe. Protected.

When I open my eyes again, I notice the rest of the Zoran crew is smirking at me. I quickly pull my hand away as if Dost was on fire.

My core is certainly burning with desire.

I avoid Dost’s radiant eyes and look down at my space-suit. My suit is nothing like the Zoran’s — it’s white, big, bulky. Meanwhile, the suit Dost is wearing is jet-black, and hugging every muscle in his large frame perfectly.

He looks like a marble statue, a symbol of pure perfection.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Aria.

I’m here to find Grace —not to day dream about alien generals, no matter how tall and imposing they might be.

“Landing gear deployed,” the pilot says on the intercom. “Hold on, I’m taking her down.”

I take a deep breath and hold the sides of my chair tightly, my eyes closed, my knuckles turning white, preparing for the worst…

“Come on,” Dost growls. “What are you waiting for?”

I open one eye to see the doors are already open and the entire crew is outside. Only the general remains, holding his hand out for me. My eyes inadvertently travel up his huge frame, taking in every inch of him.

Hot damn.

“We’re here already?” I stammer. “I barely felt a thing!”

“Of course you didn’t. My pilot’s gifted. Come.”

I undo my straps and accept Dost’s hand. He pulls me out of my chair. His grip is firm, and sends a jolt right through me. I will my cheeks to stop glowing red, but it’s of no use.

“You first,” I say, gesturing at the exit.

The tall alien warrior leads the way, leaving me with ample opportunity to stare at his sculpted behind. I wonder if it is as firm as his grip…

What did I say about keeping it together, Aria? Damn!

Right. Work. Focus.

I step outside and my mouth falls open from the sheer grandeur of this planet.

It’s teeming with life. The only thing that can compare are old images of the Amazonian jungle, one of Earth’s natural wonders that has sadly been completely destroyed in the name of ‘progress’.

Massive trees grow up into the high heavens, overgrown with thick vines. The forest is dense and nearly impregnable.

My suit beeps as its onboard computer analyzes the surface’s atmosphere, and its readings are displayed on the inside of my helmet. Luckily, the air seems to be breathable, although it’s very thick with plant spores.

The climate is hot and humid — we’re smack dab in the middle of a tropical rainforest. And what a gorgeous place it is. How did we ever let something like this go to waste?

I switch my com channel back to the open channel.

“Are you reading this, Trent?” Dost says.

“Loud and clear,” the Zoran answers. “Form a defensive parameter, stat.”

Wait, what?