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In modern vernacular, or rather, the human vernacular, today fucking sucked.

Vero Phoenix sat behind an ancient iron-and-oak desk, his body screaming for action. For anything. He’d even climb an ice-covered tree if that meant m oving his legs.

“Mr., ah, Phoenix?” A petite, dark-haired female, who looked around twenty but was actually only seventeen years old, hovered hesitantly in the doorway of his office.

He had a damn office—as well as a surname. He somewhat understood the reasoning of creating family units by employing surnames, but adjusting took time. Just a month before, he’d discovered he had a brother named Paxton Phoenix, so when Pax became their king, Vero figured he should adopt the surname. If nothing else, it showed their enemies where his allegia nce lay. “Yes?”

The female paled. “Sir, I mean, um , Mr. Phoenix?”

He bit back a snarl. Smiling was too much for him right now, so he tried to keep his brows from slashing down. Apparently that looked frightening—for some unfathomable reason. “Genevieve, you can call me Vero. Remember?” He couldn’t do anything about the hoarseness of his low voice, so he didn’t try.

She flushed from her chest to her hairline, her bluish-green gaze darting away. “Yes, sir. I mean, I ’m sorry, sir.”

Jesus. “It’s okay.” He had to find somebody else to work as his secretary. Or administrative assistant. How in the hell did he have an administrative assistant? “What?” His voice sounded rusty because h e rarely spoke.

She hovered, her shoulders down. “Um, Miss, I mean Ms., ah, Lyrica is he re to see you.”

Well, double fuck. “Fine. Please send her in.” Now he sounded like some human stockbroker. Or worse, an attorney. If he had half a brain, he’d take off for the Himalayas and live by himself in a cabin blanketed with snow. Maybe he could make frien ds with a bear.

Screw that. He’d never had a real friend. Sure, he’d thought he had, but Hunter had ended up being a two-faced, lying, spying asshole. If Vero made friends with a bear, it would eat him.

That would be preferable to his cur rent situation.

Lyrica Graves swept inside, somehow looking both regal and indignant while wearing jeans and a scarlet sweater that fit her curvy body perfectly, her cheeks red from the cold. She’d apparently ditched her coat in the outer office but still wore thick b lue snow boots.

If he asked her to just shoot him, would she?

Her pretty brown eyes sparked. “You are totally screwin g all this up.”

Yep. She’d definitely shoot him. He considered making the request for all of five seconds, then decided he didn’t want to give her that much satisfaction. In the saddle of life, she was a burr biting his skin, and she had been for the past weeks as they’d tried to bring the Kurjan nation, his nation, into modern times. “What do you want now?”

She drew to her full and unimpressive height of about five foot six inches and tossed her head in a way only angry females could achieve.

His body reacted instantly, going hard as a rock, head to toe—and worse yet, everywh ere in between.

An unholy, feminine, and unreal peach bloomed beneath her smooth skin. “I heard you told Eudokia Guavras she could stay with her mate.”

If he had an emotion, he’d blink. Instead, he kept his voice level and forced himself to talk. “I spoke with her—alone—for more than an hour. She wants to remain with her mate. I thought that allowing females to do as they wish was your goal?”

She put both hands on her voluptuous hips, her eyes glittering like a dark disco ball. “Allow? Did you say allow ?”

Damn it. That was one of the expressions he was supposed to banish. But the word fit the situation. He had allowed the female to stay with her mate of more than five hundred years. She’d begged and pleaded to do so. He shoved down irritation. “Yes. She loves her mate. They’ve been together since the Byzantine Empire, and she has borne him three sons. Good ones.” All three were, in fact, exce llent soldiers.

Lyrica lifted her face to the ceiling as if he was just too stupid to deal with at the moment. “Eudokia doesn’t know what she wants. She has been a Kurjan mate for centuries, man. She has no clue about the life that could be hers out in the world.”

Yet her mate and her sons would remain with the Kurjan nation. A headache loomed at the base of Vero’s skull, and he allowed his jaw to firm. Now wasn’t the time to once again correct her that he wasn’t a man. Not human. Not even close. “Perhaps Eudokia doesn’t care about the outside world.”

Lyrica’s chin lowered. With her dark hair curling over her shoulders and her smooth skin begging for a kiss, she looked far more appealing than dangerous. Like a kitten hissing at a cobra, clueless to the dangerous bite about to strike her. “That’s because she’s had no exposu re to freedom.”

He stood, unable to sit any longer. “We are not having this a rgument again.”

She took a step toward him. Completely misunderstanding the moment, as usual. How did she not see the killer lurking beneath his black uniform? The animal, barely leashed, that heated his very soul?

“We are not arguing,” she said through gritted teeth. “We are discussing the situation.”

Discussing? The female had no right to smell like fresh juniper berries while challenging him with every movement. No right at all. “What do you want, Lyrica?” he asked, curling his fingers into fists and resting them on the inn ocuous desktop.

For the first time, she faltered. “I—I’m not sure. I guess I want to show her the world. The possibilities ava ilable to her.”

“Why?” He truly didn’t understand. Eudokia had mated a high-ranking Kurjan soldier, which gave her status. She’d given birth to three strong and able-bodied sons who adored her. She also routinely won the pie bake-off every autumn during the fall season, when life calmed down. What more could a female want?

Lyrica rolled her eyes this time. “How do you know what you’re missing if you have no clue what’s out there? These females who’ve lived with your people for eons? They’re like three-dimensional beings who’ve been forced to live in a two-dimensional world for centuries. They can’t remotely comprehend that third dimension…until they act ually look up.”

If he shot himself, he’d just take too long to heal. The only way to truly end his torment was to cut off his head today…and fuck him. He couldn’t do it. His loyalty to a nation that had wronged him—to a brother who didn’t understand him—to a friend who’d betrayed him…was absolute. He didn’t make a bit of sense, and yet, he wouldn’t abandon those who’d abandoned him. For now. Every cell in his immortal body knew with certainty that his end would come bloody, and it would no d oubt come soon.

Even immortality had its limits—a good beheading from an enemy lay in his future.

It was a pity he tru ly didn’t care.

Worse yet, this stubborn female, who courted danger she couldn’t even see, called to him. Who would protect her if he left? He couldn’t worry about that, nor could he think about that wide, three-dimensional world that kept tempting him. So much so that his dreams centered on blue oceans and worlds through portals that might finally be opening for him—if he’d been somebody else. Somebody destined to live after the current year. After Paxton consolidated power next week at the Convexus. If he didn’t get the powerful coalition of forty Cyst soldiers to join with them again during the night of the Kurjan Dark Solstice, they wouldn’t survi ve as a nation.

Phenomenal soldiers, the Cyst traditionally served as the spiritual leaders for the nation, and without them, this new world would never work. Most had left when Paxton had become their king. Vero needed to focus all his attention on securing them back w ith his people.

But this female. She tempted Vero—and failed to hear her own siren call. He cleared his throat but knew it wouldn’t make him sound any less Kurjan. While his vocal cords weren’t quite as mangled as a demon’s, but they were close. “You need to understand that some females want to stay here, wit h their mates.”

Her nostrils flared as she drew in air, obviously biting her tongue before speaking. “No female wants to live subjected to a male. Ever.”

His temper licked at the base of his neck. “Nobody is being subjected.” Not anymore, anyway. He crossed around the desk, allowing himself to enjoy the scent of berries—just for a moment. “Eudokia loves her mate, and if she feels submissive to him, it seems to work. They have a good union.” Her eyes widened, barely, as he approached her.

Her chin lowered. “He ’s possessive.”

“Of course he’s possessive. S he’s his mate.”

Lyrica instantly shoved him, both hands on his chest. He captured her wrists and pulled her body in closer, his head lowering, his blood thundering thr ough his veins.

* * * *

Fire lanced through Lyrica, head to toe. Anger and something else. A breath-stealing sensation that winged wild flutters through her abdomen. “I really don’t like you,” she snapped through gritted teeth, ignoring those flutters.

Vero lowered his head even more, and shards of black cut through the unholy blue of his eyes. “I don’t lik e you, either.”

Her legs trembled. While Vero wasn’t as tall as some Kurjan soldiers, at only about six foot seven, he still stood a foot taller than her. And he was broader across the chest than most Kurjans. The Kurjans, who procreated only males, had black hair tipped with red. Not Vero. The pure black mass of his hair curled below his ears. His skin wasn’t as pale as most of his people’s, either. In fact, out in the real world, he could nearly pass for human. Almost. If he wore dark sunglasses to veil his eyes.

She had to stop dreaming about those eyes. “Let go of me.”

He glanced at his hands, wrapped easily around her small wrists. His head jerked and he released her as if she’d burst into flames. “My apologies.”

Yet another difference in him. She hadn’t heard any other Kurjan soldier a pologize. Ever.

He crossed massive arms across his chest. Why? To keep from grabbing her again? “Genevieve,” he cal led out softly.

The door instantly opened. “Yes, sir?” Genevieve hovered on the threshold.

His sigh held heat. “Set up an appointment for Eudokia to meet with Lyrica again.”

Genevieve released the door, turned, and could be heard running down the hallway to the main room of the lodge that temporarily served as thei r headquarters.

“You terrify her.” Lyrica stared at the closed oak door before returning he r focus to him.

“I know.” He leaned back against the monstrous desk. “Sh e has a brain.”

Lyrica’s gaze narrowed as she studied him. “Can you blame her? When your people kidnapped us, one of your Cyst generals beat the crap out of her when she protested.” The Cyst were the ultimate soldiers and spiritual leaders to the Kurjan nation. They were also a bag of dicks.

“He’s dead,” Vero said flatly. “So I can’t exactly beat him senseless to even the score, can I?”

Her head snapped back and heat flared down her torso. “That’s your solution?”

The impossibly hard angles of his face didn’t soften. “Yes.”

How could she even start to explain why that was wrong? “Solving violence with violence is n ot the answer.”

One of his dark eyebrows rose. “You j ust shoved me.”

Huh. Good point. “I didn’t think I could hurt you.” The idea seemed ridiculous. He stood twice her size and rem ained immortal.

“My feelings a re devastated.”

She blinked. “Did you jus t make a joke?”

He shrugged one muscled shoulder. “I’m hilarious to mos t who meet me.”

Another joke? No. Absolutely not. He could not be this dangerously sexy and also have a sense of humor. No. She couldn’t stand him, and he still overwhelmed her dreams in a way that left her feeling desperate and needy. She absolutely could not like him. If she did, even a little, what then? Her work was way too important for her to be distracted. Plus, his picture could be plastered under “wounded and solitary animal” in the dictionary. As an empath, very rarely she could feel the desperate pain and hollow loneliness he hid so well, since he w as an immortal.

She cleared her throat. “I need you to sign up for speed dating t omorrow night.”

He straightened. “No.” Somehow, his guttural voice low ered even more.

Now she crossed her arms. “Listen. Your people have spent eons kidnapping enhanced females from around the world, and right now, you won’t let any of them go free. Some of them, after being guaranteed they control their choices, are interested in getting to know Kurjan males. Immortality is an im pressive draw.”

Kurjans were male, only. They passed on their K chromosome with every birth, making only males. Much like the vampires only created males as well. Like all immortals, Kurjan males could mate with other species, including enhanced human females. While the females would not become Kurjans, or vampires, or demons, their chromosomal pairs would increase to grant them immortality after a mating—which meant they’d be bonded forever. “As the second-in-command for the entire Kurjan nation, you could set a good example by attending the evening. It’ll only t ake two hours.”

“No.” His gaze bored into her.

She opened her mouth to argue just as the door opened again and a young Kurjan soldier poked his head into the room, his black hair tipped with red. “Vero? We have a line on a rogue Kurjan group that recently kidnapped several enhanced human females. They’ve established a rough camp in Alaska. You mentioned you were read y for a fight?”

“Thank fucking God. I’ll get my knives.” Vero sidestepped her and di dn’t look back.

Temper jerked her around to watch his retreating back. “I hope you get stabbed in the nec k,” she yelled.

“One can only wish,” he returned before disappearing a round a corner.

She clenched her hands into fists. The man was the most irritating person she’d ever met. Yet he wasn’t a man. The male. Yeah. That took some talent, to be the biggest pain in the butt of all the males in a ll the species.

Hurrying out of his office, she bypassed Genevieve and strode down the hallway to her own office, where she took several deep breaths. Why did he affect her like this? She couldn’t breathe when the jackass stood i n her vicinity.

It took thirty minutes of deep breathing to completely calm herself. Then she sat and primly typed notes into her files regarding the occupants of the camp. All two hundred of them. Finally, not worrying about Vero out on a mission at all, she sat back. That male was not hers to worry about. Her job kept her more than busy. Once again, she’d missed supper.

Genevieve hovered in the doorway again. “Um, Lukas had to go train with the soldiers, so I don’t have an escort back to the barracks. It’s dark outside.”

Lyrica paused as the woman’s emotions hit her like a punch. Warmth and giddiness? “Lukas?” She vaguely remembered the young soldier being around lately.

“Um, yeah. Lukas Macrame. His grandmother chose their new last name.” Genevieve smiled . “He’s sweet.”

Sweet? Just because Lukas might look twenty didn’t mean he wasn’t two hundred years old. “You’re not dating him, are you?”

“Of course not.” The emotions rolling from the girl said otherwise. Then she looked toward the darkened window. “I don’t want to walk alone.”

Lyrica needed to shield her empathic abilities better. Fear did wash from the girl to her. Now she needed to figure out more about this Lukas. “It’s okay, Genevieve. I’m happy to walk with you.” The barracks sat only a couple of minutes away, but darkness felt heavy this high in the Cana dian mountains.

“Thank you.” The rush of gratitude warmed Lyrica’s skin. As did the fact that Genevieve was loosening up enough to trust her. Lyrica, after her time as a mathematician who worked in crisis management for corporations in financial trouble, often felt a little bossy, and she kept trying to temper that instinct. Yet she had to be organized, and bossiness mad e that happen.

She drew on her coat and scarf, following Genevieve from the office, through the lodge, and outside. The freezing cold instantly blasted into her. She shivered but still took comfort. The best times of her young and often unsteady childhood had involved visiting or living with her grandfather in the mount ains of Alaska.

Lyrica walked briskly with Genevieve huddled next to her as a couple of patrol soldiers passed by, nodding at them. The sprawling camp seemed as safe as possible, yet these immortals were still a dangerous unknown. Lyrica’s foot slipped on the ice and she regained her balance as they hustled past a ma intenance shed.

Genevieve suddenly stopped and grabbed Lyrica’s arm. “There’s something…over there,” she whispered, pointing toward a p arked snowplow.

Lyrica followed her gaze and caught the faint outline of something sticking out—bare toes, frozen over with ice and already blue. “Stay here,” sh e said quickly.

“No.” Genevieve clutched her coat buttons tighter as they moved cau tiously closer.

Rounding the snowplow, Lyrica stopped abruptly. Frozen solid, a nude female body lay sprawled awkwardly, as if she’d fallen and never moved again. Bruises covered her neck, which appeared mott led with frost.

“Oh my God,” Genevieve breathed next to Lyrica. “She’s dead.”