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I’d seen holo-vids of her before. The head of research at the cyborg program, leading a facility my intelligence agency was unable to penetrate. She alone turned the Mark models of cyborgs from individualistic, unpredictable warriors into a harmonized legion that turned the tide of battle against Obsidian.

The Bond has changed her. It’s hard to tell from the cockpit of the Reaver, but she might be taller, and she’s got strong posture, radiating health and vitality. Her breasts are the most shocking change. They’ve swollen up, at least twice their former size, and she has a baby bump under her elegant, flowing white dress with a button-down front that cascades gracefully over her form, the professionalism of a classic blouse extending into fluid lines. She’s glowing.

Her changes make me look up at Doman, who stands from the pilot’s seat. His raw power can’t be hidden by the formality of his long white robe, the fabric flowing over the mass of his muscles. All that primal strength, and he can change me, just as Evelyn has been changed. She’s a reminder of what will happen to my willowy frame, and this is just the beginning of the transformations of an Aurelian pregnancy.

By the time she is ready to bear her firstborn, her already swollen breasts will be even larger, leaking milk for her hungry babe. The transformation of the Bond is more than just mental. If I finally let my triad link me to them, people will no longer see me as Adriana, Prime Minister of Pentaris. All my accomplishments will fade away as they watch me turn into a breeding sow for the crown prince, my body molding and shaping to its purpose as an incubator of his sires. A frisson goes up and down my spine, and my skin feels uncomfortably sensitive under the plain fabric of my uniform.

Behind Evelyn, Bruton is looming. Even standing at rest, I can see how protective he is of her, resting a huge marble hand gently on her shoulder.

“It’s good to be back,” says Titus, and the four of us walk out of the Reaver and onto the packed ground of the small landing strip in the manor’s ground, big enough for three or four Reavers.

“Welcome to my home,” booms out Bruton. “Dinner’s—” He stops mid-sentence.

The atmosphere changes in an instant. Bruton’s kind, honest face transforms into the beastly warlord I had heard a thousand tales of, his jaw set as he strides forward, his blade activating. My triad’s blades flare to life, the low hum of Orb-Weapons filling the peaceful scene as the four of us turn to face the threat.

There’s a click from the seamless white metal of the Reaver, and a panel opens at the front, under the cockpit.

To my shock, an Aurelian clambers out.

“Cal?” Doman says, confused, and in the same heartbeat, all four blades are de-activated, the hilts holstered in the Aurelian’s belts.

“Yes, well,” says the new arrival, brushing himself off as he gracefully falls five feet to the ground. “There are some rules about the three of us being in the same place. This was my way of getting around security.”

Cal, the third in line to the throne, arranges his rumpled clothes as if he didn’t just come out of a ship, standing nonchalantly like his sudden appearance was the most ordinary occurrence. He is clad in human clothes, brown, loose slacks and a black hoodie. Short for an Aurelian, which makes him still well over six feet tall, but he lacks the typical broadness of the alien species. While his brothers have legs like tree trunks and biceps like bowling balls, Cal’s got a lanky, long frame.

He's unbelievably handsome, almost too pretty to be real, with high cheekbones, a delicately upturned nose, and skin more like porcelain than marble. His green eyes would put the lush forests of Virelia to shame, and he’s got on simple sandals that would be useless in a fight.

He’s also the first Aurelian I’ve seen without an Orb-Weapon at his belt.

“Bloody hell, you’re a magician,” growls out Doman, and the grin splits his face as he strides to his younger brother. Doman wraps him up in a huge hug, lifting him from the ground while Cal simply freezes up, going practically limp until he’s placed back on the ground. He puts strands of his hair back in place. “How long were you in that Reaver?”

Cal shrugs. “As long as it took. Security thinks I am in my chambers at present. No reason to worry Mother, not with your wedding coming up. She’s quite stressed out, you know.”

I should be happy to meet the second of Doman’s many brothers—but all I’m thinking is that his knack for getting around security is about to come in handy. I push that thought away and walk closer to him.

“Hello Cal. I’m Adriana. Pleased to meet you.”

“Adriana Hart. Of course.” He makes no move to offer his hand to shake mine, so I just smile at him. His face remains neutral, aloof without being impolite, and walks straight past me to Evelyn, talking at a feverish clip. I catch about half of it—he’s excited that smaller ships seem to go missing in the Rift more often, whereas mid-sized and larger ships are more likely to break up in a failed shift, and he darts from one topic to the next, one sentence talking about the Rift and the next about the Planet Killer demonstration.

Evelyn smiles politely at him, then raises her hands. “Cal, could we discuss this after dinner, please? Hey! I’m Evelyn.Pleased to meet you,” she says with a smile that touches me with how genuine it is.

“Hey. Thanks for inviting us. It’s nice to be around another human.”

“Careful, you’ll hurt Bruton’s feeling with that kind of talk,” she laughs, and Bruton feigns insult, but the big man can’t hide his glee at being reunited with his brothers. “You hungry? Dinner’s ready, Grace and Hazel spoil us,” she says, making her two servants swell up with pride.

My stomach rumbles embarrassingly, and we follow her and Bruton into their estate, with high ceilings and double staircases leading up to the upper floors. Evelyn takes us into a dining room with a huge wooden table, laden with food for any taste, from salads with fresh greens and vegetables, seafood from the pristine oceans resting on ice, and fresh baked bread with churned butter.

There’s a peace to this home, a happiness I see within every glance between Evelyn and Bruton, and as I sit on a human-sized chair between my triad, I’m uneasy. A pang of guilt drives through me.

All this happiness, and our coming threatens it. We tuck in, and it’s small talk only—questions about Virelia’s climate and the different foods of Pentaris, how Evelyn’s been craving wine. I watch Cal eating out of the corner of my eye, smiling to myself at the way he dissects a lobster with surgical precision, removing every piece of shell before finally enjoying the meat. Bruton’s booming laugh rings out whenever Titus makes a joke, and Doman has eyes only for me, staring with an intensity that would be uncomfortable if I didn’t crave it. Being around Evelyn, I know exactly why—he’s imagining the moment when he finally seeds me, my body changing and molding in response to his ownership. It would have terrified me just a month ago, but now I’m filled with anticipation that I can’t quite push down.

It’s a relaxed atmosphere on the surface, but I can’t lose the ball of stress, waiting for the moment when Doman drops the bombshell that we’re planning on breaking the enemy out, and soon, that we’re plotting to release the Fated Mate of the sworn enemy of Colossus. Obsidian would raze this planet, would lance out Orb-Beams and drop nuclear bombs to level everything beautiful that grows here, and we’re going to free his pregnant Mate.

When we’re done eating, Doman pushes his plate away. “Bruton. Can we get a drink at your bar?”

The big man looks over at Evelyn, then Doman, and he strokes his beard. “Of course.” Doman rises with his triad, and the four of them walk deeper into the home.

“Let me show you around,” says Evelyn. “Cal, can our convo wait a little?”