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“It is my duty,” replies Doman, and steps through the blackness. My breath is a sharp intake, when he steps back out, giving us a quick nod.

I follow him, expecting to feel something as I cross the threshold, but one moment I am in the underground city, the huge dome rising above me, the next in the building which feels more like a gateway than a structure.

Three Etherion women await us, solemn, the shimmering air-field and the yawning mouth of the cave behind them. My skin prickles as I realize what is different about the dark waters.

No schools of the brilliant fish are swimming between us and the black mouth of the cave.

The Etherion women radiate venerable authority, clad to their necks in long, flowing robes of green and blue fibers, in intricate patterns. Unlike the others, they have no gems adorning them. Their backs are arched upwards, and when they blink, the nictating eyelids flick down.

Though the Aurelian triad towers over them, they stand without fear, completely vulnerable yet unfazed by the alien conquerors who have never stepped foot on their lands before. The floor gives under the weight of our feet, like an embrace.

“You will be presented to the guardians as you are born. Some are given visions, some are not. The visions are yours and yours alone. Share them if you wish, or keep them. It is your choice.” The middle of the three women speaks, her lips barely moving.

Titus looks over to the cave. “That’s a stretch. Too long for a human to swim.”

“You will be given the tools you need, as you were not born of these waters.”

“Very well,” accepts Titus, looking to me then back to the yawning cave. He has no fear for his own life, only mine.

They stand, waiting, without speaking. The Aurelians exchange looks, waiting for the next instructions.

“Please, disrobe,” says the middle woman, finally.

Doman shrugs, undoes his belt, and disrobes without hesitation.

I had known the Aurelian species was famously comfortable in their own skin. I wasn’t ready to one second be standing in a room with the triad clothed, the next standing before the three huge alien men as they strip without thought.

Doman’s back is broad and powerful, bulging in places I didn’t know muscles existed. I can’t stop myself from staring. He has a violent symmetry to him, muscled yet lithe and graceful, relaxed yet taut, corded power ready for war.

And his ass. Fuck, but I’d never thought that was a feature that mattered in men, but it looks like it was designed for him to thrust. His body is an intense, coiled spring, and he would break me in two.

Titus is massive next to him, impossibly even broader and thicker than Doman, heavy slabs of muscle with more beef to him, while Gallien is lean and chiseled.

I have the strongest urge to run my fingers over their marble skin, to press in and see it indent under my touch, to feel the warmth from the living statues.

My mouth goes dry. I’m overwhelmed by the sight of three nude aliens.

Titus leans down, placing his heavy platinum chain and wristlet on the ground, and even that small movement is poetry, his muscles rippling as he stands back up to his full height.

The three Etherion priestesses are doing everything to keep their mysterious, serene composure, and they’re failing.

They can’t resist glancing down to see if the rumors are true, and their widening eyes tells me they are.

They might be aged, venerable priestesses of Etherion, but deep down, they are still human.

Doman turns, his huge, flaccid cock swinging, thick and powerful, and he looks over at me, his bright blue eyes burning in anticipation for me to disrobe.

My hands shake as I bring them up to my uniform top, staring straight forward, trying to find somewhere to look that isn’t filled with muscled perfection.

Doman holds his hand up. “Wait. You don’t need to do this. The rules of your game was that I need to fulfill these rituals, not you. If you want to stay here and wait for us, you can.”

It’s bloody hard to concentrate on a word he’s saying when he’s got that thing swinging heavily between his tree-trunk legs.

There’s nowhere safe to look, nowhere that isn’t chiseled pecs, hard lines so defined they could be carved out of stone.

Their cocks hang thick between their legs, with huge balls like grapefruits, pumping the Aurelians full of more testosterone than twenty human men.

They are flawless. Even the bullet scars, paler against Titus’ marble skin, do not mar him.

They are accents of his bravery. Gallien, the shortest at over seven feet tall, is lean without an ounce of fat, with the most infuriating V-lines that lead the eyes right down to his thick, curved cock.

They are absolute perfection, three bodies created for war, created for…

I steel myself, my hands no longer shaking as I unbutton my top, then pull off my gray pants. If they’re going to be so damned casual about it, then I can be too.

But as I undo my bra, letting it fall to the ground, and lean over, awkwardly pulling off my underwear, they’re no longer so casual and unaffected. Their intense eyes trace over my body, and I don’t feel like the sexless Prime Minister, clad in the bland gray, shapeless uniform.

I feel like a woman, in a way I never have before.

I clear my throat, telling them Aurelians to get a hold of themselves, but Doman has the audacity to smirk, letting his eyes trail up my curves, completely unashamed to be enjoying every inch of me, his eyes strolling over my breasts and up, until he meets my eyes.

There’s heat in his gaze, and his cock is stiffening, growing thicker and heavier.

I cross my arms. “Shall we get to it?”

His head shakes minutely, focusing again, clad in nothing but the golden crown that rests on his head. Then, as one, the three of them remove their royal crowns, placing them on the piles of their clothes.

“Of course,” growls Doman. His voice seems to have gotten deeper.

“As you were born,” comes the voice of the lead priestess, but her voice lacks the mysterious prophecy it had before, her composure marred by the flush in her cheeks. No one is immune to the raw masculinity of the three beasts.

Then I realize what she is saying, her gaze on Doman’s ring. The panic rises in me.

Doman was able to control himself. Barely. When we were in the throne room and he pulled off the ring, his cock surged up, his body tensed with the aching need, his being inflamed with ravenous lust.

That was when I was fully clothed.

Now I’m nude, and his battle-brothers will be ringless as well.

Titus might have a roguish sense of humor I never would have expected, but there’s no humor in his hungry eyes as he drinks in my being.

He’s well over seven feet of barbarian strength, the bullet wounds on his chest speaking to his intense will, able to power through anything to get what he wants.

The three of them will snap as one. One finger would be enough to press me down. All three of their savage rage pressed in on me…

Even the presence of the priestesses would not stop them.

Gallien’s got this hard look in his eyes that scares me. I’ve sensed a darkness in him. The other two are almost simple in their beastly, rage-fueled lust. Gallien has a sophisticated cruelty to him, and I don’t want to imagine the things he would do to me when the Mating Rage overwhelms him.

Or maybe I do.

The thought comes out of nowhere, and I take a step back from the three alien princes. Their cocks are swelling, the blood making them thicker, heavier.

“Show us how we’re going to breathe first,” growls Doman, his voice with a deep, raw edge as he fights down the Mating Rage. Even with those rings on their fingers, they want me, and there’s no Bond to blame for the way they ache for me.

“Very well,” says the leader of the priestesses. The three women turn, their robes swishing, and bring their hands up to the transparent wall of the air-shield.

In a slow, practiced movement, they trace a circle with their hands against the invisible barrier.

It thickens under their touch, and they grab the edges, pulling out three rings of the same translucent material that forms their beautiful architecture.

The air seems strange above the rings, wavering and distorting.

The Aurelians bow their heads, and the priestesses slide the rings over their heads, pressing them down against their shoulders, and I get a pang of insane, ridiculous jealousy that they are touching them. It’s ridiculous—the priestesses could be my grandmothers—and I’ve never been possessive.

I breath out a small sigh of relief as the priestesses mold air-shield spheres from the rings, like the helmets of astronauts from so long ago who braved the cosmos in the first space walks. It’s a necessary separation.

They will not taste my scent and go wild.

The head priest makes another circle in the wall and offers it to me.

I only have to duck my head slightly for her to place it against my shoulders, and with a practiced movement, she forms the shimmering dome around my head.

It feels strange and cool against my skin, and the air is thick and humid, even compared to the moisture of their dome cities.

The Aurelian triad removes their blue-black rings, placing them on their white robes.

Then the priestesses step aside, and we look out towards the black ocean separating us from the underwater caverns of the krakens.

I remind myself that the krakens are silent protectors, and they’ve never hurt a human.

Unless any violence was covered up by the Etherions. There are many secrets under the sea.