Chapter 9

NINE

“That’s incredible,” Bea exclaimed as she rolled her foot around, testing her ankle. She got up out of the chair and stood barefoot on the cold floor.

There was no pain. She felt completely normal.

Zharek had injected something into her lower leg. The shot was painless, and for a moment, she’d wondered if she was a complete idiot for allowing an alien on a floating space station to put a mysterious substance in her body, but then the throbbing agony had completely stopped.

She’d never experienced anything like it.

The medic shrugged as he removed his black gloves. “A minor injury, easy to repair. It’s the least we could do for the inconvenience. Your minder should have reacted faster and prevented you from falling.”

“Don’t you dare get him into trouble. He’s been perfectly professional. You can’t have expected him to catch me. That’s ridiculous.” The last thing Bea wanted was for Ortan to face some sort of punishment because of her stupid, flimsy shoe. That was on her. The Kordolians were being perfectly hospitable to her, but she couldn’t imagine how they might discipline one of their own.

Zharek smiled. “How very human of you.”

“I just don’t want to make a big deal over nothing,” Bea said carefully, trying not to let her irritation show.

She didn’t know exactly why Zharek got under her skin. Maybe it was the way he looked at her sometimes—like he knew everything about her as if he were God with a master plan.

Or maybe it was his air of casual nonchalance as he performed near-miracles.

The lives that his medicine could change.

Bea could hardly bear to think of it.

Human science had come a long way, but it couldn’t compare to this. Now, she’d seen firsthand how advanced Kordolian tech was, and it scared her a little.

But it was also exciting.

She didn’t want to waste the chance to be a part of this astonishing new world.

“I suppose now is a good time to explain to you what’s going on with our boy Mav.”

“Excuse me?”

Zharek began to pace around the room, sometimes looking at his holos and machines, sometimes glancing at her. His loose robes flapped wildly around his legs. “He’s entered the Mating Fever.”

“ Mating Fever? ” Bea’s voice rose a fraction as anticipation and trepidation swirled inside her.

This was what Clarissa was dealing with, wasn’t it? And her friend, usually so smart and cautious and guarded, had already fallen under that guy’s spell. That bald, dangerous High Commander—of the entire Kordolian military…

Who seemed to be a perfect match for her friend, to the point where even Bea herself had encouraged Clarissa to go after him because, for the first time in a very long time, Clarissa had seemed really happy.

She was the perfect foil for his stern, commanding demeanor, and vice versa.

Bea was starting to get it.

There was something so maddeningly compelling about these silver-skinned, pointy-eared, elven-seeming aliens.

Never before had she encountered this particular combination of dangerous, powerful, and charming.

Her heart was fluttering again.

Mavrel was a bit like that, though in a different kind of way. And in typical Kordolian fashion, he certainly had no trouble acting protective of her.

Is this why I was invited here in the first place?

It was, and she already knew it.

Abruptly, Zharek stopped pacing. “ Please hear me out. We don’t have much time. He’ll be back soon. You must understand that once it plays out, this cascade of events will end very well for you. There’s nothing to be afraid of at all. But… it’s probably best if you sit down to hear this.”

Bea took a deep breath and sat back down. “Fine. What’s going on, then?”

Zharek started pacing again. He was a whirlwind of constant motion, a bundle of frenetic energy. Bea got the sense he didn’t know how to be still, or if he did, it would be from one extreme to another—from a hurricane to a glacier.

He stopped again, this time appearing contemplative, one eyebrow raised slightly. “What do you make of him?”

Bea was starting to get a read on this guy. He was probably somewhere in between cunning evil mastermind and well-meaning but socially inappropriate meddler.

She could see how Mavrel had become so incensed, even if his volatile reaction made her a little wary.

He’d cooled off quickly enough, though.

Oh well, she’d better cut both of them some slack.

They were aliens, after all.

“You mean Mavrel?” she asked coolly, not wanting to give away too much. “What has this got to do with the Mating Fever?” She could hazard a guess or two, but she needed Zharek to spell it out for her. He had an angle. She could probably use that to her advantage. “You’re trying to set us up, aren’t you? But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Zharek looked impressed by her deductions. “You’ve seen what happened with your friend, Clarissa. It’s a reaction. A biological process. You’re quite fortunate, you know.”

She’d heard about this—that the Kordolian form of attraction between two individuals was far more intense.

Why did the very thought send a little electric current of anticipation down her spine?

Hiding her nervousness, Bea leaned forward assertively, propping one elbow on the chair’s armrest. “Am I, really? We’ve only met once before. He made a good impression, but I can’t sum up a person after just meeting them once or twice. Just like we humans, I assume you Kordolians are layered creatures. So, instead of asking me what I make of Mavrel, why don’t you tell me all about him? I assume you two know each other well enough.”

“Hm.” The corner of Zharek’s mouth quirked upwards. Why did he find that so amusing? “He is stubborn, but that isn’t out of the ordinary for our kind. Very clever. Very, very good at what he does, which is primarily the design and maintenance of machines. Generally easygoing unless you upset him—as you have witnessed. He’s also efficient and incredibly loyal—once he feels you’re worthy of his loyalty, which he’s clearly decided that you are. I won’t delve too deeply into politics, but he’s the third son of House Yrixis. He could have had a life of comfort and ease, but he chose to join the military instead. Something made him want to escape that life. The same thing that’s in all of us who’ve joined the Darkstar Mercenaries. And so, here we are.”

“ Oh. ” Taken aback, Bea was silent for a moment. That was a lot to reveal about someone. Mavrel had lived an eventful and incomprehensible life before coming to Earth. If she hadn’t met him in person, she would have been quite intimidated by Zharek’s description. He had done all that , and he seemed to be rather important in the Kordolian ranks.

And yet, he’d been so gentle with her, so approachable and unassuming.

The fluttering sensation in her chest danced down into the pit of her belly.

What would he make of her simple human existence? She’d worked for Garner Corp for the past three years in front reception, where she was the initial point of contact for the organization. They’d hired her because she was outgoing and confident, and she wasn’t afraid to put her foot down when circumstances called for it.

It wasn’t a particularly challenging job, but it paid the bills and gave her the freedom to pursue her real passions: art and design.

She’d never planned on working for Garner forever.

And then Mavrel had appeared out of nowhere, and she’d been swept up in that insane situation, which had forced her hand.

Just like Clarissa, she’d left the organization without any regrets.

And, as Zharek had said, here we are.

“Explain the Mating Fever to me.” Bea sensed an opening, so she pushed it further. He obviously had his own reasons, and she didn’t trust him, but Zharek was being completely open with her right now.

The Kordolian locked eyes with her, completely serious for once. “It’s a phenomenon that happens once in a Kordolian male’s lifetime. An evolutionary urge that ensures the survival of our species. As I said, it’s a biological reaction—a complex interplay of epigenetics and a rapid cascade of chemical signaling within the body. The triggering of the Mating Fever means that both of you are highly, highly genetically compatible. Think of it as an algorithmic match that accounts for the physical, biological, temperamental, and mental. It’s nature, and there isn’t anything you can do about it. It isn’t just one-sided, either. There’s a powerful reason that you can’t stop thinking about him.”

“ Me? ” Bea put her hand to her chest. “The Mating Fever affects me, too?”

“It isn’t as obvious as his, but there will be some degree of an effect on you, yes.”

“ That’s…”

Ridiculous?

Impossible?

Unbelievable?

But here she was, on an alien space station, sitting across from a horned mad scientist guy who was acting as some sort of mildly unhinged matchmaker, and what he was saying was true.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Mavrel.

“Even so, you have all the advantages here. He’s completely enthralled by you. He’ll do anything to please and satisfy you. And soon, he’ll be accompanying you to the Cultural Event. This time is yours, Beatrice of Earth. Use it wisely. Test him. Enjoy this phase of your life. Soon, you’ll understand what I’ve been telling you.”

I still don’t understand anything at all, she thought, giddy with the possibilities.

For Mavrel certainly was her type— she didn’t even know she had a type until she’d met him—and she wouldn’t mind having him accompany her to the event at all.

In fact, her heart leaped into her throat with the excitement of it all.

And she couldn’t help but imagine what that would be like…

Getting intimate with such an alien— no, man—who’d dropped into her life like some sort of beautiful mythical creature from the heavens.

Bea’s voice turned a little hoarse. She could barely think straight. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

“Now? You simply wait. Eventually, he’ll be back, and he’ll be falling over himself to impress you. Forget about what happened earlier between Mavrel and me. Believe me when I tell you that it’s out of character for him—that’s just the Mating Fever affecting him. Let him take you to the event. Enjoy yourself. Sometimes, you just need to let yourself ease into the slipstream of the Universe. Life’s much less fun when you fight so hard against the flow of things.”

Huh. Fair call.

Suddenly, Zharek wasn’t so irritating anymore. The last thing Bea had expected was for him to say all these nice things about Mavrel after Mavrel had nearly choked him to death.

She thought about how she felt when she was working on one of her paintings—how she’d slip into a flow state and lose herself, letting the art itself dictate her brushstrokes.

She’d lose track of time.

The painting wouldn’t always go to plan—sometimes it would turn out better, sometimes worse—but when she was done, it would always feel right.

Maybe this was a little bit like that.