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Aklan Phyrz searched for patience as Earth’s diplomats chatted among themselves. He and his fellow warlords had contacted the humans three days ago, local time, and had yet to make any headway among them.

How hard could such negotiations be? In exchange for advanced technologies, the Xeruvians had requested access to unmated human females of breeding age, to help them replace a population destroyed by disaster and disease. The proposition was so simple, even these small, backwater klika should understand it. In fact, the human diplomats should be genuflecting at the warlords’ feet, considering how advanced some of the proffered technologies were. Instead, they dithered endlessly, their every word couched in the kind of inconsequential dung Aklan despised.

When the plan had first been hatched, before the Xeruvian warlords had boarded the Warlord Council leader’s spaceship and traveled across the galaxy, Aklan had favored direct negotiations such as these. The alternative, stealing the women away, seemed barbaric; and while the warlords, with their massive size and horns curling around the sides of their heads, might appear demonic to these lesser creatures, at their hearts they revered peace over war.

Aklan ground his molars. If the situation were not so dire, if these puny klika were not such a good genetic match…

But he had been assured they were. No other species within easy range of their spaceships could offer such a close compatibility. None was strong enough to survive the mating frenzy, a problem even for humans. Certainly, no other nearby race had the same capacity for intelligence as these humans. As small and weak as they seemed, at least their scientists, engineers, and other researchers held great promise.

That was part of the warlords’ plan, to bring back fertile females who could also aid the Xeruvians in their recovery, with their intellect if not physically. No warlord expected to find a proper mate among the humans, no matter their genetic and sexual compatibility. But to find a female worthy enough to bear healthy children, to help them rebuild their world? That would be enough, even if it meant sacrificing the sacred mating bond.

On the other side of the wide conference table, the human from the clan China leaned into the human from the clan United States, while the male he’d been talking to, one from the clan Russia, engaged a human from the clan Saudi Arabia in conversation. All in different languages, all using different cultural signals. The only common trait among them, other than their shared species, was the unanimous choice in location: a bland conference room located outside a desert landing strip in a remote area of the United States, buried beneath Earth’s surface where no satellite surveillance could detect them.

Aklan bit back an impatient sigh and shut his translator off before the cacophony addled his mind. It had all seemed so simple before they departed Zephyria, their home world. Find a compatible intelligent race, negotiate an exchange, fly home to begin rebuilding their population. Aklan, being the most experienced diplomat among them, had anticipated snags, but not to this degree. He’d never met another species that loved to hear themselves talk as much as these humans did, or that so obviously did not wish to yield any concessions.

Fortunately, the warlords were not such simple creatures. Already, his companions worked on another way for them to meet their objectives, an avenue that would ensure their long journey had not been wasted.

An enticing fragrance drifted to him, cutting through his impatience, and Aklan froze. That scent. He had never smelled its like. What was it? Where did it come from?

His attention snagged on a female as she walked across the room and handed the United States diplomat a thick folder. Once they’d discovered the Xeruvians’ needs, the Earthlings had been very careful never to expose the warlords to the physical presence of one of their fertile females. Aklan had yet to meet a human female of any age, though he’d had the pleasure of several video conversations with higher ranking elderly females. Pleasant people, really, those women. Much more interesting to look at than this crop of suited males, anyway.

Aklan eyed this new female covertly, carefully guarding his expression so that none of the males present would sense his interest. This female seemed tall for a human, taller than several of her male compatriots, and had a pleasing figure. Softer than a Xeruvian female, true, but possessing the same athletic grace and determined stride. Her hair was the oddest color, a deep red-brown, and her skin too pale against the severe white of her shirt.

Yet there was something about her, something that compelled further study.

She handed off the folder to her male counterpart, who shot Aklan a wary glance before dismissing the female. As she turned, her gaze darted to Aklan, triggering a reaction he had never expected.

His body tightened and blood roared in his ears, and over the low growl rumbling from deep within his chest, a single thought tolled.

Mine .

The woman arched a beautifully curved eyebrow at him, turned sharply, and exited at an unhurried pace, the delectable curves of her ass twitching enticingly beneath the tight fabric of her black skirt.

Aklan watched her go, his hands clenching and unclenching into fists beneath the table. The mating instinct thrummed through his blood, centered on the naked desire to claim her now. Only the long-practiced discipline of his vocation checked his impulse to chase her down, to corner her in a secluded room, to sink his teeth into her throat and begin the mating rite.

He wrenched his body under control, cursing the erection pressing against his breeches beneath his tunic and robe. She is human , he reminded himself grimly, a fragile, delicate little klika of a human. She might not survive the mating frenzy. He could never risk unleashing it upon her.

Therefore, he must master the instinct urging him to claim her as he would a Xeruvian female, now while it rode high in his blood.

Yet, he could not tear his gaze away from her retreat, could not bring himself to cut short the bittersweet agony of watching her walk away without his bit upon her throat, and hers upon his.

She disappeared through the conference room’s doorway, breaking his thrall, and Aklan remembered the diplomats gathered around him. They had, for once, fallen silent and turned their gazes to him. Some looked horrified, some amused. Mike Nicholson, the United States clan’s diplomat, merely looked resigned.

Aklan pinned his gaze on that male. “Who is the female?”

“Not part of our negotiations,” Nicholson said flatly.

Aklan allowed his hunger to bleed into his expression. “If you wish to acquire any of our technology, she is very much a part of our negotiations.”

“Ambassador Phyrz,” the other male began.

Aklan stood abruptly, cutting Nicholson’s objections short. “I wish to meet her. You will arrange it.”

Nicholson’s mouth firmed into a thin line. “And if I don’t?”

Aklan smiled coldly, baring sharp fangs. “Arrange it.”

He left before another objection could be uttered among the humans.

When Mike Nicholson hand selected Sonja Mathis to be part of a secret diplomatic mission, she’d had no idea what to expect. Certainly not first contact with a highly intelligent race of extraterrestrials.

Yet here they were, hunkered down at Area 51 in the middle of a salt flat in Nevada, part of a team negotiating with said extraterrestrials while an alien spacecraft hovered in geosynchronous orbit over the site.

As part of the emergency prep, she and the other members of Mike’s hastily gathered team had studied photographs of the aliens, taken from the video of their first message to Earth’s leaders. Xeruvians, they called themselves, a culture of loosely allied clans located light years away on a planet they called Zephyria.

Even after being in the same room with an actual Xeruvian, Sonja had a hard time believing they were real.

Maybe it had been stupid of her not to pass the intel Mike had requested to him through a male colleague. But she’d wanted a look at a Xeruvian, an up close, personal look. Pictures could only tell you so much about a person, after all, and as Mike’s right-hand man, she’d needed to know what they were up against.

Boy, had she gotten an eyeful.

The Xeruvian was a mountain made flesh, like a living sculpture carved out of basalt. Even sitting, he appeared huge. When he rose to his full height, he had to be least a head and a half taller than Mike, who stood nearly six feet tall in his socked feet. If the Xeruvian had an ounce of fat on him, she hadn’t seen it. No, she’d been too busy trying to keep her eyes from plopping out of her head. Her curiosity had gotten the better of her, piqued by the low, rumbling growl the Xeruvian had emitted the moment she’d stepped into the room, and that one quick peek had nearly floored her.

Stupid, stupid . It hadn’t hit her how alien he was until their gazes locked for the briefest moment; and in that moment, her heart hiccupped, her breathing hitched, and her knees went wobbly, no man had ever given her before.

No human man anyway.

She’d forced herself to walk at an even pace away from the conference room, though she’d swear she could feel the alien’s eyes boring holes into her back. Forced herself to nod coolly at the people she passed in the concrete block corridor, security, soldiers, and other members of the various diplomatic teams gathered hastily in the classified desert facility. With every step, she’d wrested herself back into control, calming her heartbeat and breathing, stiffening her weak limbs, and trying so very hard to ignore the way her nipples had pebbled when he’d flicked a coolly assessing gaze down her body.

Her legs wobbled again just as she finally reached her temporary office. Calmly, as if her entire world hadn’t been turned upside down, she closed the door, shutting out her colleagues, and collapsed in the chair behind her desk.

Ok, fact number one: the Xeruvian, alien though he might be, was the hottest male she’d ever laid eyes on.

Hottest. Guy. Ever .

If all the warlords were built like him, human women would line up for days just to spot a glimpse.

Sonja closed her eyes and replayed the brief look she’d gotten in her mind, her lips curving into a faint smile. He wore simple clothing, an off white, sleeveless tunic under a subtly embroidered sleeveless robe the color of the lagoon surrounding the Maldives. Presumably he’d paired those with similar clothing worn on the lower half of his body, inconveniently hidden by the conference table. Broad shoulders. Massive, muscled arms. Hair the color of midnight, styled in a short, messy mop. Keenly intelligent eyes nearly the same color as his robe, a hawkish nose, a strong chin. Very human-like, all in all, except for the horns curling backward from his temples.

Oh, his rock-hewn face was just different enough to mark his alienness, but not so different as to be off putting.

Just remembering the look he’d given her made her heart leap into a rapid patter.

She sighed and moved on before the memory sank its smoking hot hooks into her imagination.

Fact number two: she was attracted to him.

There. She’d acknowledged her own weakness. Like chocolate, she had a feeling this warrior would be addictive. And like chocolate, she planned on avoiding temptation whenever possible, or at least managing it. There was always the possibility that he had no idea of the effect he’d had on her.

She snorted at that. Fat chance. If ever a man knew his effect on women, it was that one.

Even if he did notice, so what? She had a job to do here. So did he. Better to stick to business.

Better, she thought ruefully, to’ve handed off that damn file to a male colleague.

But she’d wanted a peak, and Mike had needed the file right then. So. What’s done was done. Now she’d have to live with the consequences, whatever they might be.

Her eyes flew open at a polite tap on her door. She sat up and affected a cool, composed expression just as her boss poked his head in the door.

Mike Nicholson looked the part he played, a distinguished diplomat with decades of service under his belt. After serving two tours as a Green Beret in Vietnam, he’d finished his degree in political science and earned another in international relations. His expertise in Southeast Asian politics and culture had led to his appointment as an attaché to the United States’ embassy in Seoul, where he’d cut his teeth on Cold War era diplomacy. From there, he’d become one of the most well-known diplomats ever to grace the political stage.

Rose, his late wife, had followed him from tour to tour, nurturing talent and diplomacy in equal measure before succumbing to cancer two years ago. Mike had reeled from the loss of his wife and partner. As soon as he could, he retired to their home in Nantucket Bay with his grandchildren and dogs. Sonja never thought he’d accept another assignment, but who could resist first contact?

She waved him in and studied him as he closed the door and took a seat opposite her. His conservatively cut hair had gone completely white after Rose’s death, and while she knew he exercised and tried to stay active, the last two years had taken a toll on him. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, and fatigue had leached some color from the tan he’d acquired after retiring. She made a mental note to gently usher him toward a nap before negotiations resumed.

He tapped his hands on the arms of his chair and settled a frank look on her. “Well. That was interesting.”

Sonja reclined in her chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Should I hand in my resignation now?”

He waved that off. “It would’ve happened sooner or later. Better you than a simpering fool.”

Sonja hummed a noncommittal note and zipped her lips shut. She’d expected at least a slap on the wrist, not to have her lapse in judgment, however small, waved off without a reprimand.

Mike flashed a grin at her now. “See? That’s why I like you. You know when to keep quiet. Important skill in our line of work. You made an impression, by the way, and not just on the Xeruvian.”

“You asked for information. I gave it to you. That’s my job.”

“And you’re damned good at it. May I be frank?”

She nodded solemnly. “Always.”

“You gave us an in. Granted, not the in I’d hoped for. I never wanted to throw you or any of the other women here to the wolves.”

“I know why women have been excluded, Mike. It makes sense, considering the Xeruvians’ terms.”

“Broodmares,” he said, his disgust hidden artfully behind the mildly voiced word. “We’ve moved beyond that, in the West, at least.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.” Sonja waved a hand at her laptop and the intel she’d gathered on the women scientists and researchers at the Center for the Advancement of Humankind. Each woman represented exactly the kind of female the Xeruvians wished to meet: skilled, intelligent, unattached, and young enough to reproduce. In other words, everything a human male wanted in a potential wife. Humankind’s first contact had turned out to have very human needs indeed. The idea amused her no end.

“I’ve worked with some of these women before,” she continued, suppressing her amusement in favor of the professionalism Mike expected. “Many of them would give their right eyetooth to meet a real, live extraterrestrial.”

“Be that as it may, we’d like to ensure the women will be treated well before handing them over wholesale.”

“Wholesale? Surely they’ll have a say in the matter.”

“Yes. The Xeruvians have been very clear there. They’re rather—” A faint smile flicked across his mouth. “—enlightened on that score. Their leader’s mother has assumed his place on their ruling council while he’s away. I take it she wields a not inconsequential amount of power in her own right, apart from any reflected power gained by her son’s position.”

Sonja bit her tongue to contain her curiosity and waited for Mike to make his point.

His smile died on a weary sigh. “He requested a meeting with you. Their diplomat, Aklan Phyrz.”

She rolled the idea around for a moment before answering. “Did he say why?”

“Only that it was nonnegotiable. Of course, you have the final say.”

“But you need an in.”

Mike nodded once. “We need an in, someone who can get close to him, learn what they’re really like. What they really want. And I don’t want to throw my best aide to the wolves.”

“I knew there would be consequences when I walked into that room.”

“Not these consequences. You’re not a broodmare.”

“No one says I have to be. He could have another interest in me.”

Mike looked at her for a long moment, his mouth twitching with humor. “You’re an intelligent, highly talented woman, Sonja, but you’re also incredibly beautiful. From the look he gave you when you entered the conference room, it’s fair to say he noticed.”

Heat flushed her cheeks, and she cursed her lack of control. “Whether he notices or not, I’m here to do a job, not flirt with an oversized ET.”

She’d meant to lighten his concern, maybe even to tickle that wicked sense of humor Mike hid so well.

Instead, his expression held a touch of sadness. “I’m sorry it came down to this.”

“As you said. If it hadn’t been me, it would’ve been someone else. We couldn’t keep them away from women forever.”

“Would that we could. Then we could send them on their way without handing over our best and brightest to virtual strangers. Technological advances be damned. Losing as many scientists as they’ve requested could cripple our own advancement, not to mention national security.” He shook his head and stood, his diplomat’s mask firmly in place once again. “How much time do you need to make a decision?”

“None,” she said. “Arrange the meeting, the sooner the better.”

“Normally I’d hand that sort of thing off to you, but in this case, I think I’d like to make the arrangements myself.” He shrugged his suit jacket into place, smoothed the buttons down. “Thank you.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “For what, doing my job?”

“For being you. I’ll let you know as soon as the meeting’s arranged.”

He left without waiting for a response.

What could she say anyway? She’d known there’d be consequences. She just hadn’t expected them to be this.