Chapter 7

SEVEN

Almighty Goddess, help me.

As soon as he was out of Zharek’s rooms, Mavrel found a spot in a quiet side corridor.

He leaned against the wall and sank onto his haunches, dropping his face into his hands.

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

What was that?

He’d been so incensed that he’d stormed right into Zharek’s labs without thinking—well, there had been a fraction of thought which boiled down to something like I’m going to kill him— but his rage had been white-hot, his rationality burned to a wisp.

The memory of her scent had imprinted so hard onto his consciousness that he’d been unable to differentiate it from the real thing until it was too late.

He hadn’t noticed…

Until she was standing before him, leaning in the doorway, one arm raised, her hand pressed elegantly against the Callidum frame. She’d balanced her weight on her good leg, causing one hip to jut out slightly, accentuating her sublime curves.

Lit up by the glow of Zharek’s machines, her outline in the doorway was etched into his mind’s eye.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

She’d dressed for the occasion. He’d never seen anything like it.

Mavrel shook his head and made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a growl. Humans and their outlandish fashions. How could such a simple garment turn her into a walking piece of art?

The dress was a sheath for her divine figure. It skimmed her curves and accentuated all of her. It was tantalizingly revealing in some places and wickedly concealing in others.

She’d arranged her hair in an elaborate knot, revealing the elegant column of her neck and the alluring sweep of her shoulders.

She looked nothing short of regal.

And yet, when she’d seen him, her expression had softened, and her face had lit up—even when he’d been about to strangle Zharek into the next dimension.

His arousal had flared instantaneously, erasing his anger and filling the void with euphoric hunger.

She’d smiled at him.

The spark in her eyes had ignited a different kind of fire inside him—wild, brilliant, vaporizing any sort of worry for the consequences.

Seeing her in the flesh…

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be anywhere but beside her.

The problem was he didn’t know if he’d be able to control himself.

“ Fuck ,” Mavrel hissed, slamming his fist into the floor, welcoming the sharp jolt of pain. Anything to cut through this haze of madness.

What was he supposed to do now?

Go back, fix her shoe, and return?

Stick to his original plan and not do anything until he saw fit?

No. That was impossible now. Zharek and his infernal meddling had blown that particular intention of his into stardust.

Suddenly, the Universe was well outside of his control, and she was right here on the Fleet Station itself, expecting him to return.

He wanted her so badly that he feared what he could do.

“You look like you’re stuck in some kind of chaotic orbit.” A familiar voice made him look up.

“Rykal,” Mavrel growled in annoyance, rising to his feet. The First Division guys were too stealthy. “What are you doing here?”

Rykal shrugged, a deceptively innocent expression crossing his deceptively delicate features. “Just happened to be in the area. I heard—knew it was you right away.”

The warrior wore a fine, deep green kashkan with delicate silver embroidery at the edges—a swirling abstract pattern that reminded Mavrel of an atmospheric wind current.

“ You’re attending this event, too?”

Rykal smiled, showing his fangs. “My mate’s excited, so what am I supposed to do? We Kordolians aren’t a very festive people, are we? This whole thing has been set up for the benefit of humans. To show them that we’re more adaptable than what they’ve been led to believe. That we can, indeed, party. ”

“Hmph. Sounds like this whole thing was engineered to attract more viable mates. A strategic move wrapped up in pleasantries.”

“So what?” Rykal shrugged. “It isn’t like the humans were coerced into doing anything they didn’t want to. Each woman received an invitation and was given the option to decline or accept. Those that are here really want to be here—your prospective mate included.”

“You know about that?” Mavrel asked sharply. Did the entire cursed Fleet Station know about his predicament?

Rykal’s expression was infuriatingly indecipherable. “You’re going to have to sort yourself out soon. There’s only one way out of this that doesn’t involve you going completely mad or dying. Take control, brother. Or else, you’ll be pulled off your regular duties.”

“I don’t recall you or any of the First Division being suspended from normal duties when you were going through it,” Mavrel said testily.

“That’s because the Mating Fever’s conducive to aggression.”

“So… what in Kaiin’s Hells am I supposed to do now?”

“Hm.” Rykal inclined his head, his golden eyes narrowing. “You’re going to implode if you keep going like this. Why don’t you come and spar with me?”

“ Spar? With you? ” An incredulous laugh escaped Mavrel’s lips. Like all Kordolians who entered the military, he had basic combat training, but for him to go up against one of the deadliest fighters in the Nine Galaxies was absurd.

“Don’t worry. I’ll meet you at your level. You need to get that pent-up aggression out, and this is one of the quickest and most effective ways to do it. I have lots of experience. We can talk strategy along the way.”

Mavrel shook his head, rising to his feet. “I need to fix a shoe. Later.”

“You’re going to go insane.”

“I’m already insane.”

“You’re a stubborn bastard, you know that?”

“Doesn’t that apply to us all?”

“Thanks for reminding me.” Rykal’s aura shifted, becoming slightly threatening. “Follow me. If you don’t, I’ll have to exercise my right to pull rank on you.”

Mavrel hissed in frustration. Being First Division, Rykal certainly did outrank him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because, my friend, I see that a brother, whose sharp mind and quick thinking have helped us out on many occasions when I was in a tight spot, is now in a situation of his own. I see that you’re suffering, but you’re also set in your Kordolian ways and completely unprepared for what’s to come. I’ve had to learn the hard way, but we know a fair bit about humans now. Enough to help you master a predicament like this. So why not let me teach you the secrets over a bout of much-needed violence?”

Rykal was looking at him intently now, his brow furrowed, his expression earnest. How could he be so threatening one moment, then so sincere the next? But that was the nature of the First Division, and Rykal obviously wasn’t going to be deterred.

Besides, Mavrel could only hold out for so long.

This thing was going to destroy him.

Curse Zharek.

Curse the Godess’s infernal timing.

She was here.

He had to act now or risk screwing things up big time.

The stakes were higher than ever.

This was going to be one of the most difficult things he’d ever had to do in his life, but now he had Rykal in his corner, apparently.

And the very last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her.

“Very well,” Mavrel grated as the pain stabbed behind his eyes. “Let’s see if your little method works.”

As cocky as ever, Rykal flashed a fang-tipped smile. “Of course it works, my brother. It’s been tried and tested time and time again. Once I’m done with you, you’ll be plasma-proof, and she won’t be able to resist you.”