No doubt about it, Bond was going to miss the pleasures of the flesh.

His assignment in the mortal realm had been a novelty, both thrilling and terrifying, and there had certainly been moments when he had been impatient for the peril to end. If he’d realized that life was so dangerous, Bond wasn’t sure he would have volunteered in the first place. The celestial realm had its benefits, one of which was tranquility, and he had often wished for that when fighting for his survival or fearing treachery. He had played a complicated game, betraying one morally-bankrupt mortal for another, but all in pursuit of a greater good.

All the same, it was exciting to feel so vital. Even though the sensation had become familiar, he suspected he would yearn for it. Was this curious mix of feelings a mortal curse, too?

Either way, the final piece of the puzzle would soon move into place and his quest would be complete. All he had to do was get to the rendezvous place and summon the Host. His mission would be done, and his time in the mortal realm at an end.

Bond already felt a sense of triumph. Victory was close, but he reminded himself that he wasn’t done yet.

He left the Archangel as soon as the vessel docked at Incendium’s star station, giving no outward sign that he was unlikely to ever see any of his comrades again. He avoided the captain, Anguissa, as she was particularly perceptive. It was imperative that he maintain his disguise to the last moment.

Even if he had become unexpectedly fond of Princess Anguissa and her crew.

There was no time or place for emotion. He had a task to complete, and speed was of the essence. The Gloria Furore were never deceived for long—if at all.

Bond knew that every moment counted.

Unfortunately, the Star Station was jammed with disappointed travelers. He wasn’t sure why the king had forbidden all departures, but the station was crowded as a result. Every bar and restaurant was filled to capacity, with a line of waiting and impatient would-be patrons. Every corridor was crowded with throngs of passengers with nowhere to go, impatient freighter crews and more luggage than he’d ever seen in one place. The line for the shuttles to Incendium city’s starport looked to be endless, and the lines for the security check were even longer.

There was nothing to do but get in line and wait.

By the time Bond stepped out of the Incendium starport and took a deep breath of the familiar scent of the city, the sky overhead was becoming dark. He treated himself to a last survey of this place that had become the closest location to a home for him. He glanced back up at the station in orbit and the double column of shuttles, rising and descending, admiring the lights. He eyed the palace that dominated Incendium city, built on a mound in the midst of the plateau that was the site of the city, its pennant snapping from its highest tower. In the distance, on the far side of the city, he could see the snow-topped peaks of the Algor Mountains stretching into the distance.

The city itself was prosperous, its inhabitants affluent and content. Most of the shops were closed by this hour, but there were people in the streets, meeting friends for a drink or a meal. Bond’s footsteps slowed of their own accord on the cobbled streets of the old city as he looked and admired and savored for the last time. The shop windows were filled with glorious things: finely made shoes, lengths of shimmering cloth, fat books with gold embossing on their leather covers, spectacles and pens and furnishings for the home. The jewelers were removing their wares from the windows, as were the specialists in computing and communications devices. He paused to watch an automaton at the clockmakers, smiling at the mechanical dragon soaring around a city that looked a lot like Incendium.

Who would have guessed that dragon shifters would build such a society as this? He passed an apothecary just as a tall blond man was taking in the sign from the walkway. That man glanced up, a question in his eyes, but Bond shook his head and continued on. He could smell delicious food and hear laughter, the rattle of coins, the clink of glasses raised in toasts, the conversation of friends.

If he was to live anywhere in the mortal realm, Incendium city might be his choice. Bond was glad to be returning to the celestial realm and looking forward to the restoration of his wings, but all of this activity and passion tugged at his heart, making him want to stay just a little longer.

Would he forget it all? That was what he’d been told to expect, but Bond had a hard time believing it. Mortals lived with such color and passion, and his experiences were so vivid in his memories. How could he forget it all?

Would they forget him? The notion troubled him, although he wasn’t sure why. He’d come to complete a quest, not to make friends or memories. What he had learned was of no relevance in the celestial realm, where thoughts were shared, motion was effortless, and serenity ruled.

Would he be bored?

Bond shouldn’t have been surprised that his footsteps turned toward the river, down to the less reputable part of the city and the part he knew best. He inhaled with pleasure as he entered the market: he could smell the spices and foods sold there in the mornings, even though those vendors had packed up their stalls hours before. He didn’t intend to walk further than the port itself. He’d planned to rent a vessel and sail out of the city as soon as possible, heading down the River Nebula to his destination, but realized it was late to embark on his journey. Those who rented boats had closed up their businesses for the night.

And he was hungry, a sensation that always surprised him.

Then he saw the sirens and a different appetite was awakened.

They were in the street just ahead, promoting their charms, calling to potential customers. They were beautiful and beguiling, each and every one of them, and Bond couldn’t resist one last walk through their midst.

He turned away from the docks and continued into the region thick with clubs, bars, and dancehalls. He flirted with a few women, wanting to take memories of their beauty to the celestial realm. The lights flashed; the music was loud; the laughter was deeper. There was a hum of sexual tension, even in the street, and Bond admitted that this was the part of mortal life he’d miss the most.

If he could remember anything, he’d choose to remember sex.

His footsteps halted in front of a club that hadn’t been open when he’d last visited the city.

Ambrosia.

Temptation flooded through him.

He would be gone from this realm in less than three days, never to return.

Never to taste and feel again.

The music coming from the establishment had an insistent beat and he could envision the dancers within. Another pleasure of the flesh. How many times had he been part of the throng, moving to the beat, seduced by the sound and smell and touch of his fellows? How many times had his heart beat faster and his body perspired as he danced long after he should have stopped? How many times had he sung along, or shouted for more?

Could there ever be enough times?

His need for sensation was sudden, poignant, and piercing.

Ambrosia was popular, sufficiently popular that a dozen people stepped around him and entered while he hesitated. In the end, Bond couldn’t resist the temptation to just take a peek. He wasn’t disappointed. This club was different from the others, more luxurious, lit by pulsing lanterns that threw colored light onto the dance floor. The floor was so crowded with beautiful beings that Bond’s mouth went dry. He gazed upon them hungrily, loving how they painted themselves and adorned themselves, how they groomed themselves in pursuit of pleasure—and the prospect of sex.

This facet of mortal life was one that Bond intuitively understood. If he had been mortal—if he hadn’t had an assignment—he would have spent all his time and money in a place like this one. He might have owned a place like this one. He would have watched the dancers, both sirens and regular people; he would have danced with them, and he would have seduced them repeatedly. He would have reveled in it all, surrendered to sensation completely and never would have wanted to be found.

If.

He would be ethereal again within three rotations of the planet Incendium. It would take him a day to reach the rendezvous.

Bond would treat himself to one last night.

Here.

In Ambrosia.

The Seed.

Percipia smelled it more strongly when they passed through the gates of the palace. Her sisters smelled it then, too, excitement passing through their ranks. They moved more quickly in silent agreement that haste was imperative.

“Whose Carrier is it?” Callida demanded.

“Where is he?” Splendea asked.

Enigma seized Percipia’s hand. “Yours?” she guessed, and Percipia knew that her sister had noticed the signs. “You’re glowing, Percipia.”

“Radiant,” Tempera whispered.

“Afire,” Bellatora agreed.

The scent of the Seed flowed through Percipia, hot and insistent, lighting fires that couldn’t be denied. “Mine,” she agreed in a whisper. She didn’t miss the irony that she’d just said she could do without ever needing to claim the Seed.

“What’s it like?” Peri asked with a hunger of her own.

“Primal. Like I’m finally alive,” Percipia admitted, because it was true. She’d never been so aware of her body, of its response to every little sensation, of the sweet press of the night air and the scent of her sisters’ various perfumes. The scent of the Seed made every detail more pronounced and vivid. The world would have been overwhelming, if the scent hadn’t had a focus. She’d never felt so aroused and so attuned to one man.

A man she had to find immediately.

“Where is he?” Enigma asked.

“In the market,” Percipia said, taking another marvelous breath of the powerful scent. She tingled right to her toes, and a thrum began deep in her belly.

She would seduce him and claim the Seed. She would see this obligation fulfilled, and then she could carry on with her life.

How long could it take?

The two sisters held hands as they hurried toward the market, Percipia setting the course since she smelled the Seed most strongly. Their other sisters followed behind, fascinated and excited, chattering like a flock of birds.

Percipia didn’t spend a lot of time in Incendium city, and when she did leave the palace for the city, she tended to visit libraries and bookstores—and one apothecary shop. She was relieved, in a way, that the shop run by Sansor and his father was already closed. She didn’t want her friend to see her snared in inescapable lust.

It would be bad enough when he saw her pregnant with another man’s child, but Percipia didn’t want to think about that. Sansor was logical and loyal to his kind, as well. He would understand.

It would be simpler to finally have this done. The scent of the Seed came only once into every dragon shifter’s life. Percipia would be glad to have it behind her.

The road sloped down toward the river, the air becoming more humid and the scent of the marketplace becoming stronger. The sound of dance music also became louder and Percipia’s heart skipped in anticipation. The market, with its dance halls and clubs, its bars and seedy corners, its sirens and opportunists, was all new to her. It was Enigma who steered their course away from the most disreputable alleys and streets, Enigma who smiled when Percipia stopped outside a dance club.

“Ambrosia,” Enigma said with approval. “What a good place to meet a Carrier of the Seed.”

“Why?” Callida asked.

“Because it’s new. It has an upscale clientele. I like this one a lot,” Enigma said.

“How often have you come here?” Callida asked with suspicion, but Enigma ignored her.

Enigma was studying Percipia, who had stopped to stare. And breathe. The Seed filled her senses, flooding her with a desire that obliterated so many other thoughts and sensations. The sharp focus was a bit frightening due to its intensity. A part of her—her true nature—hoped she didn’t do anything stupid under the Seed’s influence.

“Don’t you think you can find him inside?” Enigma asked.

“I already have,” Percipia whispered and indicated the Carrier with a slight nod.

He stood just inside the door, looking into the club. He was tall, just a little taller than she was, and trim, but she could see the strength in his broad shoulders and chest. He had dark hair, a little long, and wore the kind of generic dark uniform favored by crews on starships and freighters.

Just arrived, maybe. That would explain why she hadn’t sensed him before.

He was watching the dancers inside with an avidity that made her think he hadn’t been at port for a long time. She saw his fist clench, and knew he fought some inner battle.

“I don’t know what to do,” Percipia whispered, feeling the lack of her experience in amorous matters. She wasn’t a virgin, but she might as well have been, given how little she’d been interested in such supposed pleasures. Her experiences with intimacy had been awkward and ultimately embarrassing, which had been more than enough to send her back to her books. She certainly had never approached, much less seduced, a stranger.

“He will,” Enigma replied with confidence.

“Now,” Splendea whispered and the sisters surged forward, surrounding Percipia and sweeping her toward the Carrier.

Did he smell it, too? He turned to study Enigma, who reached him first, and Percipia knew that her sister was giving her time to accustom herself to the power of the Seed—and accept what she needed to do. The scent of it burned in her nostrils, blazing a path of fire all the way to her lungs, making her skin tingle and her nipples tighten. She was infused with need, as well as that delicious sense of being alive. She wanted him so badly that her knees shook and she stared at him, memorizing his features, suspecting that she’d never see him again after their mating. He’d be off to another star. Maybe she wouldn’t even know his name.

It didn’t matter. He was handsome. Their child would be beautiful.

The Seed was right.

The Carrier was magnificent, a more attractive specimen than she could have hoped. His nose was straight and his jaw was square. His lips were firm and there was a decisiveness about their line. His eyes, though, were a clear green, filled with humor and intelligence. He surveyed Enigma, then smiled, just a little.

Enigma said something to him. Percipia didn’t much care what it was. She tried to steady herself, knowing she had to claim the Seed before he left port.

She felt Bellatora’s hand on her back, steadying her.

Maybe the scent of the Seed would influence the Carrier, too. If he met her halfway, it would be so much simpler.

When the Carrier’s gaze lifted to hers, Percipia felt a jolt right to her marrow. His gaze brightened and Bellatora gave her a little push. “It’s your responsibility,” she whispered.

“He might be your HeartKeeper,” Peri added softly, and Percipia had no intention of arguing with her about the folly of romantic notions.

She would have this man, tonight. She would savor him and claim the Seed. The scent of the Seed filled her with confidence, making success seem inevitable.

Admiration filled his gaze and Percipia felt beautiful, powerful, seductive. The Seed wasn’t sorcery—she guessed that it influenced receptors and heightened awareness, stimulating hormone production and otherwise ensuring that both her body and the Carrier’s body were on its side.

There was an inevitability about it all that she found reassuring.

He was her Carrier, and she would have his Seed.

The people in the club were attractive, but nothing compared to the group of women who arrived together shortly after Bond stepped inside. They were so beautiful that Bond stared, unable to hide his appreciation. He wasn’t the only one. In fact, he heard a little whisper make its way around the club, though he couldn’t discern the words. He assumed they’d been recognized.

And who would forget such beauties? One of them alone would be remarkable. The eight of them together stole his breath away. How was it possible that mortals could be so very attractive?

That their beauty was so temporary seemed almost unfair. But maybe that was why they made the most of it. They would age and weaken all too soon.

The two dark-haired ones whispered to each other as he watched. The one he thought was prettier smiled, but it was the other who stepped boldly toward him. He sensed that they knew each other well, and that the one who approached him was their leader.

She paused before him, her eyes shining, and took a deep breath, running her fingertip across his chest. “You smell delicious,” she said, her voice low and her tone flirtatious. Awareness danced in her dark eyes and her red gown showed her curves to particular advantage. She didn’t just know her charms: she used them. Expertly.

They were sirens. Bond understood immediately. Probably notorious and expensive sirens, well known in Incendium city and a source of fascination to the locals. That explained the whisper.

It might also explain her decision to speak to him, a man who was obviously not a native of Incendium.

If they were sirens, then this was their procuress. She wasn’t visibly older than the others, but she was more decisive. She’d taken the lead. The others awaited her decision. He was intrigued by her air of entitlement—never mind that she was dressed in acres of shimmering red silk. Her breasts and thighs were covered, not displayed, which was an intriguing choice for a lady of the night. Most of the sirens in Incendium marketed their charms more blatantly.

Maybe that was her unique twist. It was an effective one. Bond glanced at the other dark-haired woman, the one he found more attractive. Her cheeks flushed and she dropped her gaze, her dark lashes sweeping over her cheeks in a move he found delightfully modest—and intriguing in a siren. How could she so effectively act as an innocent, given her trade? Had he ever been with an innocent or a virgin? Bond thought not. Even if her shyness was a guise, he was intrigued. She was dressed differently from the others, as well, wearing what might have been a crew uniform. The black tunic, tights and boots were similar to his own, but the length of shimmering blue silk wrapped around her shoulders and head like a hood drew attention to her eyes. They were the same bright hue of blue, their lashes long and dark and thick, and her gaze was fixed upon him.

What was their price? Bond guessed that he would know soon enough.

The necklace at the throat of the one before him was gold, not some paltry imitation, which indicated that business was brisk. He also guessed that she was accustomed to getting what she wanted.

If she wanted him to want one of her sirens, she was in luck.

He did.

“And you look beautiful,” Bond replied with his best smile.

She inclined her head at his compliment, a regal gesture that reminded Bond of something, or someone. He frowned but couldn’t place it.

“More beautiful than my sisters?” she asked, gesturing to the women who accompanied her.

Sisters? That was some kind of family business. There were eight of them altogether. Except for the one he’d already admired, they were dressed as richly as their leader, with variations in taste, all with long hair than hung in loose waves past the hips. Each one was a beauty in her own way, though their coloring varied more than Bond would have expected from siblings. Three had dark hair, two were blond and three had red hair, of hues from copper to auburn. He was inclined to doubt her assertion, but then he noticed that they were all roughly the same height, and slender with enticing curves. Around the eyes, he could see the similarity between them, and in the way they moved.

With sinuous grace.

That detail might have provoked his memory, too, but the one with blue eyes stepped closer. She stopped just in front of him even as his breath caught.

“You do smell delicious,” she murmured, her eyes shining with an anticipation that echoed his own. Her voice was lower than that of the first one, and Bond liked how throaty it was. Her coloring was striking combination, given her dark lashes, blue eyes and fair skin. He was reminded of an old fairy tale he had heard once, about a snow princess.

Something about an apple.

He was forgetting details, which was probably a sign that his time in mortal flesh was coming to an end. Maybe it meant the warning was true. The realization sent panic through Bond, and fed his urgency to feel pleasure one last time.

This one wasn’t as bold as her sister, but she appeared to be more aroused. She licked her lips and caught her breath, those flushed cheeks and her quick glances at him feeding his own awareness of her. The combination of obvious desire and a kind of innocence caught Bond’s attention and held fast. Didn’t she know how alluring she was? Or was it a deliberate ploy? He was startled by how badly he wanted to know.

How much he needed to know.

He looked into her heart and saw only the clarity of a good soul.

Then he was shaken by how much the effort cost him. His days were coming to an end and his powers were fading. He had to remember that.

She placed her hand upon his chest, her fingers trembling slightly at her own audacity. It seemed to Bond that her touch lit a spark within him. It drew him back to the moment. Her proximity stole his breath away and the glimpse of her vulnerability made him lift his hand to capture hers. Her hand was delicate, her fingers long, the weight of her hand in his just perfect. He felt both protective of her and possessive, and they’d only just met.

It was a potent spell these sirens cast.

Bond couldn’t have stepped away from her to save his life. He looked down into her eyes, snared. They were hundreds of shades of blue, from silver to indigo, as mesmerizing as a star-filled sky or an ocean of unfathomed depths.

“Maybe I could just have a little taste,” she whispered, the tip of her tongue trailing across her lower lip.

He couldn’t think of one reason to argue with her.

She was almost the same height as him, so when she leaned closer, her lips were very close to his own. Her breasts pressed with his chest, so sweet and full that his body tightened with need. Her gaze roved over his features, as if she could read his every thought. Bond could only perceive her desire but he guessed that she had assessed, itemized, and catalogued his.

It was her business after all.

She caught her breath, her lashes fluttering, the glimpse of uncertainty—whether genuine or feigned—heating Bond’s blood. She awakened something primal within him, something he didn’t even know existed in his heart, a need to possess and claim and defend, even with his own life.

He definitely wanted to experience all she had to share.

Then she looked at his mouth, her dark lashes sweeping down to hide her eyes from his view. He could practically feel her glance, as keenly as a touch. His lips burned with impatience to taste her. She licked her own lips, ever so slowly, fanning the flames of his desire. It was the same combination of virgin and seductress, although he couldn’t imagine how she blushed so delicately on purpose. He watched her ease ever closer, his anticipation almost painful, his fist clenched at his side, and it seemed she took a thousand years to eliminate the small space between their mouths.

When she finally touched her lips to his, Bond felt a jolt to his toes.

And heat unfurled behind it, flooding his body with an inferno that wouldn’t easily be quenched. He sensed then that this mating would be the culmination of his amorous experience, that it would be the greatest union—and the one he was most likely to recall.

It might warm his existence for all time.

Her kiss was just a brush of her lips. Not much more than a breath. He felt the tip of her tongue, just barely. A tease and a temptation. The silk brushed his hand; her fingertips slid over his jaw; her breath fanned his lips. Bond closed his eyes, savoring the most arousing kiss he’d ever experienced.

If one of the shortest ones.

He needed more. This couldn’t be his last taste of pleasure.

“Come dance with me,” she whispered, her voice husky. She touched her lips to his once more, but this time she lingered, her breath mingling with his own, her tongue darting between his lips. His resistance, such as it was, crumbled and weakened, then disappeared completely. He felt her hand on the back of his neck, her fingers in his hair, and closed his eyes in pleasure once again. He was still holding one of her hands and his other slipped around her waist, pulling her against him.

“Just one dance,” she urged, then slanted her mouth across his to kiss him fully, slowly. It wasn’t a forceful kiss but an invitation.

A promise.

When she lifted her lips from his, Bond was smitten. He opened his eyes to find her smiling at him. Her eyes had darkened with desire, a sight that made him hard and hungry.

“Just one dance?” she murmured, thinking he wasn’t convinced.

Bond smiled and took her hand from the back of his neck, pressing a kiss to her palm as he held her gaze. They could have been the only two in the world, this beauty with her dazzling eyes and him.

“Only a dance?” he asked, and was rewarded with the flash of her smile.

“To start.”

“To start,” he agreed, anticipation making his blood hum and her light laugh making him feel like a conquering champion. No one else in the club had captured such a prize and he felt the envy of the observing clientele. He and his siren were surrounded by the other sisters as they moved toward the dance floor. He had the curious sense that they didn’t mean to let him escape, but that was madness. They couldn’t have any shortage of clients. They worked together, that was all, and he wondered idly who would win the favors of the next sister this night.

Then his siren spun in front of him and he didn’t care about anything but her. She laughed and beckoned to him. The first sister waved and the music changed, becoming a pulsing beat that perfectly resonated with the pounding of Bond’s heart.

His temptress pivoted in front of him, her eyes dancing with fire, and Bond wanted her as he had never wanted a woman before. She danced with abandon, but turned to watch him, teasing him with her smile and the swing of her hips. It was impossible for him to leave now, impossible to deny this invitation.

One final night of savoring sensation.

Bond would have no regrets.

When the Carrier took her hand and placed a kiss in her palm, Percipia knew he was on fire, too. She saw it in the dark heat of his eyes, the intensity of his expression, the taut line of his shoulders. His gaze burned as he watched her, and it seemed he didn’t even blink.

It was sad, in a way, that this would be over so quickly.

The Seed must have influenced the Carrier, too. She could see how his attention never wavered from her, how intent he was on making her look good on the dance floor. He never released her from his embrace—when one of her hands left his grasp, he caught the other. A part of her was always touching a part of him, tingling, humming with awareness, feeding her desire. He spun her and dipped her, and whirled her around so that she was almost dizzy. She’d never danced with such abandon before, but it was easy to remember the steps with him, easy to be graceful, easy to be elegant.

That couldn’t entirely be the effect of his adoration.

That hadn’t been the result with Sansor, after all.

The scent of the Seed also made Percipia keenly aware of her surroundings. She noted the Carrier’s hot gaze and his firm grip upon her, but also the heat on the dance floor, the pulse of the music, the color of the lights. She heard the others clapping and cheering, and tore her gaze from his to glance around. She spotted her sisters, all seven of them having found partners—though none were as handsome as the Carrier—and thought she could read their emotions in a quick glance.

Was the allure of the Carrier due to the influence of the Seed, or was he as spectacular as she believed?

Percipia looked again, comparing and contrasting, eyeing the men and women in their finery. There was beauty aplenty in the club and she guessed that Enigma was right about its popularity. Even though the club was full and the dance floor crowded, Percipia noticed four people who weren’t dancing.

They didn’t belong.

They wore unobtrusive clothing, similar in design to that of the Carrier, and she assumed that they had also just come into port. The two men stood surprisingly close to the front and rear exits. The woman sat with her arms folded across her chest alone at a table, one that Percipia realized was near the emergency exit. A short triped waited near the bar, holding a drink that remained untasted.

Who were they?

All four of them watched the Carrier at intervals, two scanning the club and the other two watching the Carrier at any moment in time. They changed shifts with such precision that it could only be arranged or timed.

Maybe they were his crewmates, watching his back.

Maybe they defended him when he indulged.

The Carrier spun her again, catching her in his arms, and Percipia forgot his companions for the moment. She took a long deep breath, feeling the Seed’s scent tingle as it spread through her body, and he stared at her in awe.

“Your eyes are sparkling,” he whispered, not releasing her at all. “Like ocean waves in the sun.”

Percipia laughed. “That sounds cool, but I’m so very hot.”

“Maybe more like sparks flying from the fire, then,” he teased.

“Yes. That sounds more like it.” She leaned against him and whispered in his ear. “What if we start a fire?”

“I think we already have.” His voice was a low rumble that made her quiver deep inside.

“Maybe we should explore it then.”

He lifted a brow, looking wicked and unpredictable. “Wouldn’t that make it burn hotter?”

“The hotter the better.”

“Aren’t you afraid to be burned?”

“No. I’m afraid to miss an opportunity.”

He caught his breath, as if surprised that she was so outspoken, and glanced down at the floor. Percipia feared she had been too blunt, but realized he was composing himself. When he looked up again, his gaze was shimmering. He swallowed. “I’ve never felt such desire before,” he whispered and she believed him.

It was the Seed.

“Me neither,” she confessed.

He lifted a hand to her cheek. “There’s something marvelous about you...”

“Or about us together.” She captured his hand, knowing that it was the influence of the mating sign responsible. Once they had consummated their match, he’d be less interested in her. “Let’s explore it.”

“I don’t have a place to stay.”

“But I don’t want to go home.” There was no way that Percipia was taking a Carrier back to the palace to seduce him.

The Carrier looked across the club with purpose. “Maybe they offer rooms.”

Percipia smiled. “I like men with ideas,” she purred, feeling like the seductress she’d never imagined she could be.

He didn’t laugh at her, though. He didn’t mock her or tease her for putting on airs. He stared at her in wonder, like a man who couldn’t look at her enough, and when the music changed to a slower tune, Percipia melted into his embrace. He felt so good, strong and solid, and his touch was the ideal combination of gentle and firm. She was thrumming with anticipation for their mating. She wanted it immediately but she also wanted to linger in the aura created by the Seed.

How strange and wonderful to feel so conflicted. Percipia had the sense that once she’d claimed the Seed and her senses returned to normal, life would seem like a pale shadow of what it could be.

Every treasure had its price, she supposed.

“Do you have a name?” he whispered into her hair and even the fan of his breath made her shiver with need.

“Everyone has a name,” she replied, sounding more like her usual self. “What’s yours?”

“Bond.”

“Just Bond?” She pulled back to look at him. Was he Anguissa’s co-pilot? The one with the gift for breaking into any system?

His eyes glimmered with amusement. “Just Bond, to you.”

To her? Percipia felt her eyes narrow, although she really didn’t need to know more than that. Why did she get only an increment of his identity?

Although, if he was the Bond who worked with Anguissa, his evasiveness would be consistent with that. Anguissa almost never answered a question directly.

Did he have more than that to hide?

“And yours?” he prompted.

“Diverta,” she lied on impulse, but he wasn’t insulted. He laughed.

Wherever he was from and whatever he was, subterfuge was familiar to him. Percipia would have to remember that.

“An apt name. Let’s distract each other tonight, Diverta, and remain friends when our paths part.”

She couldn’t be insulted, not when he was so honest about his expectations—which were identical to her own.

She was disgruntled, though, and wondered at that. He didn’t know they’d be conceiving a child and that he’d be abandoning it to her. She couldn’t blame him for that.

But it annoyed her that he didn’t consider it.

Actually, it irked her that he wouldn’t tell her his full name. She wasn’t used to being given partial information or being considered untrustworthy.

“Should we get a room?” Bond whispered.

Before she could agree, Percipia felt a presence behind her and beside her. She thought it was another couple but caught a whiff of Enigma’s perfume in the press of the crowd. Something swiped over the thin computer screen adhered to her left arm and she glanced over her shoulder. She saw her sister’s wink before Enigma disappeared into the throng of dancers.

Trust Enigma to see to the practical details.

“You don’t need to ask,” Percipia told Bond. “I have a room now.”

“Your sister?” he asked, giving a curious emphasis to the word.

“Yes. She just gave me an access code.”

“Did she read your mind?” Bond asked, his tone playful.

“Maybe she read yours,” Percipia replied in kind and he laughed.

“I like women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to ask for it.”

Percipia ran a hand across his chest. “Then we might just be a perfect match. I’ve been criticized in the past for being too blunt.”

“Really? Maybe your friends aren’t brave enough to hear the truth.”

“Maybe not.”

He pulled her closer, touching his lips to her ear. Percipia almost swooned at the flurry of his breath there and the shivers it launched over her flesh. “What do you want?” he whispered and she was wet with need. “Tell me exactly.”

“You,” she replied in a heated whisper and it was no lie. “Your skin against mine. Your heat inside me. I want it all and I want it now.”

She thought he groaned under his breath. “How far is this room?” he asked, his words strained in a way that perfectly echoed her own feelings.

“Let me show you,” she replied, because she didn’t know exactly.

When they left the dance floor, Percipia stroked a fingertip over the screen adhered to her arm. It illuminated, then showed the layout of the club. Ambrosia was much larger than she’d realized. A path was displayed on the thin screen, undoubtedly showing a course from where they stood to the room. Percipia followed the directions, Bond right behind her. His hand was on the back of her waist, his presence warm. There was a doorway beside the bar to the hotel rooms and the triped averted its gaze as they passed.

Bond seemed not to notice the creature, and Percipia assumed it was a subordinate.

One who had been instructed to stay out of the way.

That worked for Percipia. She had no desire of an audience for this mating. She wanted only Bond.

Her heart skipped with the certainty that she would have him soon.