Rykal was alerted to a potential problem when Arin stiffened beside him, her expression becoming as hard as stone.

Actually, she’d been tense and somewhat preoccupied ever since they’d entered this place, and none of his under-the-table attempts to get her to relax had worked. Now she was staring at something—or someone—with cold blue eyes that could burn through Callidum.

Rykal turned, diverting his attention away from booth in the far corner, where a suspicious looking group of humans had caught his attention. A tall, solidly built figure weaved his way between the tables and chairs, heading in their direction. As the human caught sight of Arin, a humorless smile spread across his face.

The man wore standard-issue human military attire; his dark suit was adorned with various pins and medals, and his hair—golden but greying—was cropped short in the universal military style. The arrogant expression etched into his heavy-set features told Rykal this man was accustomed to wielding power.

Arin was livid. “Did you have any idea he was going to be here, mother? Is that why you invited us here?” Her voice was laced with anger and suspicion.

Arin and Alison Varga stared at each other, their jaws tightly clenched. A little chill ran through Rykal as the realization dawned on him. He was caught between two very formidable and very stubborn females. What in Kaiin’s hells was he supposed to do now?

He would have to tread carefully here. He was no diplomat, he was merely a simple soldier. He didn’t possess General Tarak’s brutal authority or even Torin Mardak’s intense intellectualism, and he had a habit of accidentally pissing people off.

Nah, Rykal was just a regular guy who had the good fortune to be mated to a brilliant woman, and now that she was his, he would do everything in his power to keep her safe and content, even if she was stunningly capable in her own right.

Alison Varga turned, her eyes narrowing. “I did not know he was going to be here. Davis never comes here.” Her voice was harder than forged Callidum. “What the hell does he want? Whatever it is, you let me deal with—”

“No.” Arin stood, quickly squeezing Rykal’s hand. “It’s okay. I’ll go. This won’t take long.”

Stay here, she mouthed, shooting him a stern warning glare. Let me handle this.

What, like she didn’t trust him not to tear the place apart over some insignificant human? Who was this unnamed male, and what had he done to make his Arin react in such a way?

The background music slowed, its steady beat dissolving into a free-flowing, hypnotic rhythm. As Arin walked away, Rykal stared at her from behind, admiring her lithe, sinuous grace.

He would never, ever grow tired of watching her move.

“Who is he?” Rykal glanced at General Varga, who was frowning. His question came out sounding a little too sharp, but he couldn’t help it. This particular person was upsetting his mate just by being here. The very notion sent a spark of wicked anger through him. It came from that deep, irrational place that only a true Kordolian would understand. Oh, he would play nice with these little humans for now, but he was what he was, and that would never change.

Still, Arin had asked him to show restraint. He could do that for now, but if things got out of hand…

He would do everything in his power to protect his mate.

“That man’s name is Admiral Brantward Davis, and he used to be Arin’s commanding officer. Has she told you about him?”

“Davis…” Rykal’s eyes narrowed as he put two and two together. There had been talk of a commander who had tried to force himself on Arin. Was he the one? If so…

I’ll fucking kill him. It was all Rykal could do not to unsheathe his claws there and then.

“I know what you’re thinking, Sarakunin. I’ll remind you that you’re on Earth now, and therefore you are subject to our laws.”

“I won’t kill the man, if that’s what you’re worried about. Promise.” Rykal smiled, baring his fangs. I’ll just castrate him instead.

“It isn’t that. I just don’t want you to get into any trouble. I’m sure Arin wouldn’t want that, either. You hurt Davis, and your boss will suddenly have a high-level diplomatic incident on his hands. I don’t want to have to deliver that news to Tarak al Akkadian.”

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.” Rykal was pretty sure that if anything were to go down, Tarak would back him to the hilt, but he nodded in agreement. After all, he wanted to make a good impression on his future mother-in-law, and he didn’t want to embarrass Arin.

So he waited, quietly observing as the scene played out before him. As always, he was supremely alert, balancing on a blade’s edge between watchfulness and violence, because for a First Division warrior like Rykal, that was life.

In the far corner, the two dark-suited men Rykal had been monitoring both stood up at once. They filed out of their booth, disappearing through a discreet doorway.

Right from the start, Rykal had recognized them for what they were. Not soldiers. Not civilians.

Men with the eyes of killers.

He cocked his head, extending his senses. It was difficult, but if he concentrated hard enough, he could tease out individual voices and distinct sounds—footsteps, glasses clinking, humans breathing, hearts beating—amidst the lush sonic tapestry of music.

Arin was to his right, and the suspicious humans had disappeared somewhere to his left.

Across from him, General Alison Varga reached forward and took a deep drag on her smokestick—that juvi-whatever thing—and followed the direction of Rykal’s gaze. Tension was etched into her handsome features. Despite her hands-off approach, she looked worried.

Rykal’s attention snapped back towards his mate.

“Hello, Arin,” Admiral Davis said, leaning in far too close for Rykal’s liking. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”