They reached the brightly lit Onyx Corporation offices just after sunset and descended through the clear glass shaft into Pyro’s old office.

Mal Onyx, gruff CEO of the Onyx Corporation, greeted Chrysoberyl with his usual tact.

“About time. We’ve held up the next product launch for days awaiting for your arrival. This way.”

He pushed into the main office floor. Since it was long after the end of business hours, the warren of cubicles was empty.

Chrysoberyl caught up to the brusque CEO in the conference room doorway. “Mal—Malachite Onyx! I refuse to work in this office.”

“What?”

“I refuse.” Chrysoberyl drew himself up. “One of my pure blood should not be subjected to low caste, fallen, or native trash.”

Mal stared at the male with the same tolerance and patience he’d give to anyone who interrupted his thoughts for a pointless reason. “This is your new workplace. If you don’t like it, go back to Draconis.”

Chrysoberyl’s mouth dropped open. “But my family’s company—”

“Read the annual reports.” Mal spun on his heel and entered the conference room.

Kyan remained in the hallway at an angle to see the office floor and also keep an eye on Mal in the conference room. Syenite stood nearby, apparently attempting to do the same.

Chrysoberyl stood in the middle of the doorway formulating new objections.

Raising his voice on the empty seats, Mal shouted. “Jasper? Where is everyone?”

Behind Kyan, the fifth Onyx sibling — Operations Manager Jasper — emerged from his office with steady patience. “The working day is over.”

“The working day is never over!”

“Perhaps the new vice president wants to get settled before his first meeting.”

“Settled?” Mal snorted at the foreign concept. “He has the rest of his life to get settled. We need to decide our next product launch now.”

Jasper ran a hand through his dark brown hair and summoned a tired smile. “I will assemble the officers.”

A few minutes later, the rest of the Onyx siblings squeezed around Chrysoberyl and filed into the conference room. Their closest human contractor, Darcy, approached the snooty aristocrat and stuck out his hand.

Chrysoberyl backed up a step. “What—“

“You must be the new vice president.” Tall and classy, Darcy grabbed the aristocrat’s lax hand, shook it, and unleashed his signature huge, white-teeth grin. “Mind if I call you Chrys?”

“Yes, I do mind,” the aristocrat said, staring at the handshake. “Which officer are you?”

“Oh, I’m more of a local consultant.” Darcy withdrew and joined the other dragons at the well-loved espresso machine. Over his shoulder, he casually added, “Of the human variety.”

Chrysoberyl stared down at his hand in horror. He had touched a native human with his bare skin. “You are a primitive non-shifter?”

Just then, Amber Onyx quietly selected her seat. Setting down her neat financial ledgers, she radiated meekness in auburn tights, demure maroon Mary Janes, an auburn cardigan, and a maroon skirt.

Chrysoberyl jolted away from her. “Another human!”

She glared. Fire crackled in her amber eyes. “Who are you calling a human?”

He swallowed and backed into the wall with a thump.

The other dragons also moved back. Anyone would hesitate to insult a female dragon. Regardless of class, Amber could barbecue a disrespectful male without a second thought.

Darcy set her favorite coffee in front of her and took the seat next to her with his characteristic fearlessness. “Human or dragon, you look lovely this evening.”

She tacitly ignored him.

The other siblings assumed their usual places. Kyan moved to his seat at the back of the room. Chrysoberyl’s seat next to Mal remained vacant.

Syenite hesitated inside the doorway.

Did his duties extend within the Onyx Corporation?

Mal stood at the head of the conference table, uncaring about Syenite’s foreign presence or that Chrysoberyl was still standing with his back to the wall. “Let’s begin.”

The last Onyx Corporation officer, Mal’s wife Cheryl, tried to sneak into the room. A large, shy woman, her dark jeans and hoodie brushed Syenite’s bulky jacket.

He backed away.

She muttered an apology, jolted in recognition, and flushed.

Syenite had once kidnapped Cheryl from beneath Kyan’s protection. The burn marks on Sard’s desk were from her rescue.

Before identifying Pyro’s kidnapper, Kyan had returned the favor by taking Sard from beneath Syenite’s protection. Just in case.

Syenite hadn’t forgiven him.

Kyan wasn’t ready to do so either.

Their distrust had been awkward at Carnelian Clothiers. Within the Onyx Corporation home office, it was unbearable.

Cheryl stumbled past Chrysoberyl and threw herself in her usual seat between Mal and Pyro. Mal rubbed her shoulder possessively. Pyro smiled with brotherly kindness. She let her curtain of dark hair hide her face from the others and then, as though forcing herself, she tucked it behind her ears.

“Cheryl, meet our new vice president,” Mal barked.

She forced her gaze to Chrysoberyl, flushing an even darker shade. “Hello.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Don’t worry.” Darcy grinned from the other side of Amber. “She’s human.”

It was the last dig.

The aristocrat erupted. “Who is this human?

Cheryl hunched in on herself, hugging her elbows and leaning away from him.

“Our Art Director.” Mal rested both hands possessively on her shoulders, his growl matched by elongated incisors and a deadly flash of green in his no-longer-so-human eyes. “And my pregnant wife.”

She relaxed and leaned against Mal’s forearm.

Chrysoberyl’s expression flattened. Even he saw the error of antagonizing the Onyx CEO in a small conference room surrounded by Mal’s siblings.

But he masked it with nervous imperiousness. “How dare you expect me to work under these conditions?”

Mal roared. “If you can’t work here, then go join my mother on Draconis! As our company owner, she will cherish a male for entertainment.”

Chrysoberyl closed his mouth and folded himself into the last empty seat. “I will attempt to endure.”

“Good.” Mal shook himself. Green scales retreated under the skin again. “Now, as our new vice president, I assume you studied every product both companies have launched and familiarized yourself with human attire in all cultures in all countries through all time. Now, propose five new products for our next launch.”

Chrysoberyl blinked.

Mal growled. “Well?”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Mal. He has only just arrived.”

“So? Sard Carnelian would have ideas. Is his brother deficient?”

“I am not deficient.” Chrysoberyl huffed. “I am overwhelmed by the crudeness of being surrounded by impure blood.”

“No excuses,” Mal snapped.

Chrysoberyl straightened indignantly. “Sard never worked in this office.” He searched for a target and gestured at Kyan. “What role can he possibly have?”

Mal growled. “He is an officer.”

“Of what?”

“Security.”

“Security!” Chrysoberyl recoiled. “He cannot protect himself from damage. How can he protect me?”

The old anger burned in Kyan. He doused the outward signs. It bubbled, an ice-hot acid in his belly, menthol with fury.

Chrysoberyl’s was a familiar complaint. First, in the Colony Wars, and then in private companies. Do not force me to be on his team. Do you expect him to distract the enemy to death? His officers had finally recognized that he worked most efficiently alone.

Since coming to Earth, he’d forgotten — sometimes for days — about his deformities. His siblings had grown used to his looks and he largely avoided humans except in rare instances where their assistance was required.

“How can anyone concentrate with a ruined face like that darkening this conference?” Chrysoberyl continued. “His presence turns my stomach.”

Kyan would ask Mal to excuse him. Visitors from their new subsidiary would be too distracted. He was better off—

Mal slammed his fist on the conference table, spilling everyone’s coffee. “Silence!”

Chrysoberyl jolted in his seat, his tirade cut off mid-sentence. “But—”

“I will not tolerate these insults in my own corporation!”

“Well.” Chrysoberyl cleared his throat. “That is why I must be the CEO of Carnelian Clothiers.”

“You think you deserve to be the CEO of your brother’s old company when you can’t come up with one product launch idea for ours?”

“I am an aristocrat—”

“You couldn’t lead your way out of a paper bag.”

Chrysoberyl’s mouth flopped. “How dare you?”

“I dare—”

Down the table, Amber raised one finger.

Mal stopped short. “Amber.”

“The inability to recognize the value of assets is a critical failing.” Amber’s eyes crackled with suppressed flames. “If you were CEO, my financial forecast predicts you would declare bankruptcy in less than a year.”

“Bankruptcy? Ri-ridiculous.”

“Want to fight me for the CEO’s seat?” Radioactive red scales flexed across Pyro’s clenched hands. “When my injuries are healed, I welcome your challenge.”

He swallowed.

“I do not recommend accepting that challenge.” Jasper regarded the pale aristocrat with unusual dislike. “Kyan will be the only one standing between you and the grave.”

“He will not dare to attack an aristocrat.”

Pyro grinned. “Nothing I love more.”

“I will ruin you.”

“Right now, you only seem intent on ruining your brother’s good name.” Their sixth brother, exotic two-tone Alexandrite “Alex” Onyx, leveled his impeccable blond head at the aristocrat in disdain. “Sard Carnelian was a ruthless adversary and a brilliant strategist. In you, I see neither quality.”

Kyan’s throat closed.

His siblings rallied around him with more empathy and kindness than he deserved. He would give his life in an instant to protect them. Failures, such as the incidents with Cheryl or Pyro, crushed his shoulders.

As low caste dragons, they’d each grown up tortured. His was the only type that had left visible scars.

Mal removed his fist from the now-cracked conference table. “Since you have nothing useful to contribute, we will adjourn the meeting. I expect a better result tomorrow from a dragon who carries the Carnelian name.”

Chrysoberyl curled his lip, exposing his teeth in a silent snarl.

Mal took his wife’s hand, lifted the frozen introvert gently from her chair, and exited. The other Onyx siblings streamed past Chrysoberyl with silent distaste.

He had not endeared the aristocracy to the low caste Onyx family today.

Chrysoberyl followed Syenite from the room, seething. Would he burst free of his clothes, explode in dragon, and start a fight? It would be unwise. But Kyan had seen lesser dragons behave stupidly. He remained on his guard.

As they neared Pyro’s old office, Chrysoberyl regained his composure and complained, loudly, about the deficiencies of his new workplace — and his new security officer.

“—and he obviously will not ‘stand between me and the grave’ or else Pyro wouldn’t have been injured. I am a higher target. If I am injured, there are no proper medical facilities for one of my blood.”

Jasper overheard and couldn’t help but correct him. “Our ship has a facility.”

“Poisoned with low caste blood.” He sniffed. “I wouldn’t itch my scales with your machinery, to say nothing of trusting it with my life. No, I mustn’t be threatened. I deserve the best possible security.”

Mal turned on him abruptly. “Have your proposals on my desk by midnight tonight.”

Chrysoberyl jerked up short. “Impossible.”

Mal’s green eyes flared. “We do so all the time.”

“But … you …”

“Are quicker, harder working, and smarter than any aristocrat?” Mal turned on his heels and strode away. “Midnight!”

Chrysoberyl stormed into the vice president suite. “Low caste dragons have no sense of the treatment I deserve.” He demanded to Syenite, “Bring me this human ‘coffee.’”

After a moment’s hesitation, the Carnelian security head operated the espresso machine in the corner of the office.

Chrysoberyl settled himself at his new desk with a disgruntled sigh. His luggage had already been delivered; an impressive stack of cases sealed with the Carnelian family crest.

Atop the chest-high stack sat a human-style gift bag.

Odd.

Kyan’s security hackles rose.

Odd things needed to be investigated.

He strode for the human gift bag, remotely calling through his earbuds for an analysis. The answer from his security team came back immediately, and it was not reassuring.

Something in the room buzzed with a signal.

Syenite delivered the requested coffee.

Chrysoberyl curled his human hand around the mug and glared pensively at Kyan. “How dare you approach my belongings?”

Kyan ignored him and searched the bag.

It was filled with brimstone candy and small tubes of colored, powdered ore. Celebratory items for the takeover they had averted. He dug underneath. A smooth, round ball stood out.

Anything that stood out was bad.

He pulled it from the bag.

It was a shrapnel detonator.

His heart slammed to black and his vision tunneled.

In his hand, the sphere looked too small to be evil. This type he hadn’t seen since the Colony Wars. A portable, easily improvised, shrapnel-throwing bomb. Clean metal lines rimmed in yellow. Usually they were blue, but the wrong color could be explained by scrounged materials.

He set it atop the cases. Burying it meant not only its own shrapnel load was a danger, but also any fragments of what broke off when it exploded. Shooting caused it to detonate.

The only choice was to shelter or escape.

The bomb blinked steadily.

Kyan jumped back. “Get out.”

Chrysoberyl frowned. “What?”

The blinking speed increased. It rose into the air, twisting and whining.

Kyan turned and raced for the vulnerable aristocrat, his arms spreading his trench coat to try to shelter Chrysoberyl from the deadly spray.

Syenite lifted his gun and fired.

Idiot! What security officer had such little sense?

He started to scream.

But it was too late.

The bomb ignited. Shrapnel exploded outward with deadly force.