“This conduct is unacceptable for an aja’eko,” he said, disturbed when she barely batted a lash. As if his displeasure was of no import.

They were in a two-person transport on the way to YETI, though the appearance of intimacy between them by not riding with the others as a group could be misconstrued as favoritism. Or something else. Because it was favoritism, of a sort, he would say nothing when they returned and the other warriors gave him knowing looks. An instructor was never alone with a student outside of the Academy for any reason—unless that instructor was male, and courting.

“I must not have read the Code of Conduct closely enough when I joined,” she said, voice languid.

There was no code of conduct—and he would see that remedied immediately. And he’d have to put some effort into teaching her to respect him. Effort that would have to be conducted in private. Ithann bared his teeth in a smile. He contained his fury, as always, because there was no other choice. A warrior, a Bdahn or prince as the humans would say, didn’t give in to petty emotion like anger, except on the battlefield. But she needed discipline—the kind females with a dangerous combination of intelligence and parental indulgence needed. Across a warrior’s knee, or on her knees, round ass presented for his taking. Pussy glistening, begging for him to feast.

“You could’ve killed yourself,” he said. She thought more of her skills than she should, and would get herself seriously hurt. All students with more than a modicum of potential always thought more of themselves—Gayle was no exception. At this stage, a student’s ego and overblown perception of their own abilities must be carefully managed.

She snorted. “Nah. Street brawl. Maybe a few centuries ago when hand guns were common, but even with blades, they wouldn’t have known how to counter us fast enough to be a real threat.”

Ithann flexed his hand. His fingers ached to wrap around something—mostly her neck as he sank his cock inside her pussy, making her scream. If she truly knew the darkness of his thoughts—she would scream. But in this upright conveyance, there was no space for him to maneuver her to the ground. Unless the maneuver was for her to kneel, wrapping her lush lips around his cock. “You’re dangerous. You think more of yourself than you should.”

“Yes?” Her voice cooled, considerably. “Or maybe I think more of your training than I should.”

He restrained his retort. His aja’eki were a reflection on him, the quality of his training and the strength of his imposed discipline. A reflection on the name of his family. His parents, to whom he owed obedience though he was years past his majority, still ruled their house, unchallenged, with dignity and tradition. They’d allowed their youngest son to accept a commission to come to Earth because they saw it as a civic duty—and a demonstration that the Ngandan did not think themselves above… menial labor.

And, in truth, Ithann thought the mission a noble one. Their people needed an influx of fresh, capable labor and women for the sons of the lower-ranked houses to mate and produce heirs with. Humans had proven their genes to be capable of breeding strong warriors—different, but still strong. No one, yet, had been embarrassed by a child born of a human mother.

It wasn’t for him, of course. Or his parents assumed it wasn’t for him. But the more time he spent around the Earth females, the more he realized that though different, they were no less worthy to bear strong warriors for even the higher-ranked Yadeshi heirs.

Despite the potentially lethal combination of frustrating beauty, twisty intelligence, and a lifetime of every whim being indulged. Insolent eyes that tried to hide her lust even as she challenged him to do something about it. Ithann smiled again. He would accept her challenge, but on his own terms and when she least expected it.

“How did you guys know where we were, anyway?” she asked him.

Ithann didn’t lower himself to reply. Gayle was an ideal candidate. Tall, physically strong. Trained by her people in social graces, which would please his mother. He could lay before his parents her lineage as being a noble one, as humans considered such things. She would wear the robes of his house with elegance and grace. Energetic, which he acknowledged was a foil for his own dourness. His mother had always said he was bland—and moody—even as a child. He needed a bright bride or else his wing of the family stronghold would be a silent, subdued one. And he wanted the noise, the influx of light a high energy female and little ones would bring.

But really—he didn’t give a fuck about any of the rationalization. He’d chosen her. Whether she was suitable or not, a good choice or not, she was his. He’d play games with Gayle and his parents to hide his less-than-civilized nature, but not for long. Soon he’d just take what he’d marked and damned if she wouldn’t like it.

He’d make sure she liked it, begged for it. Would kill for it, the way he would kill any male who laid a finger on her. That human was lucky he was too pathetic to warrant Ithann’s personal attention.

“Ithann? What’s wrong? You look like you’re about to sink fangs into a raw steak or something.”

Did he? He shrugged, saying nothing. She’d object at being referred to as a steak, even if lovingly seasoned, seared to juicy perfection. Mouthwatering on the outside, wet and dripping on the inside. Ready to be eaten whole.

Ithann remained silent as they entered the Academy, not trusting himself. Increasingly, his urges floated to the surface, threatening his control. Control he was sick of. He waited until they’d walked silently through the clean halls to a small training room. He darkened the wide wraparound observation windows for privacy, and turned on her.

“I did not give you leave to seek reprisal against the human.”

She arched a brow. “So, you think being my boyfriend gives you the right to tell me what to do?”

He felt his jaw tighten. He hated that term. He was neither a boy, nor her friend. Not yet a lover—more damn control rearing its head. Until he’d formally received permission from his parents to attempt to bind her, he wasn’t supposed to touch her and even then, there were ceremonies, introduction, rites… his head began to pound thinking about it. That was his mother’s business, arranging all the particulars. He just wanted to get the formalities out of the way, mate his woman, and get her on the fertility treatments as soon as possible to start producing heirs. His older brothers already had a handful between them.

“I am not your boyfriend.”

“Really?” Her voice was a deep purr. “And what are you then? When we kiss, when you touch me in naughty places, what does that make you?”

She pressed her body against his, lithe, nearly as tall as a Yadeshi female, dark eyes snapping with mirth and sexual heat. Her slender fingers took his hand and placed it over her breast.

He would not. She couldn’t control him simply by offering her body as a feast. By submitting herself, a female with a warrior’s spirit, to him alone. The headiness would stoke any male’s ego, knowing he was the chosen one. But his hand betrayed him, cupping her breast as his other arm slid around her waist, pulling her against him.

Damnit, his sanity was beginning to unravel. He’d held out for weeks, but she wore against his defenses. And he struggled daily to remind himself why he continued to wait, when he’d already determined she would be his. His intentions were honorable, even if what he wanted to lavish on her body wasn’t. Her contract stated she must make herself available for any acceptable male who wanted her as a mate. He’d maneuvered her into thinking she pursued him, when really, he was ensuring her sole attention was on him until the time he could make it known, officially, to whom she belonged.

Ithann ripped the covering off her head, frustrated when her brilliant peacock-blue braids remained bound at her nape. He wanted, needed something to tug. To pull. To plunge into.

“That’s right,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky croon. “Lose control. You want to punish me, don’t you? Why hold back, Ithann? Why not just punish me like a naughty girl?”

He’d never had a female speak to him so. She would be no tame consort. Even warrior females in the caste of higher-echelon families were more… demure… in their expressions of lust. They knew better than to incite, rile a warrior until he really was out of his mind, intent only on one thing. Conquering.

Ithann stepped back. “You don’t know what you’re doing, female.”

But her limpid eyes just sparkled, a small smile on her lush lips. “I don’t, do I? You’ll speed this process up, eventually, Ithy, baby.” She strolled past him to the door. “You wouldn’t want me to lose interest, now would you? Especially since my father is trying to marry me off to some petty bureaucrat.”

And with that parting salvo, she stepped from the room.

Ithann remained still for ten minutes. And told himself, over and over, that he couldn’t kill her father.

* * *

The afternoon’s entertainment didn’t make the evening news—too damn bad—but Gayle didn’t underestimate her father. Preferring to get any possible shitstorms out of the way as soon as possible, she strolled through the kitchen door at the dinner hour. The chef glanced her way, an exasperated rebuke on his lips when Gayle snatched a few tidbits from the hors d’oeuvre tray. Hmm. The Parents must be entertaining this evening. She paused, examined the laid-out first and second course more carefully. By analyzing the intricacy of preparation and expense of either local, or foreign luxury ingredients, Gayle could pinpoint within a few million net worth exactly what level of society the parents were hosting. Whether political, esteemed artist or scientists, politician, or the occasional top university professor—just so mother could demonstrate she wasn’t, in fact, a snob. But could rub elbows with the Middle Tier class as well.

Gayle snorted, briefly considered entering the dining room in her current workout getup, then detoured to her room at the last minute. Only children thought offending one’s palate with a day’s worth of gym room stink was an appropriate form of rebellion.

Her shower was quick, and she threw on a nondescript pair of sleek trousers and a drape-neck blouse. Added a rope of colored stones around her neck and let her braids remain loose.

When she entered the dining room, she nearly betrayed herself by stopping in her tracks. Gayle managed, just in time, to smooth the hitch in her stride. Her parents chatted near the real, working fireplace—the fire was merely digital during this time of the year, though—wine in their hands, with a man. A man of appropriate marriageable age for their eldest daughter. She racked her memory to place the vaguely familiar face. Handsome, mostly from generations of careful marriage practices, good diet, and plenty of personal training. In a non-descript way, though. There was nothing particularly unique about the physique that turned towards her, or the pleasant practiced expression on the square-jawed face. Ithann had far more personality, even though he tried to hide it under being an ass. But at least that was still interesting.

“Ma, Pa,” Gayle greeted when she approached, choosing the diminutives she knew they disliked.

“Abigail,” her father greeted, as her mother leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “Have you met Arthur Bennington? Howard and Cecile’s middle son.”

Howard and Cecile Bennington. Green-energy lobbyists and self-made billionaires, the stench of their blue-collar roots washed away from now three generations of political and financial savvy. Almost no one remembered their great-grandparents—on Howard’s side—had been human rights protestors.

Gayle accepted a glass of wine, raising it to hide her smile. How gauche, her father would think. Protesting should be done civilly, behind closed doors and with plenty of wine and bank transfers flowing.

“We haven’t met,” Gayle said, holding out her free hand. “You were at the university, I believe?”

“Some years ago,” he replied, clasping her hand. At least the handshake was normal, and his palm wasn’t sweaty. “I’ve been working in venture capital since graduation.”

“He’s funded quite a respectable business for himself,” Father said.

“So enterprising,” Miranda interjected. “Without Howard and Cecile’s help. Such an example of pulling yourself up by the bootstraps.”

“Premium leather designer bootstraps with silver buckles?” Gayle asked.

Mother glanced at her, eyes flashing, then smiled. “Dear, your humor is so refreshing. Abigail is engaged in her own civic duty project, you know.”

“Oh?” Arthur managed to sound interested.

“She procured a slot in the YETI program—refusing the stipend, of course, to go to some needy young woman. I think it’s so important to show how the High Tier doesn’t think itself above hard work and shared experiences with the less fortunate.”

Gayle coughed on her sip of wine. “I really just wanted to learn how to beat the… sin out of an assailant.”

“Admirable,” Arthur said. “So many in our class lack a sense of realism—self-defense brings you face to face with the dark realities of everyday life for the lower Tiers. Commendable. And the contacts you can make among the Yadeshi.”

She gritted her teeth in a smile. “The only contacts the Yadeshi are interested in are the kind that produce warrior mates and skilled labor for their ships.”

Arthur’s brow rose. “But you had to have some discussion with a higher-ranked Yadeshi to modify the terms of the contract.”

“There were no modifications.”

He turned towards her father after a moment. Gayle looked between the two men.

“Dad, what did you tell him?”

“Let’s ring for the first course, why don’t we? Some discussions are better over a meal.”