“This was supposed to be an easy mission!” Kash muttered to himself as he drummed his fingers on the edge of the control console. All he had to do was maintain orbit, keep the Firebrand off the humans’ primitive tracking systems, and wait for his charges to acquire their mates and return to the ship. It should have been simple.

Simple had taken a steep dive into the heart of a star shortly after the mission started. Joran, heir to the throne of Pyros, Crown Prince, and a royal pain in the ass, had decided to leave his ship early, ditching his contingent of bodyguards along the way. The future king was currently wandering the city of Vancouver alone and unguarded because apparently, he couldn’t tell the difference between the royal gardens of Pyros and the threat-infested streets of this primitive world.

He slapped a hand down on the console and opened a communication channel to one of the prince’s guards, audio only.

“Yes, Commander Denza?” Guardsman Tarjen answered almost instantly.

“Tell me you’ve found him.”

“No, sir. Not yet.”

The drumming started again, faster this time. “Do you have any idea where he might have gone?”

“No, sir. He teleported out and then programmed the system to erase the coordinates once he re-materialized. We’re currently scanning for him, but it would appear he’s switched off his locator.”

“If he deactivated his locator, then scanning for him is not going to do a damned thing. Where do you think he might be headed? It’s not like he’s ever been to Earth before. We’re not even supposed to be in this part of the galaxy. His only reason for being here is to locate his mate. I suggest you start by figuring out where she is right now and then ascertain if the prince is with her.”

“Keth is already looking into that. We believe she is at her place of work, but we have been instructed not to approach her until contact has been made. Additionally, her workplace is in a heavy traffic area. There’s nowhere nearby that we can teleport to without being seen.”

That was one of the many problems with this simple mission. They didn’t have permission to be here, and they were operating in total secrecy. The humans had no idea they were being visited by aliens, and it had to stay that way.

“Find the nearest safe location and then make the rest of the journey on foot. I’m going to attempt to contact the prince again. If he doesn’t respond soon, I’m going to come down there and kick his royal ass myself.”

“Yes, sir!” Targen didn’t bother to hide his amusement at Kash’s statement.

They had all served with Joran, his guards as fellow soldiers, and Kash as their commanding officer. Targen knew Kash meant every word of his threat. If the prince didn’t report in soon, he’d be wearing Kash’s boot print on his ass.

He hit another button and opened a channel to his second charge, Vadir Rahal.

“Checking up on me, Commander?” Vadir owned and ran an intergalactic corporation. As one of the richest and most powerful men on the planet, he wasn’t used to reporting to anyone. Not even if it was for his own safety.

“That’s more or less my entire job for this mission. What’s your status?”

“My match has responded to the email, and I’m communicating with her now. Things are progressing. I have every reason to believe she will meet me for the evening meal at the designated location. Everything is going according to plan.”

“That’s good to hear. Do us all a favour and keep it that way.”

Vadir chuckled. “Judging by your tone, I’d hazard a guess that Joran is already doing his own thing?”

“Something like that.”

“This is why you should have taken me up on my offer to work for me instead of the royal family. I actually listen to the people I employ. Not to mention, I pay far better.”

Kash snorted. “Ask me again after this mission is over. If anything happens to the prince, I’m going to be looking for a new job.”

“Joran can take care of himself, and so can I. Don’t worry so much, Commander. We’ll be back on board with our females before you know it. It’s really a shame we can’t initiate formal contact with this species. I could make a fortune just selling them environmental regulators and weather control satellites.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

Vadir sighed. “I know. I know. Stick to the plan. I still haven’t forgiven her Highness for doing this to me. I don’t have time for a mate right now. I’ve got deals to make and a business to run.”

“Not even you can ignore a royal decree, Vadir. When the king commands us, we must obey.”

Vadir signed off, then, and Kash was left alone with his thoughts. His fingers started drumming on the edge of the console as he wondered what he’d done to make the Gods hate him so much. It’s not that his life was all hardship or despair. He had his duties and the pride of knowing he held the trust of the most powerful family on Pyros. But pride was a poor companion, and duty was no replacement for a mate and a family.

He’d accepted that there was no mate for him on Pyros. It was a realization that many males had faced. With seven males born for every female, the odds simply were not in his favour. But then, when the scouts had discovered that compatible matches existed elsewhere in the galaxy, he’d dared to hope again.

He should have known better.

Only the males from important and influential families were even considered for potential matches with the human females. Logically, it made sense. Those families had the means to fund this endeavour, and the power to keep the attention of the Inter-planetary Council focused elsewhere. Logical or not, it had still been a bitter draught to swallow.

Even if the mission was successful and the matches were later opened to other males, he would never be considered. He was past his prime, and no female would want an aging, battle-scarred veteran when there were so many handsome young males to choose from.

The Gods had chosen another path for him, one of solitude, loyalty, and the quiet honours that accompanied a life spent in service to the crown. It was enough. It would have to be.

Gwen pulled the last batch of brownies out of the oven and then looked around the kitchen in dismay as she realized she was out of room. Every inch of counter space and even her small kitchen table were already in use. She popped the brownies back into the oven and scrambled to transfer the chocolate chip cookies from their cooling trays to an old-fashioned cookie tin that had once been her grandmother’s.

As she stacked the cookies in tiny towers inside the battered and dented tin, she recalled the countless times she’d done this with her Gran. Back then, baking had seemed like magic. Carefully combining ingredients, watching them come together in the ancient mixer, then the pouring of batters and the careful placement of each ball of dough so that none of the golden, crispy edges would touch when they were done.

When she was feeling down, Gwen baked. It comforted her. The familiar scents, the routine of it. If she closed her eyes, sometimes she could almost hear her Gran quietly humming and feel the old woman’s warm, loving presence. It soothed her, and for a little while, the world would be a good and peaceful place again. Today, she needed that.

The rain pattered against the kitchen window, loud enough to make her glance up and wonder how her two friends were faring. Hopefully, wherever they were, their dates had them out of the weather and were treating them like queens.

When there was enough space cleared, she popped the lid onto the cookie tin and went back to the oven to rescue her brownies. Without thinking, she reached in and grabbed the glass pan with her bare hand.

“Shit! Ow, shit, dammit,” she yelped in pain, dropped the brownies, and dashed to the sink to run cold water over her burn.

“Good job, idiot,” she scolded herself as she waited for the stream of cold water to ease the sting. It was a clear sign from the universe that it was time for her to stop baking and go to bed. She should have stopped hours ago. In fact, she had…for a little while. Lisa had come home from work and found her baking up a storm. Like the dear friend she was, she’d done what she could to cajole Gwen out of her dark mood. The levity only lasted as long as Lisa’s presence, though. When Lisa had headed out to meet her mystery date, Gwen had falling back into her funk.

Still holding her hand under the tap, she selected one of the still-warm cookies from its rack and munched on it while surveying the damage. The floor was strewn with chunks of brownie, and the glass pan was sitting upside-down with a massive crack showing across the bottom. She’d have to toss the whole mess out. The pan was a garage sale find, and the aged material hadn’t been able to withstand the abuse.

She started to cry, hot tears scalding her face as she looked at the mess on her floor and it struck her that it was a perfect metaphor for her life at this moment. The ruined pan might as well have been named Gwen. She was as old and broken as it was, and she was being tossed aside, too. Her boss had given her the news today. The second-hand bookstore she’d worked at for years was closing down. The books she loved would be sold off, and the job she’d held for ten years would be gone.

On top of that, the same dating service that had provided her two best friends with their dates for the night had sent her a rejection email. She hadn’t wanted to sign up in the first place, but Lisa had insisted, and between the wine and the ice cream, Gwen had given in. The Star-Crossed dating site specifically said it was for young women, though, and at thirty-five, she worried that she wouldn’t make the cut.

Sure enough, at the same time her friends were being matched with drop-dead gorgeous guys, she’d been sent a politely worded letter informing her that she wasn’t a match for anyone in their database, which was geared toward a younger age bracket. Just like the glass pan, her best days were behind her.

Maybe she should have agreed to go out with Shane, a customer who had been hanging out at the bookstore for months while he was ‘between jobs.’ He never bought anything, he just thumbed through the books, one hand in the pocket of his faded, too-tight shorts that puckered across the front and left nothing to the imagination.

He kept asking her to have a beer with him, but she’d always declined. Maybe it was time to stop fooling herself. Maybe Shane, with his nicotine-stained fingers and his awkward ways, was the best she could hope for.

How the hell had her life come to this? She’d always dreamed of having a family someday. Of sharing her life with someone who thought she was beautiful despite her curves. Yet, here she was, standing in her kitchen eating cookies alone on a Friday night with nothing to show for her life but an almost empty bank account and a job that was about to disappear.

She let herself wallow in self-pity for three more cookies, then she set her feelings aside. Eating her feelings and moping wouldn’t change a damned thing, all that would happen is she’d wind up feeling guilty about what she was doing, and the cycle would begin again.

She dried her hand and carefully checked her fingers. Thankfully, there wasn’t any real damage. Just a pair of small blisters that would only take a few days to heal. The way her day had gone, she could have wound up sitting in an emergency waiting room for hours.

“Ice and aloe, a baker’s best friends.” She broke off a piece of aloe from the plant on her windowsill and treated the burns with it, then went to work cleaning up the mess on the floor. It wasn’t easy to do one-handed, but she managed.

It was late by the time she finished cleaning up. The sugar rush from the cookies and brownies she’d nibbled on had faded away, leaving her tired and emotionally drained. She tossed the thawed-out ice pack back into the freezer and picked up her phone to check the time. Almost eleven, and no word from either Maggie or Lisa.

Unease and worry slithered into her chest and coiled around her heart. They should have checked in by now. The three of them set up a system years ago. Whenever one of them went out on a date, they’d check in to let the others know they were okay. Once when they arrived and again when they were heading home. If things were going really well, they’d text or call and update the others on where they were heading next, and if they’d be out for the night.

Things were clearly going well for both her friends or they’d have sent a message by now. Should she act like a mother hen and call them for an update? She rejected that idea right away. Calling would be intrusive. She could text, though. She fired off a quick message to them both and hoped they wouldn’t think she was overreacting. She just wanted to know they were safe before she tried to get some sleep.