Black tie meant Gayle showed up in blue. A brilliant, peacock sapphire blue gown that left her shoulders bare and nipped in at her waist, spilling to the ground in waves of sheer fabric. Her mother went along with the idea, of course, because it would help Gayle stand out.

“A blue gown to a black-tie affair is the kind of appropriate feminine rebellion one would expect from a high-spirited daughter of breeding,” her mother said. “Your video will be in all the fashion and High society blogs. And monochromatic is so dramatic.”

Gayle just rolled her eyes. Her intent wasn’t to stand out to snare a rich husband or a novelty modeling contract, it was to throw her father off the scent. He wouldn’t expect her to bring attention to herself on the evening she was planning another jailbreak.

Gayle entered the ballroom, the subtle tinkle of the tiny precious stone beads woven into her hair musical against the swishes of her gown. She’d dusted a shimmery silver powder over her high cheekbones and décolletage—the contrast against her darker skin was startling—she’d had the stylist design her eye shadow in a swirl of colors reminiscent to Ithann’s tattoos, also embedding sparkling jewels on the outer edge of her lids to match her hair. The rest of her, neck, fingers, wrists, was bare of jewelry—all the attention would be on her face. Well, after the men stopped staring at her cleavage. She supposed they just couldn’t help themselves.

She made her way through the throng. The ballroom was the size of a small gymnasium and could fit a hundred members of High society and their house servants, as was all the rage now—to be trailed about by a well-dressed attendant. The more well-dressed the attendant, the higher the prestige of the house. So, at times the paid servants were as flamboyant as the actual guests.

“Father.” She kissed his cheek when she approached, the men at his side making room for her.

“Abigail, you are as beautiful as your mother,” he said, raising her hand to his lips.

“Should have had a dozen of them, Bakari,” a silver-haired man next to her father said. “One for each of us.”

They all laughed, though Gayle just smiled. It was meant as a compliment, but it was just another example of the entrenched, inherent sexism in her father’s social circle. As if her mother should have popped out a dozen female babies just to provide arm candy for the rich men of the city.

“I think she has other plans,” her father replied with an indulgent smile. “We’re trying to see if we can persuade her to accept one of the younger men as a suitor, but she’s bent on completing her training at YETI.”

The man raised a brow, surprised. “I’d heard about that—soldiering, hmm? Well, you always were the progressive one.”

“Funny we still even have the term progressive in this century,” Gayle said. “You’d think we’d be past all that nonsense, but I’ve learned only recently that we aren’t.”

The old fox smiled. “We need our women to civilize us, that’s why we keep you close. Besides, who would run things while we play?”

Another round of laughter. Gayle excused herself, conveying the pretext of seeing friends, needing to get away before she snapped. Then she remembered she’d get to have the last laugh tonight, and relaxed.

Her preliminary paperwork had come through. Mila was waiting at a strategic pickup point, and Gayle had already transferred as much money as she could to a secret offshore account, which she would cash out as soon as she could travel. Because the Academy was technically foreign soil—intergalactic soil, to be specific—she could lie low there until her father’s guard relaxed. It would be a few weeks, but by then she’d be able to sneak off planet on a transport.

There was dancing before dinner, a mutation in custom having occurred years ago, when sensible people realized they’d rather feast after working up an appetite. After dinner, there would be an after-party, dancing that was less formal with lights dimmed and alcohol flowing.

Gayle couldn’t completely keep from joining the dancing since she was the daughter of the hosts, but she managed to avoid the more odious potential partners. Not that she disliked dancing—she loved to dance. But she’d rather dance by herself than with a partner she didn’t like.

The music began again and she was about to make a dash for something to drink when a ripple of sound in the crowd alerted Gayle a moment before a presence at her back shivered over her skin. She turned, gown swishing around her legs, and stilled. A god stood before her.

Gayle mentally slapped herself. No, not a god, though if the Yadeshi had ever visited Earth in ancient times, they would have been mistaken as gods.

Tall, he’d let his hair flow loose in a silky cape of glossy black, a subtle undertone of deepest amethyst gleaming in the light.

“Ithann,” she said, her voice quiet.

He stared down at her, eyes impassive. Not for the first time she observed the shape of his lids was somewhat different than the other Yadeshi, and the bones of his face were broader, cheeks high and flat. She supposed that like humans they would have variations amongst themselves. No species lived for millennia without variation.

“Your father invited me,” he said. “Are you displeased?”

She wasn’t sure. He seemed… odd. The clothing he wore was obviously the fancy dress of his homeland. Normally, she would have had him turn, would have observed it with interest. Tailored soft pants and an ankle-length fitted tunic with slits up the side. Sleeveless to display the tattoos on his arms. The cloth changed colors, even though he didn’t move and the light didn’t change. Gold winked at his earlobes, and each of his long fingers sported a jeweled ring.

“You look like a prince of the Djinn,” she said.

His head titled. “I don’t know that word.”

“Mystical creatures—demons, I think. Come to think of it, they were often portrayed as blue, as well. I wonder if that’s the fault of your kinsmen, hmm?”

He took her hand, lifted it to his mouth in a gesture that echoed her father—but was not fatherly at all. His eyes remained trained on hers, and he allowed her to see him. See into his soul for a second, and that second took her breath. Everything missing in his voice, absent from his perfect statue face, was in his eyes. The promise and the passion. Anger held at bay and a predator leashed, poised to strike.

After she could breathe again, she asked, “Are you here to take me away?”

His lips curved. “Tell me you weren’t already planning to flee tonight.”

She couldn’t keep a straight face, and grinned. “I’m not telling you nothin,’ pal. You need plausible deniability.”

“What I need is my female naked in my arms.” His voice lowered. “Riding my cock, wet with cum.”

“Ithann.” Her heart jumped in her chest. “Of all the times to tease me…”

“You made it,” Bakari said in his smooth, hearty, political voice.

Ithann glanced over her shoulder and smiled. Gayle blinked, staring at him. Her alien lover-prince was suddenly a golden boy. He clasped her father on the shoulder.

“It was a pleasure to receive an invitation,” Ithann said, voice just as hearty, teeth white and... big. “Your ballroom is stunning.”

“All recycled materials,” her father said. “The craftsmen were all local as well. Made it in the tabzines—my wife was pleased. You know how women are.”

“I was about to ask Abigail to dance with me—with your permission, of course.”

“Certainly, my man! We’re not that formal around here. You two kids have fun.”

Gayle grabbed Ithann’s hand and pulled him on the dance floor.

“Kids? Really? It’s bad enough I’m considered a child, but… how old are you anyway? You never told me.”

He laughed, and pulled her close to his body. “Older than both your parents combined, enja.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s… a little disturbing.”

“I’m considered youthful among my kind.” His head lowered, lips brushing her ear. “And fairly energetic.”

What had gotten into her staid, dour alien? “I thought Yadeshi were immune to human alcohol.”

“You are correct.”

The beat of the music changed, slowing, lights dimming. The company her parents had hired was top notch, of course.

“Your behavior is a bit more relaxed than I’m used to.”

“We’re permitted to court on the compound, Gayle, but it would be inappropriate to fuck while training.” His voice sounded oh so reasonable. If her skin was lighter, he might have seen the blush on her cheeks. “You think I don’t understand your teasing, female? I’m simply waiting for the right time to pay you back, triple fold.”

His hands roved up and down her back, finally settling low enough on her buttocks that it might as well be a shout that they were together. He pulled her even closer, the polite social distance long since discarded. Anyone watching wouldn’t mistake them for casual friends, or colleagues.

“What does enja mean?”

His eyes held hers, a smirk on his lips. “Mine.”

Her breath stalled. “Are you staking a claim, Ithann?”

“Haven’t you already staked yours?”

She had. Yes, she had. And without even telling him. Her full plan was to drag him along with her when she absconded off planet with Mila and Jaron.

“You and my father seem to be on good terms.” The thought sat in her stomach sourly. Ithann was supposed to be on her side.

“Ah—but he thinks I am the well-bred Bdahn of a noble house.”

“Aren’t you?”

“The prince of a noble house? Yes. But no one ever said any of us were your human definition of well-bred.”

She was a bit nonplussed. “But you talk so much about proper behavior and decorum and… all that.”

“It’s a tool, Gayle,” he replied, voice patient. “A dance. Only humans ever mistake a Yadeshi warrior for anything but what he—or she—is.”

“And what is that?”

He swept her out of the ballroom and onto a balcony, backing her against the high railing.

“Dangerous and not to be toyed with. And, particularly,” his lips hovered over hers, “not to be denied his or her mate. I rage, Gayle. Unfortunately, I’ll have to take it out on you.”

It was the second time he’d initiated a kiss, but this time all his anger, banked frustration, and the glimpse of the vicious predator he’d allowed her to see was behind the capture of her lips. His hands squeezed her hips, hard body flush against hers as if even his limbs wanted to devour her.

“I can’t breathe,” she said, tearing her head away. And it was true. He stole her breath. The sudden, fierce heat of him, the crack in the dour, often sarcastic veneer.

“When I have you to myself, you won’t need your breath for anything but screams.”

His mouth latched onto the side of her neck, hand pulling her head aside to give him access. A knee wedged between her thighs. She felt air on her legs as he pulled up the skirt of her gown, enough for his hand to slip underneath. The tiny scrap of satin she wore was no impediment. Fingers sank inside her, thumb flicking her clit.

Gayle moaned, thinking distantly that once again he had her somewhere semi-public, his hands in her pussy without asking first. His teeth… fangs pierced the side of her throat as she sank into the cloud of pleasure his clever fingers provided. She didn’t understand how he did this to her, made her body sing with so little provocation. How her will drained even as he drained her blood. What had he said? The Ngandan princes enjoyed the taste of human blood.

She wondered what other dark desires they enjoyed, indulged in.

Gayle shuddered, the wetness of her climax slick on her inner thighs. Ithann’s arms kept her upright. She’d always wondered what it would be like to feel that sudden hot warmth between her legs, for her clit to pulse and nearly bring her to orgasm just from the sound of a man’s voice. She had always thought it fantasy bullshit—no man could do that to a woman. But Ithann… Gayle realized the whole time she thought she’d been leading him a dance, he’d been leading her. Patient, waiting for the right time… and the right time wasn’t quite yet.

This kiss was just a taste.

“After dinner,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ll play the blue princeling to please your father and then we will speak.”

“Ithann—I can’t stay here anymore.”

Passion was shunted aside. His eyes were cool again, face stone. “We need to have a talk. Be patient, be an obedient daughter.”

Her lip curled. “I’m an adult—not an obedient daughter. He has no right to keep me prisoner, even if it’s under some obscure legal code.”

Impatience flashed across his face. “Things need to be done the proper way, Gayle. Don’t dishonor your father—even if misguided his intentions are those of a warrior guarding his daughter.”

Her jaw stiffened. So, no help coming from that quarter. An acrid tinge of betrayal welled in her throat. She pulled away, pushing past him when he caught her arm, halting her. Gayle swung back around, hand clenched.

“Get your hand off me.”

“Gayle, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Like trusting you?”

He stared at her a long moment, then released her. Gayle went back into the ballroom, refusing to take the words back. Refusing to allow the prickle of angry tears in her eyes to fall.