The Starlight Chronicles 4

Secrets of a Reckless Princess

A future queen and the two males who desire her...

Luckily, Princess Jayla of Anasta doesn't have to choose. Damon Le Clerc is a political rebel who is exasperating, yet devastatingly attractive. Marc Kartel is an handsome ambassador with a diplomatic agenda that includes marriage.

Having two virile lovers who are so different is interesting, but as disaster for her planet looms, she finds that that is only to her advantage. Perhaps between the three of them they can save Anasta from a danger that is more elusive and deadly than it seems.

When she is taken hostage and the entire situation becomes explosive in a literal sense, both the passionate genius with a volatile personality and the cool negotiator are willing to risk their lives to save her...

Genre: Futuristic, Multiple Partners
Length: 38,478 words

SECRETS OF A RECKLESS PRINCESS

The Starlight Chronicles 4

Annabel Wolfe

POLYAMOUR

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SECRETS OF A RECKLESS PRINCESS

Copyright © 2011 by Annabel Wolfe

E-book ISBN: 1-61034-292-5

First E-book Publication: February 2011

Cover design by Jinger Heaston

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SECRETS OF A RECKLESS PRINCESS

Starlight Chronicles 4

ANNABEL WOLFE

Copyright © 2011

Chapter One

The guard stood blocking her way, which was a nuisance.

“I need to see the prisoner,” Jayla said in her most cool, commanding tone. “I am sure you recognize me.”

“Yes, of course, Princess.” The young soldier’s skin had taken on a dusky hue but he stood firm. “But please understand, my…my orders are—”

She cut off the stammered refusal. “To deny the daughter of your sovereign a request?”

“No, of course not. But…that is…well, I am not supposed to let anyone—”

“Open the door, please.”

Normally, she didn’t play the haughty highborn very well, but apparently desperation brought out the best—or worst—in her. What she was doing at the moment bordered on subversion and was at the least breaking about several dozen laws.

All for one infuriating male who had a knack for causing trouble not only for himself, but for others. Why she even bothered…

The guard turned and quickly scanned the code imprinted on his hand to open the door. Jayla hoped she looked composed as she stepped past the young soldier, but it was anyone’s guess. She was more suited to intellectual pursuits than intrigue.

Unlike Damon. When it came to complications, he was a master.

Her first thought was that he looked far too comfortable for someone who had been caught in a flagrant act of what was considered treason and incarcerated without so much as a trial. He sat in a careless sprawl on the single cot provided, his eyes half-closed as he watched her enter, a lock of dark, unruly hair spilling over his brow. The rest of the cubicle was sterile, with gray walls, a polished floor, and nothing more than a not very private entrance to a cleansing room without a door.

A prison cell. She’d worried all along his rebellious activities would lead him to exactly this place.

They merely looked at each other for a moment. Then one side of his mouth quirked upward. “It took you long enough, Jay. Nice of you to stop by. Quite a place I’ve got here, isn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t be too encouraged by my arrival,” she said as calmly as possible. “My mother doesn’t know I’m here.”

“She wouldn’t approve, I’m sure.” He shifted his athletic, tall body. Just a fraction, but she knew him, and it was enough for her to tell he wasn’t as nonchalant as he seemed. “My father probably wouldn’t either.”

“For the first time in our lives, we agree on something.” There was no place for a visitor to sit—since there weren’t supposed to be visitors—so she stayed on her feet. Convention asserted itself even in this extremity for Damon rose politely, though he hardly need be a courtier when he’d been thrown in prison because her family disliked his political views.

“I am not going to back down,” he said softly, the lethal tone of his voice one she’d heard before, but never with such terrifying implications. “If that’s why you’re here, forget it.”

Didn’t he realize he needed to back down?

He was disturbingly attractive. It was something she’d become gradually aware of as they had gotten older, the gangly child who had once been shorter than her by several inches now so tall the top of her head barely reached his shoulder, his face matured into sculpted lines and clean angles, his dark eyes holding the intensity of a full adult male.

“Did I ask you to back down?” Jayla feigned a nonchalance she didn’t feel. He had no idea how grave it all was. Or worse, if he did, he didn’t care. Even his father, her mother’s chief advisor, disapproved of his son’s actions and hadn’t stepped in to free him.

Damon had to cooperate.

There was a short silence, and then he shrugged. “No. Good point. If that isn’t your purpose, why are you here?”

“To help you. Not,” she added with censure in her voice, “that I am convinced you deserve it.”

“Ah, my prim Jay.” Despite his less than auspicious circumstances, Damon laughed. “You never change. It is almost like the time I put a sand beetle in your bed. I remember you came to me with it in a silver goblet, and handed it over as if gifting me with a precious object.”

“You were always an annoyance,” she retorted. “You haven’t changed either.”

“Maybe I’ve changed a little.” The cocky smile faded from his all-too handsome face. “Childish pranks are long behind me.”

“True. Now you indulge in more serious offenses.”

“That depends on your point of view.”

“Mine doesn’t matter all that much.” Jayla wished it wasn’t true, but unfortunately, it was. “You broke the Federation law against civil disorder, Damon. We both know what that means. Your father is furious. When were you going to tell me about it?”

“I would have told you”—his smile was mocking—“eventually. All I did was publish a simple article.” He crossed his arms over his chest and cocked a dark brow. “The real reason your mother’s cabinet is so upset is the outpouring of support for my ideas. The taxation system needs reform, and arcane laws should be revoked, among other things. Tell me you disagree. When you rule—”

“I don’t rule. My mother sits on Anasta’s throne.”

Stubbornly, he said, “You will soon, though.”

Secretly, she did agree with him on his radical views. Not all, but most. Some of the current policies were antiquated to say the least, but it was a fine line between traditions and practical changes. Eons before, when Anasta was but an Earth colony and not one of the most powerful planets in the Federation, the emerging royal family—her ancestors—had established a code to promote fair policy. Most of the principles were still sound, but some of the applications did need to be adjusted for a more modern society.

“Your publication has been seized,” she told him reluctantly. “The company has been dissolved. Not even my mother’s fondness for you on a personal level could stop that.”

He muttered a word she didn’t catch and suspected was not meant for her ears anyway. Damon paced the short distance across the cubicle and stared at the blank wall for a moment, his expression remote. Then he squared his shoulders. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“No, you revolutionary idiot, you shouldn’t.”

He gave her a sardonic look. “Thanks. Your empathy is touching. I’m imprisoned and apparently out of a job and you—”

“We only have a moment or two more,” she interrupted, looking at the one amenity in the room besides the narrow bed, a digital reading of the time displayed on the wall. “Listen for once in your life, will you? I think I know how to not only get you out of here, but to give you some influence to instigate some of those changes you feel so passionately about, but you’d better be convincing.”

“What?” Damon frowned. “Convincing in what way?”

Jayla walked toward him. “Kiss me. And look like you mean it. Now.”

* * * *

The female moving toward him, her hips swaying in unconscious provocative enticement, her long hair shining in the artificial light, was just as unpredictable now as she had been when they were children. Of all the things Damon Le Clerc expected—a lecture, disapproval, a probably well-deserved scathing look from those spectacular green eyes, what he didn’t expect was an order to kiss her.

Not that he minded, but he was confused. “What?”

“Remember when a few days ago the surveillance system malfunctioned?” Willowy, with hair the color of a pale gold moon and perfect full breasts under the silken folds of her gown, Jayla kept her tone low. Her slim shoulders radiated tension. “It broadcast the view of one door into a janitorial area on every screen across the entire palace for several hours before they could fix it. The problem was pinpointed and taken care of. I bribed the technician who figured it out to do it again from this monitor.” She pointed to the corner of the room. “In about two seconds. Hurry.”

So if he kissed her, everyone who mattered would see it. The queen, her cabinet, his father, the guards…everyone who mattered.

…look like you mean it…

He’d been waiting for this opportunity his entire adult life. It wasn’t likely he’d let it pass by, especially with his future disintegrating like an unstable planet breaking apart. “What will this accomplish?” he asked, closing the distance between them and staring down into her face. “Your mother will be more angry than ever over yet another transgression. I—”

“Shut up and do it.” Jayla tilted her head back and caught his tunic, tugging him toward her. Eyes the color of pure Earth emeralds were luminous. “Damon…please.”

The hint of desperation in her voice gave him pause, but it was fleeting. She had the most beautiful mouth. He’d thought about it far too often for his peace of mind, dreamt about it during restless nights, and it was a tempting short space away.

He was fucked anyway, he reminded himself wryly, and though kissing the princess was not going to endear him to a government that currently wanted his blood, he wasn’t sure it was going to make his position all that worse either. Damon put one hand at Jayla’s slender waist, the other at her nape, and lowered his head to follow royal orders, which was not something he was in the habit of doing lately.

But damn if he didn’t want this kiss more than his freedom.

It took him about three long heartbeats to realize she’d never been kissed before. Actually, he wasn’t surprised. She was guarded pretty much everywhere she went and there was definite protocol over approaching the princess. Jayla stiffened when he traced the line of her closed lips with his tongue, and he could feel her shock when he got his way and began to explore her mouth.

She tasted sweet, like innocence and perfect seductive female.

He forgot about the monitor.

He forgot about everything.

Damon kissed her. And kissed her. Kept her close, warm against him, his arm wrapped around the small of her back, her body imprisoned in his embrace. Her breasts, warm and pliant, pressed against his chest and he tangled his fingers in her hair.

It was a convincing performance he was sure, because it certainly had an effect on him. He could feel the surge of arousal, his cock stiffened, and when Jayla’s fingers tightened on his biceps, he could tell she felt it too, pressed as she was so intimately against him.

“Do what you do best, something outrageous,” she whispered in a low hiss when he broke the kiss to take a long breath. “Something so they would never think we know the monitors are showing us. If anyone guesses we planned this, it won’t work.”

What was going to work was the charges were going to be upped from treasonous activity to whatever else they could throw at him because the queen protected her daughter with fierce security, and last he knew, there were negotiations going on for a marriage with the son of the governor of Minoa, the most powerful colony in the Interstellar Federation.

Outrageous? He still wasn’t sure what this display was going to accomplish, but he was hardly going to pass up a chance to play out one of his very vivid fantasies. He kissed her again, gratified when she participated with flattering enthusiasm, her tongue shyly brushing into his mouth. He slid one hand upward and, in a deft movement, caught the strap of her gown and pulled just enough.

When her bared breast filled his palm, he felt her stiffen in his embrace and he swallowed her gasp of protest.

She’d asked for outrageous, hadn’t she? Though he was pretty sure she hadn’t meant being exposed before the entire palace. Worth it, his brain whispered, so worth it. Even if I rot in this cell forever…

The supple warm weight in his hand was everything he’d ever imagined—and he had, many, many times. Full, firm yet yielding, with a soft pink nipple that tightened as he stroked it so he knew she wasn’t immune either…

The door swooshed open, shattering the moment. Jayla gave a convincing cry of dismay and pulled away, jerking her gown back up to cover that luscious perfect breast. The red spots high on her delicate cheekbones weren’t feigned as she whirled to face the doorway. She wasn’t alone in being exposed, Damon thought with ironic humor, for the loose-fitting, lightweight pants they’d issued him when he was imprisoned didn’t do much to hide his erection.

He sure as hell hoped Jayla’s plan, whatever it might be, worked. Not only did he have an aching hard-on now with no promise of sexual relief on his horizon, but half the planet knew it.

“Princess.” Kale, the head of the palace security force, spoke with deference and authority at the same time. “You should not be here.”

Damon had known the chief officer since childhood and briefly their eyes locked. As fiercely loyal as Kale was to the governing house of Anasta, Damon saw a glimmer of sympathy there, but also disapproval. Over what was viewed as subversive activities, or for daring an intimate embrace with the princess, he wasn’t sure.

“I have to say you have one hell of a sense of timing, Kale,” Damon drawled, folding his arms in what he hoped looked like nonchalance across his chest.

“Your monitor for some reason is broadcasting all across the palace,” Kale responded mildly, but his gaze was razor sharp. “Maybe you should be grateful I interrupted when I did.”

“What?” Jayla put her hands to her scarlet cheeks, and Damon had to give her points for an effective performance. “Everyone saw us?”

“Her Highness is likely to request an interview. Someone will escort you to her quarters.”

Her Highness probably wanted to cut off his balls, Damon thought, but he didn’t envy Jayla that interview either.

Looking effectively chastened, she glanced at him one last time before she nodded, adjusted her gown again and walked out of the room. It was hard to know what to read into that quick look, but he thought a small secret smile curved her lips for a moment.

Kale stepped back to let her pass, inclining his head respectfully. Then he turned back to Damon and spoke less formally, with the ease of long acquaintance. “This isn’t going to make your father any happier, you know.”

“If you ever figure out what does make him happy, could you let me know?” He was only half-joking. Then he said with a conviction that surprised even him, “I’ve been in love with her my whole life.”

Kale sighed and rubbed his jaw. “I know.”

He did? Until he’d said it right at that moment, Damon wasn’t aware of it himself. He thought about her all too often, she filled his dreams with erotic titillation, but he really hadn’t been aware of much more than the friendship they’d shared since they were children and the combustible attraction between male and female.

Love.

He walked over to the bed and sat down, his knees a little weak.

Considering how much trouble he was in, the timing for this revelation wasn’t exactly perfect.

“Up until now,” Kale said in that same even voice, “though we’ve kept a close eye on you, for someone who has a tendency to disregard the rules you’ve been circumspect in your relationship with Princess Jayla.”

Of course he had. Whatever his flaws, and Damon was aware he had quite a few, he wasn’t stupid.

“Now, that has all changed,” Kale informed him and, on that enigmatic note, left the room, the door ominously shutting behind him with a sound that signaled finality.

Chapter Two

Marc Kartel poured a cool glass of golden wine and tried to decide if he should be amused or furious. He said sardonically, “Well, at least I know she has nice tits.”

His envoy, Chas, laughed, his dark eyes glimmering. “I agree. Very nice. I might even say spectacular—”

“That’s enough, thanks.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

He wasn’t, at least to the extent he’d never even met the lovely Jayla yet, so it wasn’t personal, but then again, he’d come all the way from Minoa at the royal family’s request. “I think the queen failed to impart to my father the nature of the princess’s relationship with the son of Raphael Le Clerc. That was not a casual kiss.”

“So you have a rival…you’re up for it.” Chas strolled over and poured a glass of wine for himself. “Besides, though it is ironic, you came here to meet the younger Le Clerc as much as the princess. Think of it this way, you now know you and he have two common interests. Your political views and one beautiful aristocratic female. Not a bad start to a possible political alliance.”

“True enough.” Marc took a drink and looked at the monitor on the wall. It now showed the area outside the door of his quarters. Just what it was supposed to show, instead of a male and a female entwined in an erotic embrace. “It sounds like Le Clerc is in trouble up to his neck right now. He may be of no use.”

“That article was inflammatory. It caused a major public protest in front of the palace and spurred on similar movements on other planets.” Chas, tall and wide-shouldered, dropped back into a chair in a careless masculine sprawl, wine glass in hand. “But damn, it was compelling. He has some ideas that have real merit, not just for Anasta, but applicable to quite a few other colonies if we can get the Universal Council to listen.”

“He has three different degrees in Political Science, including a doctorate in military tactics.” Marc mused out loud, “If we can somehow direct that brilliance toward policies that involve compromise instead of anarchy, he’d make one hell of an advisor to people like my father.”

“Or you,” his friend said with a lifted brow. “The only way to the throne of Anasta currently is inheritance. That’s why the queen extended you this invitation. Her sheltered young daughter is next in line but needs a strong male at her side, preferably one with dynastic ties to other powerful colonies.”

It was true. Marc’s father, Ran Kartel, was Governor of the dominant colony in the Federation, Minoa. Like Anasta, Minoa had started out as an Earth colony, formed back when the human race expanded to a point they needed more room than Earth. Genetic engineering had enabled colonies to be settled because the enhanced humans, or Superhumans, generally known as S-species, had much better survival skills. They had superior intelligence, improved health, were taller, and better-looking than the race they evolved from, and as a result, Earth was now completely under S-species rule.

“I wonder how ambitious he is, or if Le Clerc just has a rabble-rousing mentality.” Marc rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I was hoping to ask to interview him right after my arrival, but then he and the princess put on that interesting show and the queen didn’t look any too inclined to discuss him in any way.”

“I am not sure I’d like to be Princess Jayla right now. The queen looked ice cold and calm, but I sensed she was furious.”

Marc had been dressed down by his own mother a time or two, and even though he towered over her and was twice her weight, he still didn’t care to stumble and incur a scathing lecture. He adored her, but she was a formidable force. “Yes, I imagine the princess isn’t enjoying herself too much at the moment.”

“What are you going to do?”

“About Princess Jayla?” Marc shrugged. “Go on and continue my visit as planned, I suppose. Just because she has a relationship with Le Clerc doesn’t mean we can’t still contemplate an alliance. Actually, she might be able to give me more information on where his loyalties really lie. I’d bet from what we saw, she has some influence over him.”

“You really want to court him for the diplomatic service? His recent article was anything but diplomatic, Marc.”

“I know, but if he can be reined in, he’d be valuable. Have you read his dissertation on the exponential effects of military action on interstellar economics?”

“No,” Chas admitted with interest flickering in his dark eyes. “Should I?”

“It’s brilliant.”

“I see.”

“To answer the question, yes. If this alliance works out and I find myself consort of Anasta, I’d like to have someone like Le Clerc to help reform policy, and quite frankly, there is no one else with his qualifications and progressive insight. My father is interested, also, in presenting general universal reforms for some of the colonies that need it, including Minoa.”

“Ambitious, but I agree, well-needed.” Chas quirked a brow. “The moment you accept and it’s recorded and communicated to Minoa and the Universal Council, you’ll have sexual rights to Princess Jayla. That’s not going to endear you to Le Clerc from what I saw.”

“You know I’m not possessive of females.” It was true that as S-species evolved, the enhanced sex drive in the males made females more valued, and it was acceptable—encouraged even—for a woman to have more than one lover. Sexually satisfied males were in general less aggressive.

“I know you aren’t. I wasn’t worried so much about you, but more so him. Did you see his face when she left the room?”

He had. Marc prowled restlessly across the room, sipping his wine. When the first contact had been made from the royal family with his father, he’d been resistant, preferring to choose his own mate. But the more he’d thought about it, the more appealing it became. He’d been raised to govern—served in the military, undertaken diplomatic missions, administered in different cabinets on Minoa—and this was an opportunity of a lifetime. His father had told him to make his own decision, but he knew an ally as strong as Anasta appealed to not just the Minoan government, but the Universal Council wanted someone they trusted ruling such a powerful planet.

And it didn’t hurt either that he’d now seen the princess. All that shimmering pale hair and the slender grace of her form tantalized, and even if his first glimpse of her had been in another male’s arms, he wasn’t personally offended for he didn’t know her.

Yet.

He preferred passionate females and she certainly had looked as if she was enjoying that dramatic, public kiss. He gazed around the luxurious quarters he’d been assigned. The walls were a soft sheen of gold, the floor polished, strewn with woven rugs in muted shades, and low divans invited casual relaxation. The bed in the sleeping room was huge, soft and comfortable, the linens a fine material that caressed the skin. An enormous window overlooked the central courtyard of the palace, a glimmering fountain made of beryl in the middle, the jeweled effect of the flowing water soothing. Everywhere there were frescoes, inlays of precious materials in gorgeous patterns, exotic plants. The symbolic wealth wasn’t contained just to the royal residence either. The main city was prosperous and busy, the outlying colony villages supporting important agrarian products which were exported across the galaxy.

And, no small thing, Anasta commanded one of the finest and fiercest military forces in the Interstellar Federation.

He turned to Chas. “When Princess Jayla is done with the queen, arrange for me to see her.”

* * * *

The room was utterly quiet.

Jayla stood and waited for the lecture she knew was coming—one she no doubt deserved, but if her reckless actions would free Damon, it was all to the good.

To her surprise, when her mother finally did look up, her expression was more resigned than angry. Regal even in the setting of her personal office, her pale hair swept back in a sleek style, her fine-boned face showing only a few faint lines, she only said in a neutral tone, “That was quite a demonstration, darling.”

It was against her scruples to lie, so Jayla didn’t protest she had no idea the monitor would broadcast that devastating kiss all over the palace. Instead she blushed, for she could still recall the feel of Damon cradling her bare breast. “Yes, I imagine it was.”

“Are you aware Governor Kartel’s son and his envoy arrived just in time to see it?”

Well, that was mortifying, but then again, having her own mother, bodyguards, and everyone from the cooks to the cleaning personnel see that embrace made two more seem rather insignificant. “No.”

“Luckily, the ambassador has a sense of humor. I wasn’t nearly as amused.” Eyes a more subdued shade of jade rather her than her own brilliant green regarded her across the enormous desk made of stone quarried from one of the planet’s mica mines. The shimmering surface reflected the soft lighting, and rows of buttons commanded all kinds of communication devices.

“But now you perhaps understand how I feel about Damon and will show some leniency for my sake.”

“I understand he is an attractive young male and you are a female. I understand the two of you have a bond that extends from childhood, and I understand he is a romantic figure, not just to you, but to the people of Anasta who listen to his views and feel he can change our world for the better.”

“But you don’t agree.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Are you asking if I approve of you becoming involved with Damon? The answer is no. Your first responsibility is to Anasta. It makes not only myself, but others—including his own father—uneasy to think of him coming into that much power.”

The archaic tradition of inherited throne and authority. It was one of the things Damon protested in his insurgent writings. The Earth tradition of dynastic monarchies had been adopted by only a few of its colonies, her home planet being one of them. Jayla lifted her chin. “I have always been ready to do my duty when it comes to Anasta, but surely my feelings matter to you, not as my queen, but as my only parent.”

Her mother’s expression softened. “Yes, they do. As far as that goes, I am all too fond of that rebellious young male myself. But what would you have me do? He is causing trouble not only here, but on other colonies with his battle cries for reform. Imprisonment seems the logical course until his father and I agree on what to do with him. At least he is here with his fate under our control, not under arrest by the Universal Council’s edict. Had I not taken action, they would have, trust me. I had to punish him.”

Jayla had to concede that was true, and she knew her mother would take her feelings into account—that had been the point of that kiss. It was a form of blackmail, but if it would save Damon, she wasn’t sorry to use it. It was all she could think of that might work.

That overwhelming, passionate kiss. She hadn’t been the only one affected either, for she’d felt his arousal, the hard length of it unmistakable with their bodies pressed so tightly together. “I was afraid the repercussions of his recent article would send waves beyond our planet,” she admitted.

Her mother lifted her brows. “If you truly want to help Damon, you might want to court the favor of the visiting ambassador, Jayla. He is young, ambitious, and progressive when it comes to interstellar politics. Marc Kartel has a keen mind, the ear of the most powerful leaders in our Universe, and in our earlier meeting he told me outright he was very interested in this possible alliance.”

“You have ruled alone for several years now,” Jayla pointed out, the idea she must have a consort irritating.

“Yes, and it is draining, though Raphael helps me.” Her mother looked away for a moment, her profile stern and regal. “I am tired. Raphael is also no longer as young. Between us we have kept Anasta a universal power, but things shift. There are rogue planets out there who defy laws, who hunger for our resources. The constant vigilance wears on us both and we want peace, but with it also that the security that all we have worked so hard for these past years will endure safely. We believe Marc Kartel can help you do that. For that matter, he can help Damon.”

Together. Jayla had always wondered, since the death of her father many, many years ago, if her mother’s advisor hadn’t over time become a great deal more than a political consultant. Damon probably knew the truth, but she had never asked him if his father was her mother’s lover. “How can Kartel help Damon?”

“He admires his ideals.”

“He said so?”

“How else would I know it to be true?” Her mother’s mouth curved in wry amusement but there was challenge in her straightforward gaze. “So tell me, daughter, how far are you willing to go to satisfy your duty and protect that subversive young male you just kissed so passionately? Should Kartel agree to all the marriage terms, you will be his by tonight. I understand from his envoy he wishes to meet with you as soon as our interview is over. What happens next, for all three of you and Anasta, is in your hands.”

Chapter Three

The princess received him alone in her private quarters, the sumptuous formal area done in pale greens and soft yellows. She’d changed out of the casual gown he’d seen her wearing on the monitor into a more elegant dress of a filmy gold material that draped her shapely figure but, in his opinion, didn’t rival her shining blonde hair, loose and straight in a lustrous fall down her back. Emerald green eyes, exotically shaped and framed by long lashes, regarded him in a straightforward way, and she rose as he entered and extended her hand in a polite gesture, a conciliatory smile on her soft lips.

Marc felt it instantly. An affinity, an unusual rush of attraction that gave him pause because, though he’d known she was beautiful and intelligent, he hadn’t expected…this.

He knew everything about her. Bloodlines, education, the activities she enjoyed when not fulfilling her role as her mother’s heir, the type of foods she preferred, her taste in music and art…he was meticulous when it came to gathering information and she was no exception. One thing he had learned was that Jayla had strong feelings about not making a life commitment based on political advantage.

He took her hand and kissed it per Anasta protocol, and then smiled back. The difference was, his smile was sincere.

Females normally liked his smile and her striking beauty made it easy.

“It is my privilege to meet you, Princess.”

“Ambassador,” she acknowledged, her tone neutral. “Welcome to Anasta.”

“I hope I am welcome,” he said softly, still clasping her fingers, amused to see her lovely eyes widen at his forthright comment. “When alliances like ours are proposed, sometimes the parties involved are not consulted on their personal feelings. Please feel free to be honest with me.”

For a moment she didn’t move, and then she laughed lightly. “I see your time in the diplomatic service for Minoa served you well. Would you like to sit?”

“Whatever you wish.” He released her hand and watched as she sank gracefully into a soft chair. He took one nearby, but not the one next to her, choosing a distance he hoped would make her comfortable. A dominating male with superior height could make a female feel intimidated and it was the last thing he wanted. As her consort he would help her administer the affairs of her planet, and he hoped she would view him in the light of a wise advisor, a fellow ruler, and not as a male who wished to take over and overshadow her rights as sovereign.

I wouldn’t mind ruling your body however…

His senses were alert, tantalized by her presence, by the sweet scent of her, the luscious curves he could see under the thin material of her gown, the opulence of her allure palpable. Even if there were no political advantages to it, he would be attracted to her.

Jayla murmured, “My mother said you wished to talk to me privately.”

“Yes. Tell me about Le Clerc.”

A delicate blush touched her face. “You saw us. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone saw that kiss,” he said in a dry tone. “And there really is no need to apologize since I assume you didn’t wish an audience in the first place.”

“Of course not,” she said quickly.

Does he know?

Did he know what? That the kiss was a performance? He would never jump to that conclusion, except he had inherited his father’s skill at reading the emotions of others, and though his insight wasn’t quite as acute, it still served him well and he had the impression she had just lied to him.

More important, she felt guilty for lying. Defiant, but still contrite. Interesting. She had spirit, and morals.

Marc leaned back in his chair, relaxed but watchful. “So how involved are you? Enough to preclude us from further discussion? I’m here at your mother’s request, and that of the Universal Council. But your opinion is crucial. I don’t have to stay if it is pointless.”

Eyes of the purest green gazed at him and she faltered, “I…I don’t know.”

I should tell him how I feel about Damon, but…

Good. She was attracted to him. He could feel it, and it confused her. “If you don’t know, it isn’t pointless. Now then, tell me about Le Clerc. Are you fucking him?”

The shocked look on her face was priceless and he raised his brows. “It seems like a natural question for me to ask if I am supposed to take you as my life partner.”

She recovered with remarkable poise. “Perhaps you could have put it differently, Ambassador. Where is that legendary tact?”

He grinned. “Ah, but then I wouldn’t get to see you turn that particular shade of red. I am not stuck constantly on etiquette anyway, no matter what my role for Minoa might be.”

Her brow knitted. “You’re teasing me?”

“Maybe, but I’m serious also.” Marc modulated his tone. “This seems like the perfect time for us to get to know more about each other. This proposed union is for the Federation and hopefully will be to the advantage of everyone else, but it is personal for you and me. So…are the two of you lovers?”

It took a moment, but she shook her head. “No.”

Not because Le Clerc didn’t want her, though. Marc had seen that easily enough. “Would you mate with him if given the opportunity?”

“That’s an extremely personal question, Ambassador.”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed pleasantly, “but in my position, wouldn’t you ask it? Your deep emotional tie to Le Clerc may also affect me. S-species females are not required to limit themselves to one lover, but on the other hand, if the two she chooses do not like each other, there is almost always trouble.”

He watched the fleeting succession of emotions on her delicate features. She made a small helpless gesture with her hand. “I will be honest and say before today, I would have told you no. Now…I don’t know. My mother seems to feel you can help him extricate himself from his current imprisonment. I will say if you could, I would be grateful.”

Marc knew she and Damon had been friends since childhood, growing up in the palace together, sharing tutors, so he wasn’t really surprised over her concern. “I think his ideas are exceptionally progressive but his tactics misguided.” He paused. “Tell me, since you know him well, can his considerable energy be channeled the right direction or does he crave dissention?”

“Crave dissention? Absolutely not. He wants reform, but neither his father nor my mother is ready to take on the battle of change.” She stiffened upright as she spoke emphatically.

Good. Not only was that what he wanted to hear, but her movement made the luscious curves of her breasts sway under the material of her gown. “That’s promising,” he responded, his gaze lingering on where her nipples made small points under the concealing cloth, the double entendre hanging between them. She was aware of him as a male.

No, he decided as he noted her delicate blush at his overt perusal. Even if he hadn’t asked and already knew the answer, he could tell Le Clerc wasn’t her bedmate. Her uncertainty radiated outward, a definite signal of virginity.

“They don’t use his talents,” she said with endearing loyalty, “and because he has gotten into trouble here on Anasta, no one else is willing to take him seriously either.”

“Not true.” Marc recalled his conversation with his father before he left. “Minoa isn’t blind to his radical approach to some of the problems that have plagued us since we structured our government years ago. That’s part of the reason I am here. You want amnesty for Le Clerc. Your mother wants strong ties for Anasta to the most powerful colony in the Federation. I want the opportunity to take what is already a strong planet and make it into a universal power. Shall we negotiate?”

“Negotiate?” She looked wary, still sitting on the edge of her chair, the prim pose at odds with the allure of her lissome form.

“Yes, negotiate. I’m very, very good at it,” he said with a lazy smile, once again a double meaning in his words.

* * * *

Her heart was pounding, damn him.

Jayla stared at the male sitting so casually across the room, and fought the urge to wipe her damp palms on the skirt of her dress. She’d seen his image before, but the real male was quite different. His charisma was tangible, dominating the room, and it wasn’t just his looks either, though even for an S-species male he was remarkably good-looking. Thick chestnut hair, eyes the color of one of Earth’s tropical seas, finely molded bone structure that emphasized the line of his jaw and straightness of his nose, and his body was athletic and well-built.

The one thing she hadn’t expected was to be so attracted to Marc Kartel. She felt odd, flushed, and her breasts were tight.

Concentrate.

She cleared her throat. “What precisely did you have in mind?”

“Naturally I want the position as your consort. And,” he added, “I want it tonight.”

Her nipples actually tingled and she fought the impulse to cross her arms over her chest. To make it worse, she sensed he knew how he affected her. “You’ve made up your mind so quickly?”

“Yes.” Swift, decisive, no hesitation. “Before I arrived I wasn’t sure. Now that I’ve met you, I wish to proceed.”

A quiver fluttered in her stomach at the sensual promise in those aquamarine eyes. It annoyed her he had such influence over her body on such short acquaintance, but she had to admit she was also intrigued. Maybe before that damned kiss with Damon she wouldn’t be so interested. It had certainly opened her eyes. “I’m flattered. Go on.”

“Since your mother is eager for this alliance to happen, I’ll bargain for Le Clerc to receive a royal pardon on the terms he also agrees to take an advisory position in our cabinet. My father will smooth things over with the Universal Council for the troubles his inflammatory writings have caused on other planets. In turn, you will have to get his assurance that he will work through us, not against us.”

She knew full well Damon would jump at the chance to have influence with an authority who actually wished to put into practice new laws and a more fair government. For herself too, she was in a position where if she refused Kartel, she would still someday have to choose someone else. Her mother wasn’t about to relinquish the throne without a consort she approved of in place, but she’d also made it clear she felt her days of rule should come to a graceful end and the new regime could start to make the progress the people obviously wanted. Jayla had known for some time a decision like this was coming.

“So far, Ambassador, it seems to me that you get Anasta, Damon receives his freedom, and my mother has her way, but I am afraid I can’t quite see what you are offering me.” She gave him what was hopefully a cool, assessing look.

“I pledge that your wishes will matter to me. When it comes to Anasta, when it comes to our dealings with each other on a political level, and”—his voice dropped in a sexy change in timbre—“when we mate.”

When we mate…

That was probably true. She might still be innocent physically, but she wasn’t naïve. Marc Kartel exuded masculine appeal like a glowing beryl mine. “I have not yet agreed to anything,” she pointed out.

“I’ve noticed.” His smile somehow managed to be both boyish and seductive at the same time. “What would it take? A demonstration?”

A…what? Jayla eyed him warily, all too conscious of his rangy presence, his tall body dwarfing the chair where he lounged, long legs extended. “I’m not sure I’m following your suggestion, Ambassador.”

“We are attracted to each other, don’t you agree? At least I find you very beautiful, Princess. It is easy enough to determine if we are sexually compatible.”

Was he actually suggesting…

He stood in a smooth, lithe movement and held out his hand. “Come, let us seal our alliance.”

“Now?” She stared at his outstretched fingers.

“The moment I accept the offer and you agree, we are free to do as we please. You know how this works.”

She did, but still, she didn’t take his hand. Damon…

Had she whispered his name out loud? She wasn’t sure, but Marc lifted his brows. “I admire your loyalty, but surely you do realize this is the most effective way to help him, not to mention our mutual interest in the welfare of the planet you were born to rule.”

The logic was irrefutable.

And she could never have Damon as her consort. Even before her mother stated it so bluntly, she’d known it. Marc Kartel was everything she needed—and more importantly, what Anasta needed.

She couldn’t help but let her gaze travel over the muscled length of his body. It wasn’t going to be a hardship either and maybe that was what made her feel so guilty.

“It’s actually quite normal to have a physical reaction to more than one male.”

This time, no, she definitely had not spoken out loud. “Can you read everyone’s mind,” she asked tartly, chagrined because she knew she was blushing yet again and it seemed that was all she’d done the entire day, “or is it unique to me?”

“Let’s just say you have expressive face, but it’s nice to know we were thinking along the same lines.” He didn’t wait any longer but reached over and took her hand. “I formally accept the alliance. And you?”

She rose and lifted her chin, looking him in the eyes. Those intriguing azure depths shimmered and a faint smile curved his finely modeled mouth. Jayla murmured, “Very well. I agree.”

There. It was done.

Well, not quite. Marc Kartel leaned down so his lips grazed her temple in a feather caress, his voice low. “Your sleeping quarters will be fine for our first mating. Shall we proceed?”

Chapter Four

It had been quite some time since Marc had to actually seduce a female. Usually his sexual partners were eager and experienced, because, naturally, he didn’t mate with the young and innocent. Jayla’s purity intrigued him, but it also required an adjustment in how he would normally go about arousing the female in his bed.

In this case, her bed. The sleeping quarters of the daughter of the sovereign of Anasta was truly suited to royalty with an elegant bed on a dais, decorative drapery in rich colors above, and a jeweled mirror by a table set neatly with her toiletries. Just his presence in the very feminine room aroused him, for it felt very personal, very intimate.

There would be a formal ceremony later and the filing of the proper documents, but by Federation law, all that was required was the verbal agreement of both parties and consummation for a marriage to be recognized. He was her husband—or would be shortly, he thought as she walked gracefully across the space next to him, the unhurried pace belied by the sudden tension in her slender shoulders.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” he told her when they reached the bed. “Mating is about giving and receiving pleasure, and eventually, at a time of our choosing, procreation.”

“I know how it all works, Ambassador.”

“Do you?” Her cool tone amused him. He’d stake his life she was intimidated but he admired her self-possession.

“There is abundant information on the subject. I believe it is perfectly normal to be curious, so I have read quite a lot.”

“Ah. Well, soon you will know if your sources are accurate or not, though I promise you descriptions of orgasmic pleasure do not do it justice. A demonstration is necessary. Allow me.”

She did nothing when he released her hand and reached for the elaborate gold clasp at the neckline of her gown, but she did avert her gaze as he pulled it free. The material slid over her shoulders and to the floor in a sensuous whisper of sound and all she wore beneath was a traditional sleeveless, short, sheer undergarment made of a fabric so fine it concealed nothing.

Instantly his cock swelled to rigid arousal, her beauty riveting. Supple limbs, long legs, the apex between her thighs a pale gleam, her sex shaved bare, which was his preference. Her breasts were firm and high, full enough there was a tantalizing shadow between them, the nipples a delicate pink. Put it all together with that cascade of golden hair and those stunning emerald eyes…

A very tempting female, no doubt it. He didn’t blame Le Clerc in the least for wanting the princess.

He understood completely.

The challenge was to equal that steamy kiss he’d seen on the monitor earlier. Marc trailed his fingers over her smooth shoulder and bent his head to touch his mouth to hers gently at first, because she radiated trepidation despite her outward self-possession. Soft lips parted in acceptance of the sweep of his tongue and she gave a small telling sigh.

Not a bad start. She tasted warm and sweet, and he took his time, urging her closer until their bodies touched. Marc had the healthy sexual appetite of an S-species male, and his hunger grew as they kissed. In his embrace, she felt perfect against him, curvaceous and desirable. The rush of his arousal made his heartbeat accelerate.

He touched her, lifting up the filmy fabric of her undergarment until he could tug it off completely, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. Jayla didn’t object, and when he captured her mouth again, this time less gentle and more urgent, she put her arms around his neck and willingly pressed her lissome body against him.

His princess had passion and the pull between them was strong.

This might be a very pleasurable alliance.

From the moment they met he’d sensed her attraction to him, and how it confused her, and he probably had Le Clerc to thank for it. Not that he’d be thanked in return for even touching her, but this was how it was all meant to be, Marc knew it.

“Lie down while I undress,” he murmured against her mouth. “It is so much better naked skin to naked skin. Let me show you.”

“If you wish.” She pulled out of his embrace and did as he suggested, reclining on the bed as she watched from under the veil of her lashes as he jerked off his clothes as fast as possible, her curiosity unhidden. The slenderness of her body emphasized the voluptuousness of her breasts, and the spill of her pale hair against the sheets was an erotic invitation he was unlikely to refuse. Normally he chose his sexual partners with regard to how well they might please him and how little they expected in return—not in terms of pleasure, he wasn’t a selfish male when it came to mating—but in terms of permanence. He’d known all his life his marriage would be likely based on political advantage.

And for the first time, it didn’t bother him. He couldn’t shed his tunic or pants fast enough.

The sight of his erection, swollen high against his stomach, made Jayla’s emerald eyes widen, but he was gratified to see it was more fascination than alarm. Neither did she flinch when he joined her on the large bed, his hands skimming over her alabaster skin. “You’ve never mated before. Is your chip activated?”

Nearly every female had a chip inserted just below one shoulder blade that controlled her hormonal patterns, so she only ovulated when it was programmed for her to do so. In a few cases, females didn’t respond well to having their bodies regulated in this manner, and while someday he did want children, the possibility of a pregnancy should be a choice for both of them to make.

“Yes,” she told him, the verdant brilliance of her eyes alluring. “I’m not fertile at this time, Ambassador.”

He touched her cheek, though his body called to him to touch her in other ways, the pulse of his cock in time with the beat of his heart. “Good. We need to get to know each other better before we breed.”

Starting with their bodies and the pleasure they could give each other. He ran his hands over the mounds of her breasts, pleased with their shape, the luscious weight of them in his palms, with the way her nipple puckered as he leaned over and lightly circled one pink tip with his tongue in a leisurely teasing sweep. On her back, unmoving, Jayla watched him with half-closed eyes, her chest lifting quickly with each small breath. Bent over her lovely form, he began to suckle, her reaction to the pressure of his mouth on her breast a gasp as she quivered. With an inner smile he began a tender assault to ready her for penetration, his hands sliding over her skin—shoulders, down the slim length of her arms, over the plane of stomach to the curve of hip and thigh until he found the warm softness of her sex. Marc licked a hot path up her collarbone and along the graceful curve of her neck to whisper in her ear. “Spread your legs.”

* * * *

Jayla wondered if every female was as susceptible to the handsome son of the governor of Minoa. Probably, she decided as he skimmed his magical touch along her inner thigh, for even though he was basically a stranger and his long frame dwarfed hers, she felt he would take care to make this a satisfying experience. There was something about him that inspired confidence, which was probably why he was such an effective diplomat.

Faith was needed at this crucial moment in her life.

Spread your legs…

Aquamarine eyes looked into hers with mesmerizing intensity. “I understand trust for a female at this time in her life isn’t given lightly…”

There he goes again, reading my mind so easily.

“…but there are ways to ready you so your body accepts the pleasure more easily. Let me in and I’ll show you.”

She’d just agreed to be his life partner, to accept him for Anasta and for herself. This was part of it and what he’d done to her so far was both intriguing and pleasurable. Jayla eased her thighs apart, a sense of vulnerability vying with a tingling anticipation. His muscular body was as beautiful as one of the ancient Earth sculptures, defined and hard, his physical strength undeniable. The erect length of his penis was formidable, with a flared crown that already glistened with semen, but for whatever reason, she wasn’t frightened.

“You are as beautiful here,”—long fingers skimmed her labia—“as you are everywhere else.”

One finger teased her opening then eased inside her vaginal passage in tantalizing exploration.

Without thought, she spread her legs open even more at the erotic invasion and closed her eyes, all her concentration on the rhythm of his finger as he began to move it deep and then slide it almost all the way out, to push slowly back in. Though it wasn’t a conscious decision, her hips lifted with each penetration and he added a second finger and also began to use his thumb in a wicked swirling motion.

She knew how it all worked—as she’d told him, she’d not only read about it, but seen images of couples involved in intercourse, and arousal flooded her senses, the skilled mimicking of what he was going to do to her with his cock more than just a little effective. “You’re getting wet,” he murmured, angling his fingers in an effective way that caused her inner muscles to tighten as washes of pleasure rolled over her.

The approval in the husky tone of his voice barely registered as Jayla moaned, the sound involuntary. She arched into his hand, and instead of moving faster, which was what she needed, to her dismay he abruptly withdrew his fingers.

And used his mouth instead.

Dark silky hair brushed her thighs as his head dipped between her open legs, and his tongue parted her female folds, tickling, teasing, and then began to stimulate her clitoris until the stars shattered all around her and a low scream was torn from her throat. The rapturous peak of release held her prisoner until finally Marc lifted his head and smiled.

She might have smiled back, if she’d had the strength.

He shifted over her, his handsome face intent, positioning himself, his hands braced on either side of her shoulders. The crest of his hard cock tested her sex, pushing against the entrance enough so she felt the pressure, but he didn’t penetrate her body, and his thighs widened her legs even more. “Shall we make permanent our mutual decision to rule Anasta side by side, Princess?”

Somehow she managed to find her voice, though it sounded off-key when she responded. “I would not be here with you like this if I thought I might change my mind, Ambassador.”

“I rushed you in here the moment you agreed.”

“I allowed myself to be rushed.”

“Ah, the imperious royal voice resurfaces.” He touched her cheek in a light brush of his knuckles. “You might not believe this, but this moment is as new to me as it is to you.”

“You are a virgin?” Jayla stared at him in disbelief.

“No.” He chuckled, but then sobered. “But in a way, yes, I suppose I am, for I have never mated with the woman who would be my life partner before. It is somehow…different.”

“Is it?” Had he chosen to say almost anything else, she couldn’t imagine it to be more reassuring. Perhaps it was diplomatic rhetoric, but Jayla didn’t think so, and when he began to ease inside her, she exhaled and did her best to relax to accept his size and the intimate possession. After what he’d just done to her, she thought, still locked in the haze of post-orgasmic pleasure, he could use her body as he wanted.

Part of her protested his size, which seemed enormous, but as he slowly pushed his erection into her vaginal passage, she found she could accommodate him after all. There was a brief sting as her hymen gave way, and then, somehow, he was buried deeply within her, his lean hips against her inner thighs. Marc kissed her temple, and he might have asked a question—she wasn’t sure because her mind was occupied with how it felt to be so intimately joined with another being. Her nails bit into his shoulders. “Shouldn’t you move, Ambassador?”

“Shouldn’t you call me Marc?” One dark brow arched up playfully, but the tension in his muscles and the sheen of sweat on his skin was a giveaway he wasn’t as composed as he acted. “Considering the circumstances?”

Perhaps she should, for formality at a moment like this was a little ridiculous, but as the coil of enjoyment deep in her stomach tightened as he slid backwards and then sank back inside, all she managed was a small gasp. The glide of his sex into hers wasn’t completely without discomfort because of his size, but the stretching sensation was by far overshadowed by the rapturous, almost primitive pleasure.

It was primitive, she discovered moments later, as she learned the rhythm of thrust and withdrawal. The male moving over and in her watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, his respiration changing as his hips moved with greater speed, and his hand slipped between their joined bodies to stroke her in time with his inward stroke.

This time when she climaxed the burst was so fierce her cry rang through the sleeping chamber and she shook, clinging to him as he groaned and the burst of his ejaculation filled her in a hot rush of sperm.

Panting, damp, entwined, they lay in a careless sprawl on her bed, until Marc finally lifted his head and said with an irreverent grin, “I believe I am going to like living here on Anasta, Princess Jayla.”

Chapter Five

Though he was hardly being treated like an honored guest, at least they’d permitted him a handheld reading device with a decent library on it. Though, Damon noted with a wry inner smile, there was nothing remotely political in the catalog. He sat in a careless sprawl, doing his best to stay engrossed in a futuristic work by one of his favorite Minoan authors, when the light flashed by the door and it slid open.

The tall male that entered looked familiar, and as he straightened from his relaxed pose on the less than comfortable sleeping couch provided, he realized why. Governor Kartel’s son was genetically enough like his father the connection was striking, the handsome sculpted features distinctive and well-known across the Federation as the ruler of Minoa was one of the most influential powers in interstellar politics and frequently gave speeches and made public appearances.

Under any other circumstances, Damon would have jumped at the chance to talk to someone like Marc Kartel, who had access to the head of the Universal Council, but being visited in his cell made the moment lose its gloss. Not only that, but Damon was well aware of the possible alliance between his visitor and Jayla.

Fuck.

He knew Kartel was expected to arrive from Minoa soon, but didn’t know he was already on Anasta.

“Le Clerc,” his visitor said pleasantly, and inclined his head. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. I’m—”

“Marc Kartel,” Damon interrupted. “You look enough like your father to be a clone. I’d offer you a seat, but, as you see, there isn’t one.”

Kartel looked amused and glanced around the small, spare space. “This isn’t much like the rest of the palace, I admit, but it is, after all, a cell for holding prisoners.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Damon muttered, but he had to admit, he was curious. He set aside his reading device and rose, not wanting to feel at a disadvantage. They were of a height and looked each other in the eye. “Looking forward to meeting me why? I’m not exactly too popular right now.”

“I’ve read your work.” The other male lifted a brow. “And to the contrary, you are popular enough the Queen, my father, and the governing body of the Federation are alarmed you are going to cause sufficient dissention that the ripple effect of it across the universe could affect economies on hundreds of planets.”

“I am not trying to start a revolution. I want reform, not anarchy.”

“That is exactly what I wished to hear.”

“I don’t say anything because it is what I think someone wishes to hear—it’s the plain truth.”

Kartel laughed and shook his head. “Your diplomatic skills could use some work, Le Clerc.”

“I never claimed to be anything except a scientist who specializes in the impact of politics on economies and interstellar relations.”

“In my opinion you are an expert in just that field, and head and shoulders above anyone else. How would you like a post to Anasta’s Ruling Council, and perhaps, when the furor dies down, an advisory position to Minoa?”

To say he was shocked was an understatement. Damon stared, speechless.

“You are in trouble, yes,” Kartel went on in the same reasonable tone, “but I think the appointment will soothe the troubled waters in two ways. To accept a cabinet post, you have to take a vow to work with your colleagues in Anasta’s governing body. This will also serve to show the people who have read your articles that we mean to consider the changes you suggest.”

It made sense, but the opportunity had come to him so unexpectedly, all Damon could think of to say was, “The Queen and my father will never agree.”

“I’m the consort of Anasta, and with Minoa’s support, I think they will be persuaded.”

Jayla.

Damon narrowed his eyes and wished he could stifle the hoarseness in his voice. “You are already consort? Just this morning, Jay…I mean, the Princess, said nothing about it.”

“Rather hard for her to speak with your tongue in her mouth,” Kartel drawled dryly, his gaze direct. “Besides, we didn’t agree to the alliance until after that public kiss between the two of you. We hadn’t met yet.”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known this would one day come, but it was more difficult than he imagined, especially after that devastating kiss. Damon did his best to look bland, but inside him something tore apart. “I suppose I should congratulate you.”

“But you’d rather rip my beating heart out instead.”

“Yes,” Damon admitted.

“I think you’re looking at this the wrong way, Le Clerc.”

There didn’t seem to be any way to look at it except a straightforward recognition that this male now had sexual rights to Jayla. Maybe they even had already mated. It was part of the process, after all.

“Yes, we have mated. She isn’t just beautiful, but passionate also.”

Damon just stared at him, since he hadn’t spoken out loud. He knew Ran Kartel was supposed to have a strong ability to read the emotions and thoughts of others. Apparently this had passed on in some measure to his son.

“It was a natural assumption you were wondering from both the look on your face and the direction of our conversation.” Kartel shrugged, his smile negligent. “I would ask myself at once if I knew the female I loved had agreed to life partner with another male if he’d fucked her yet.”

“Not the word I would have chosen, Kartel,” Damon said bitterly. He wanted to pace, but the room was too small, so instead he just knotted his hands into fists and took a deep breath. “I hope you…that is, Jayla is sensitive and looks so delicate…”

A glimmer of respect showed in Kartel’s blue-green eyes. “You do love her if you hoped she enjoyed mating with another male. And like I said, you are looking at this the wrong way. The Princess is much more free now than she was before our alliance. You know the law. She can have a second mate.”

It was true. With the ratio of male to females almost three to one, it was considered acceptable—encouraged even—for a female to have more than one male in her bed. The enhanced sex drive of S-species males meant for greater aggression if they were sexually deprived for long periods of time. Multiple mates took care of that problem. “Are you telling me you’d agree?” Damon asked.

“Why not? Your affection for one another is obvious enough. I have no desire to make her unhappy, and I’m sure you’ll be more useful if you are not consumed with jealousy, which by the way, Le Clerc, is an irrational and archaic human emotion.”

Since most of the day he’d spent in gloomy contemplation of his less than appealing future, with this reverse of fortune he didn’t even mind the slight condescending edge of amusement in the other male’s voice. Damon said, “My mother was full human, not S-species. I’m half-bred.”

“Mine as well. I suppose we have that in common besides Jayla. Now then, are you interested in my proposal?”

“I’d crawl naked through a nest of Mantuian fire ants for her. Yes, of course I’m interested.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jayla. I guessed easily enough that was a given. I meant the position on the Ruling Council.”

At least Kartel was astute enough to know it wouldn’t be easy. “They aren’t going to accept my appointment with open arms, including my father,” he pointed out quietly. “They think I’m a troublemaker, and if they are resistant to change as much as they have been in the past, I still will be. What they don’t see is that the economic model Anasta is based on is already beginning to fail despite the evident prosperity here. It’s happening on other planets as well. The reason my article had such a universal impact is that the less affluent have already begun to feel the effects. Exponentially, it will continue to grow unless some things are changed, including taxation, tariffs, and exporting practices.”

“The difference now is you have me on your side and I think together we can effectively harness your ideas into presentations they will consider. Are you in?”

Put that way, it was an offer impossible to refuse. Kartel was right. One of Damon’s problems was he was too passionate about his work, and as a result, admittedly too forthright. He said, “Absolutely.”

* * * *

The two moons hung low over the First City, giving a shimmer to the tall buildings. Ran Kartel traced a line down his wife’s slim shoulder to the generous curve of her breast. He murmured, “He accepted. The alliance with Anasta is complete. Our son is now consort of the Princess.”

Jerra sat up in a flurry of blonde hair and outrage, nude and lush. “You didn’t tell me before this?”

“I just received the message.” He pulled her into his arms again. “Besides, it’s your fault. You distract me.”

“Hmph.” She pushed at his bare chest, but not with any great force and a soft smile lingered on her lips. “Our son chooses a life mate, a wife, and you forget to tell me.”

“You knew he might.” Ran nibbled at her neck, which was still graceful and taut even in middle age. “I, for one, am glad he came to the decision so quickly. It means he found Princess Jayla attractive, which I assumed he would from the images I’ve seen of her, but he must also have liked her. I know Marc and he wouldn’t tie himself for life to any female, no matter the political advantage, if she wasn’t appealing in other ways as well.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” Jerra settled back against him. “It’s just…”

When she trailed off, he knew exactly how she felt, not just because he could read her with an uncanny accuracy—more than anyone he’d ever known—but since he felt in a small measure the same way. He caught her chin and tilted her face toward his. “We haven’t lost him, love, we’ve gained. He’s a full grown male, and he has taken the right steps, waiting for this opportunity. When he and the Princess decide it is time, they will breed. Think of holding our son’s child someday.”

“I feel old.”

The wistful tone of her voice made him chuckle softly. His wife was supple and alluring with her fair coloring and those magnificent aquamarine eyes. His current state of full arousal proved he didn’t find her any less attractive than he had the first time they’d met. He cupped her buttocks and urged her closer, so his erect cock pressed her stomach. “I’m older than you are, so am I also supposed to feel ancient? Let me show you how young we still are.”

“You are so predictable, Governor,” she murmured, slipping her hand lower to circle her fingers around his swollen erection and squeeze lightly.

Pleasure shot through him at the caress. “When you are naked in my arms, I suppose I am.”

“How about when I am naked on top of you?”

“That’s always pleasant also,” he teased, but the motion of her hand, sliding up and down his penis made his tone a little uneven.

“Pleasant?” She laughed, and let go of him, rising up on the bed, her voluptuous breasts swaying in enticing symmetry. “I see you need to be reminded of a better word.”

Straddling his hips, Jerra rose up and, taking his cock in her hand, positioned the tip at her vaginal entrance and began to slowly lower herself. As she was human, not S-species, he was much larger and he knew she liked this position best because she could more easily control the penetration, working him inside as her body stretched to accommodate his size.

The slow grip of wet, tight heat was enough to make him groan out loud and his hands splayed over her hips to help her balance her weight. His wife’s long, pale hair brushed his fingers, soft as silk.

He loved her even more after over a quarter century of marriage than he had when he’d first met her as a sexual slave aboard a transport ship back when he was just an ambassador. At the time, to be able to marry a human required special permission, but as Governor of Minoa, he’d had that law changed. It had been outdated legislation anyway, leftover from when S-species were still trying to build their population.

Like many of the laws Damon Le Clerc protested. With the state of growth of most of the colonies, some of the laws were even potentially harmful. If Marc could get Le Clerc to rein in his infamous reckless defiance and…

Jerra slid down the last crucial distance and he was fully embedded in her luscious warmth. All thoughts of anything but the sensations bombarding every nerve-ending in his body were wiped out as she began to provocatively rock back and forth, and she made a small sexy sound of enjoyment with each motion.

He lifted his hips in rhythm with her movements, so in tune that they undulated together like one creature, and he filled his hands with her breasts, fondling the yielding flesh.

Tension built, his testicles tightened, and he fought the urge to ejaculate, the pleasure escalating as his wife arched backwards and moved more urgently on his cock, obviously close to orgasm, her nipples pebbled against his palms.

Then with a low wild cry, Jerra began to shudder, her inner muscles clenching in a way that made his resolve to not let go of his own control too soon melt away. He surged upward as she fell forward and clutched his shoulders, and their mutual cry of release was the result of knowing each other, carnally, and in every other way also, very well.

Afterward, drowsy, with her head pillowed his chest, his fingers tangled in her hair, he heard her ask, “Did you tell Marc about the assassination attempt?”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s over. Why worry him? Now, go to sleep. I don’t know about you, but I am pleasantly exhausted, my love.”

Chapter Six

Marc respectfully waited for the queen to speak, noting the tense set of Jayla’s shoulders. They were in the royal private office, and next to the desk, Raphael Le Clerc had what was apparently his personal chair, where he now sat, silent, looking very much like his son except for the faint lines by his mouth and flecks of silver in his dark hair.

He spoke first, breaking the long silence. “You make a convincing petition, Ambassador, but while I agree that Damon’s acumen would be valuable, his passion for his ideals clouds his judgment at times.”

The subject of that little speech stood unmoving, but Marc could tell it took some effort to not defend himself by the set of Damon’s jaw. Jayla spoke for him. “Let’s keep in mind you haven’t given him much of a chance to express himself through formal channels. When he has asked, he’s been refused.”

Her mother moved a hand to tap her fingers on the desk. “The pardon aside, an appointment to the Ruling Council is not given lightly, Damon.”

“I know, your Highness.” Even in the midst of his disfavor, Le Clerc spoke with the familiarity of someone who had known the queen a long time. “But don’t you think the voice of a younger generation should have a say there? Look at what the archaic political atmosphere of Gandsar produced. A failed economy and social unrest. I have said all along just because a colony looks prosperous, it doesn’t mean it is stable. Anasta is no exception. I—”

Raphael interrupted his son with brittle inflection in his tone. “We know how you feel about this. The entire Federation knows, thanks to your article.”

“It caught my attention, and my father’s.” Marc stepped in smoothly. “Which means others listened also. If he was just a radical, he would be dismissed. But, in truth, his ideas make sense. A switch in agrarian policies, so each colony doesn’t produce whatever it wants but there is regulation for greater productivity and distribution. A universal military force, not hundreds of individual armies. An expansion of the Universal Council so there are representatives from every planet, and most importantly, a ruling body for the overview of economic health that has jurisdiction and power. I could go on, but I know for all your disapproval of his methods, you have taken stock of his ideas.”

“So, apparently, have you.” The queen looked at him with a small ironic twitch of her lips. “I am starting to wonder if I just gained a new son-in-law or a champion for Damon’s revolution.”

“A controlled one,” Marc answered in his best persuasive tone. “In place of the unrest that would inevitably happen as colonies start to fail, one by one. I happen to know my father agrees.”

“You are that sure it will happen that way?” Raphael addressed his son, Marc noted, not him.

“Change is needed.” Damon, still dressed in the loose clothes given him as a prisoner, nodded, his good-looking face set. “Gandsar is just the beginning.”

The older Le Clerc and the queen glanced at each other and seemed to come to a silent agreement. She said, “Ambassador Kartel, if you are certain enough the Universal Council will withdraw its order of censure, we’ll propose the appointment. Though I know Damon doesn’t believe this, the Ruling Council of Anasta is not blind to upcoming problems. I think his voice there will be welcomed by some, but not all. It remains to be seen the ratio of one to the other, but my recommendations do not come without a lot of thought on my part, and the members know it. However, be aware I will not force this through. There has to be a majority vote.”

The dismissal in her tone was a signal and the three of them left together, Jayla walking in front, her shimmering hair in a long fall down her back, the gentle feminine sway of her hips drawing Marc’s gaze.

Not just his either, he noted, amused, as Damon also watched her walk with his lids slightly lowered. Marc said neutrally, “That went well.”

“As well as can be expected,” Damon agreed, his smile half-hearted. “I think by now you see any fear my father might show favoritism is unfounded. He’s my greatest critic most of the time.”

“You’re hardly alone there. My father also finds fault with me. I believe that’s what parents think they are supposed to do. My impression is that secretly he is very proud of you, but because of his position, he cannot openly show it.”

“There are certain disadvantages to being the sons of powerful men.”

To an extent, they did have that in common along with all the other similarities, though while Marc was more inclined to negotiate and play off the emotions of others, Damon was decidedly more passionate and rebellious in his opinions.

Marc had the feeling they would make an exceptional team, and it was part of the reason he’d come to Anasta in the first place.

The other reason walked just ahead down the elegant corridor, studiously preceding them because he had the feeling Jayla was reluctant to face her lover—not the one in a physical sense, not yet that is, but still, the male to whom she’d had a long-term attachment. Had it not been for Damon’s plight, would she have agreed to the alliance so easily? Marc thought not. He would definitely have had to work harder, even with the strong attraction between them, but offering to help Le Clerc had definitely brought her into his arms.

They’d agreed, signed the papers, and there had been that delicious sexual culmination also. She was bound to him publically and intimately. But she was also bound to Damon emotionally, and Marc did not want her to decide she’d made a sacrifice of that friendship to take him as a consort. Unhappy rulers didn’t often think as clearly as necessary. They needed to settle things between the three of them.

“Come have a glass of wine with us after you’ve changed,” he suggested to Le Clerc. He and Jayla were sharing her quarters in the royal part of the palace until a new suite could be arranged for them. “I think we have a few things to discuss.”

Damon caught his gaze and nodded, understanding what the offer meant. “I’ll be there in a short while.”

Jayla was tellingly quiet when they scanned into her private rooms. For the official signing of the marriage documents and interview with her mother she wore a flowing emerald garment that exactly matched her eyes, and it draped her slender figure with enticing closeness. “Thank you,” she said the moment the door slid shut and they were alone.

“For what?” He lifted his brows in inquiry, enjoying the sight of her and the light drift of her perfume. It reminded him of the fragrance of the tiny blue flowers that grew wild around the Governor’s quarters back on Minoa. His mother would not let them be replaced with more standard vegetation, much to the irritation of the head groundskeeper.

“You helped Damon.” She hesitated and then went on with simple dignity. “With his father, that isn’t always easy. To get him freed without further punishment was a miracle. My mother was furious with him for causing such dissention, and not only on Anasta, so getting her to consider an appointment to the Ruling Council for him, that’s unbelievable.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” Marc pointed out, loosening the top fastening of his formal tunic. “But I think it will. Your mother has waited, as has Raphael Le Clerc, for someone to take control of this situation. To a certain extent, I don’t blame them. It isn’t a small task, Jayla. Even with Damon helping us, the reforms are going to be hard to push through. He’s unpopular with the lawmakers, but the colonists feel quite differently, so that will help. Toss someone in incarceration for his inflammatory support of new laws to help the average citizen and you make a martyr of him. Your mother, Le Clerc, and the Universal Council did that for us. Enlist his aid and raise him to a position of power, and now the martyr has wide public influence where we need it most.”

“Do you think so?”

“If I didn’t, do you imagine I would so stanchly advocate for him?”

“No, I suppose not.” She hesitated, and then said simply, “Excuse me for a moment.”

Marc watched her go into her sleeping area and heard the door to the cleansing room close. He wandered over and helped himself to a glass of wine, finding he liked the rich golden native beverage, the tartness on his tongue pleasing. Jayla also pleased him, and when she returned, he watched her with a singular predatory hunger that was unusual. With most of his lovers he was more detached, but she intrigued him.

Her green eyes were shadowed by long lashes. She walked over to where a window looked out over the central gardens and stared at the sparkling fountain, at this hour lit by luminescent stones under the flowing water. “You know, you are not alike, but you and Damon remind me of each other.”

He watched her closely, admiring her perfect profile. “How so?”

“You both have such purpose.” She smiled wryly. “Again, not in the same way. His is intense and forceful, and yours is controlled and determined.”

“I don’t disagree. Tell me, are you in love with him?”

* * * *

It was the second very personal question he’d asked her, but then again, legally the male standing with such negligent nonchalance a few feet away had every right to ask it. Marc was now her husband, the news of their alliance had been dispatched to Minoa and other sources in the Federation, and she supposed it was logical of him to wonder. This was different from when he asked about whether she and Damon were lovers. This had to do with her feelings. Males and females mated often enough without any emotional attachment.

She responded with careful evasion. “I have known him my entire life, but that embrace you saw on the monitor was the only time we’ve ever touched each other in that way.”

“You did not answer my question, Princess. I know very well Le Clerc left you untouched physically.”

Of course he knew, remembering how Marc had taken her and the pleasure of their joining. Was she in love with Damon? She’d never allowed herself to think about it too closely, for as they grew to adulthood, Damon became more and more inclined to his academic pursuits and growing desire to push for political changes, and her mother had taken measures to make sure they were closely chaperoned if together. It wasn’t so much a fear that Jayla would lose her virginity—that taboo had been lifted long ago—as it was a worry she might refuse a marriage based on political alliance because of her attachment to Damon.

Well, she’d made a compromise and done what was best for Anasta. And if she was being honest with herself, Marc Kartel’s compelling charm had overcome her reservations, not to mention his desire to help Damon.

“I love him,” she admitted. “But he has made some choices that prohibit a formal relationship that would ever meet with the approval of my mother or his father. How could I ever ask him to step away from his convictions?”

Aquamarine eyes regarded her with approval. “I’m glad you were just honest with me.”

“I owe you.”

His brows lifted minutely. “I think that many would believe I owe you, Princess, for my elevated status from mere ambassador to royal consort of one of the most prosperous planets in the Federation.”

“Your father is probably the most powerful man in the interstellar Federation, so it isn’t such a big step up.”

“Rather like Damon, my father is who he is, but I’ve had to make my own way.”

Whatever she might have said then was interrupted by the flash announcing a visitor at the door. Damon must have washed and changed in record time, for when Marc pressed the entry button, he stepped through the door, dressed in a neatly pressed tunic and pants as opposed to his captive uniform, and his dark hair was damp and curled against his neck.

His face—every feature—was achingly familiar, yet different at the same time, for while their friendship was undeniable, they looked at each other as male and female now after that searing kiss.

For a long moment, their gazes just locked. As usual, Damon’s intensity came through in the set of his shoulders and the line of his sensual mouth. Should she apologize for pledging herself to another? Or just offer him the glass of wine Marc had suggested they share and pretend that she hadn’t taken another male as a life partner that very day?

She opted for the wine. “Do you wish something to drink?”

“No.” He took a step closer to her. “I didn’t come here for a glass of damned wine, Jay.”

Confused, she just stared at him.

“I came here for you.” He took another step. And another.

“For me?”

The glitter in his eyes was unmistakable. She’d seen it before once or twice—maybe more if she was honest with herself—but did the idiot think that one kiss gave him the privilege to take what he wanted? Not to mention how much he owed Marc Kartel…

But, unfortunately, there was one secret part of her, newly awakened, that remembered what it was like to have his mouth slanted over hers in hungry possession.

“I think we’ve put this off long enough.” Damon pulled her without reservation against his tall body. His mouth brushed her temple, teased the line of her jaw, and then he whispered against her lips, “I’ve wanted you for so long, Jay.”

Chapter Seven

Though self-restraint was not his best quality, for Jayla’s sake he needed to rein himself in, for he was so hungry for her—so damn hard already he could feel his erect cock ache painfully. Damon kissed her with slow heated passion, his tongue exploring, his arms holding her close. Kartel watched them, but he didn’t mind that. He was a healthy adult S-species male so he’d shared women before and there was arousal in watching as well. Between them, he knew they’d pleasure Jayla and initiate her into the joys of sexual play.

At first she was shocked and while not exactly resistant, he could sense her tension. Breaking the kiss, he whispered in her ear, “It’s all right, Jay. As long as you want me half as much as I want you.” He lifted his head and grinned ruefully, knowing she could feel the rigid length of his arousal between them. “Make that a quarter as much.”

Her beautiful emerald eyes were wide, those soft tempting lips parted, her smooth cheeks flushed. She didn’t even need to answer whether or not his need was reciprocated, because she wore a flowing silken gown and, beneath it, her nipples were visibly erect through the thin material. She glanced at Kartel, then swiftly back at Damon. “The two of you discussed this. Discussed me.”

It wasn’t a question as much as a statement. “Yes,” he admitted. “Of course you were a topic of conversation, Jay. By the stars, I think about you all the time.”

She stepped back and her hands went to her slim hips. “You can’t decide to share me. Males can be the most irritating, high-handed, egotistical—”

“You can say no to either of us whenever you wish,” Kartel interrupted in a smooth, amused tone. “I think you know we would never force you to do anything if you weren’t interested in doing it. Keep in mind, though, Princess, the majority of females not only have two or more lovers, but they also enjoy the variety.”

Damon knew he owed Kartel a great deal, not just for his freedom and the opportunity to be on the Ruling Council, but more importantly, a chance to be part of Jayla’s life still. The sex was important, yes, to any male it would be, but more than that was their lifelong friendship and true affection for each other. He had a feeling Kartel was not the kind of leader who gave away anything for free, so his debt would be paid with hard work and dedication to their mutual cause, and Damon didn’t shy away from the challenge, he relished it. But at the moment, winning Jayla over to their new relationship was the most important battle ahead.

“I’ve always imagined you naked,” he told her, his voice husky with need, his gaze raking her body with a heated, slow perusal. “Let me undress you.”

“No.”

He froze in the act of reaching for her. It had never occurred to him she’d refuse him, mostly because he knew her so well. Jayla shook back her shining hair and looked him in the eye, and then at Kartel. Facing them, she kicked off her slippers one by one with deliberate coquettish intent. “I’ll do it myself.”

After all, she had been born and bred a princess of Anasta, so he wasn’t surprised she wished to control what happened next, but still relief washed over him. Damon was just glad her decision was the one he wanted so desperately.

“By all means.” He grinned and took a seat, settling into it, trying to ignore his prominent, throbbing erection. One arm draped over the back of the chair, he gazed at her steadily. “Show me.”

Slowly she reached up and unhooked the jeweled clip at her shoulder. Then she eased the material downward, exposing one perfect, pink-tipped breast. The very one he’d touched. His testicles tightened.

Then, just to torture him, she turned around and unfastened the other clip. The gown slid downward, the graceful curve of her spine and flawless purity of her back revealed bit by bit, and Damon groaned out loud.

Jayla laughed in a light breathless sound. Kartel, he saw, was also riveted as the material slid past her hips and the smooth mounds of her buttocks to fall at her feet. The veil of her pale hair brushed those enticing curves. For a moment, though nude, she didn’t turn to face them but looked back over her shoulder. “Take off your clothes,” she commanded.

Normally he didn’t follow orders very readily, but in this case…

“Yes, your royal highness,” he said mockingly. Damon obediently stood and disrobed with swift, efficient movements, stifling a groan as he eased his pants over his stiff, throbbing penis.

He needed her. He’d always needed her. Kartel merely watched them, his expression both interested and faintly amused.

Then, Jayla turned around. Damon knew she was beautiful, but he had to admit his breath caught in his throat, and if possible, he hardened even more. As children they’d quarreled and played together. As adults, everything had changed.

Long, graceful legs, a slim waist, firm, high breasts, that halo of shining hair…she was a perfect female, or at least in his opinion she was fashioned exactly as he wanted. The cleft between her legs was bare, and he couldn’t wait to touch, to taste, to join with her and feel the exquisite tightness of her around his aching cock.

He was as bad at patience as he was at taking orders. In two strides he was close enough to sweep her up into his arms, ignoring her small inarticulate sound of outrage as he stalked through the doorway. He gave his surroundings a cursory glance—he hadn’t been in her private sleeping quarters since they were much younger—and deposited her on the bed. He followed her down, pinning her to the bed with his much larger body though he kept his weight carefully balanced. One finger traced the lower curve of her lip as he stared into her green eyes. “I always wondered what I’d say at this moment.”

“Something irritating no doubt.” Jayla teased, but she ran a hand over his shoulder in a slow journey of her fingers that was both a caress and a tentative exploration. “You have a knack for it.”

He had to smile. “What if I told you that I dream about you all the time? Wet dreams, naturally.”

“I’d say I’m glad I’m not the one who changes the bedding in your quarters.” Jayla spoke tartly, but her cheeks had taken on a flush of excitement and, against his bare chest, her breasts were tight.

One of the things he loved about her was her sense of humor even in the face of being raised in an environment where protocol was strictly enforced. “Hmm,” he said noncommittally, lowering his head, “they are very wicked dreams.” He licked her lower lip. “Shall I show you how to be very, very wicked, Jay?”

“That sounds interesting,” Kartel drawled in his even voice.

Damon glanced up and saw the new consort of Anasta unfastening his tunic. He was also obviously aroused, the bulge in his pants evident. Damon smiled darkly. “Absolutely. Let’s make this a night she’ll remember forever.”

* * * *

There were two of them, much larger, both imposingly male. Jayla was glad she’d accepted from her cousin a lozenge that Delia told her would not only enhance the sexual experience but also ease any discomfort from her earlier experience with Marc. She’d inserted it into her vaginal passage when she’d excused herself, anticipating another joining. Even now, she felt warm and wet between her legs and a sort of fierce inner excitement that both startled and intrigued her.

They knew what to do and she was a novice—that point was not arguable. But she’d enjoyed it when Damon had kissed her, and even more when Marc had coaxed from her body that remarkable physical pleasure, and the idea of both of them touching her made a shiver run up her spine.

Marc with his compelling charisma, and Damon with his intense passion. Two very different males, who would be undoubtedly very different lovers.

The hard length of Damon’s cock rubbed suggestively against her hip as he took her lips in another one of those devastating kisses. His tongue pressed deep into her mouth, his long-fingered hands tangling in her hair, and when he shifted more fully on top of her, his knees parted her thighs.

“Relax and let me in,” he whispered against her mouth, and she felt the inexorable nudge of his cock at her feminine opening. His entry was slow and restrained, very un-Damon, and a soft groan accompanied the moment when he sheathed himself fully inside her.

He was every bit as large as Marc, and the intimate possession was marvelous, especially with the lubricant and aphrodisiac in the capsule she’d used. Jayla pressed the small of his back, as if it would bring them even closer, lifting her hips. “Oh.”

“We’re together,” he said in a hoarse whisper, his dark eyes glittering under half-lowered lids. “Tied to each other forever, Jay. It’s never felt like this before because it’s you, and it’s me, and somehow I always knew one day…”

He trailed off and she wished she could tell him she’d known it too, because she had, but instead she squirmed a little, the need for him to move banishing all thoughts of poignant introspection.

That would have to come later, when he wasn’t deep inside her, when her body didn’t need sexual culmination. “Damon, do something,” she implored, arching beneath him.

“Kartel must be rubbing off on you,” he muttered, “because you just read my mind.”

He began to move, a slow withdrawal first, the backward slide of his sex making her quiver, and then the inward thrust where they both closed their eyes. Damon’s arms were braced on either side of her shoulders. Intoxicated by sensation, she inhaled both the musky scent of lovemaking and the masculine tang from his damp skin and moaned in pure erotic enjoyment.

With every thrust she moved higher, rapturous tingles turning into a haze of pleasure that held her spellbound until finally she soared free, clinging to Damon as he shuddered, his cock flexing inside her as he poured out his release and groaned her name.

In the aftermath, she ran her fingers through the tousled silk of his ebony hair, murmuring, “You weren’t too annoying just now, I suppose.”

His cock was still deep inside her and Damon lifted his head to give her a lazy grin. “I’ll have to try harder next time.”

“Or give me a chance.” A deep voice suggested.

In the drift of post-coital bliss, she’d all but forgotten about Marc.

Her husband now by law, her consort, and her first lover. A male generous enough—and wise enough—to gift her time with Damon. Jayla turned her head and saw he reclined on the bed next to them, propped on one elbow, a faint, attractive smile on his mouth. Nude, his muscled chest wide and hard, his erection prominent, he was just as magnificent a specimen as Damon, and a good deal more of an enigma. While she understood Damon’s reckless, stubborn brilliance, she had yet to explore Marc’s complex personality.

Damon rolled off of her, the loss of his withdrawal mitigated by the sudden gathering of her lax body into the arms of the male lying next to her. Marc whispered in her ear, his breath warm and mesmerizing, “You are incomparably beautiful in your pleasure, Princess.”

His chest was hard, strong, and lower, he was clearly infinitely aroused, his erection rigid and pulsing. Sated, she still felt an odd stirring. “I’m glad you think so.”

“I like watching you come.” He nibbled impudently on her earlobe, causing a shiver to run up her spine.

Damon was dangerous enough. Could she handle another such volatile male? “I’ll do my best to please you,” she said with as much asperity as she could summon in the aftermath of such erotic splendor.

“I’m not sure you have to do much of anything.” His grin was lazy, as was the drift of his hand through her disordered hair. “Your beauty alone would arouse any male, and I like your fiery abandon, my Princess.”

More often she was described as cool and aloof and she found she liked his different perception. More than that, she was aware of Damon, watching them.

It was inexplicably exciting.

As was what happened next. Marc shifted over her, his kiss possessive, yet tender at the same time, and as he slid his rigid cock inside her, she clamped her inner thighs on his hips and shuddered in pleasure. The penetration was deep, the feel of the invasion complete, and yet she was very aware of Damon, still next her.

When he touched her, the lightest caress of his fingertips over her bare hip as she moved in concert with Marc’s measured thrusts, the very brush of the caress caused a wicked thrill to warm her blood. She was acutely aware of Damon’s touch even in the haze of pleasure with another male.

Somehow, it made it all the more decadent, all the more sublime. And finally, when she rose against the final inward stroke that signaled the pinnacle, she let out a wild cry. In turn Marc caught her hips and went rigid, his eyes tightly shut as his cock pulsed with his release.

In the aftermath, as she drifted, warm lips teased her neck. “I always knew you’d be hot as a glowing planet core, Jay.”

Damon had thought about it, she realized with a languid satisfaction.

So had she.

But she’d never dreamed it would be quite like this.

Chapter Eight

The images flickered across the screen—a melee of moving forms, flashes of light against the darkness, and in the background, screams.

Ran reached out and pressed a key, replayed it one more time, and then turned to face the other occupants of the room. “Thank you for arriving so quickly. The explosion happened”—he flicked a glance at one of the screens set into the surface of the polished conference table—“less than an hour ago.”

“Do you have any information on the source?” one of the council members asked.

He nodded grimly. “Not specifically yet, but I think I can make an educated guess. We detected the incineration devices planted in Minoa’s most-used municipal buildings over a week ago. Our military experts say the weapons were set to go off not on timers or by remote signal, but the detonation was linked to a single individual scanning through the security system at the highest level. The explosion you just saw occurred in the Judicial Federal building on Mega 3.”

“Mass murder to eliminate one?” A gray-haired retired governor who had been on the council since before Ran was born shook his head, his expression disillusioned and saddened. “Hundreds, even thousands, can be in those buildings at any given time.”

“Quite a statement, isn’t it?” Ran said grimly. “Every building with that level of security in the colony is being scoured for any other threats and warnings were sent to other planets. Unfortunately, Mega 3, as you just saw, must have either missed the device or not taken the advised precautions seriously.”

“Do you have a count of the casualties?” General Ian Helm asked grimly. “I’ve dispatched relief troops to help manage the situation but I’m not getting much back in the way of information.” He’d been busy with his personal communication device the whole meeting, jabbing in codes.

“From what I understand it’s too hot to get close enough to start recovering bodies just yet and the reports coming in are patchy since the colony’s main communication center is close enough it was apparently damaged.”

“So this is widespread interstellar terrorism.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement made by one of the female members, a former federal judge. “Has any other colony discovered devices besides Minoa?”

“Two,” Ran confirmed. “But Minoa seems to have a more widespread threat.”

The conference room was quiet for a moment, then Colonel Helm asked the logical question in his usual brusque way, “Who is the individual target, Governor?”

Ran looked his old friend in the eye. “I am.”

“I was afraid of that,” Ian muttered, tucking his communication device back in his pocket. “Leaders are being targeted then. That disturbs me.”

“You are telling me this?” Ran gave a mirthless laugh. “My son just became the Consort of Princess Jayla of Anasta. Surely the most powerful colonies are the most attractive to whoever is doing this.”

And it was not something he was going to point out to his wife, who worried over Marc already.

Anasta hadn’t yet responded to the warning, but with this new development on Mega 3, he hoped to get a message soon.

* * * *

They argued like children, Marc discovered to his amusement, and perhaps it was a good thing he’d spent so much time in the diplomatic corps. Jayla narrowed her eyes and stared at Damon, every inch the royal princess. “This meeting is very important.”

“You are telling me that?” Damon returned her scathing look with nothing more than a raised brow. “I am the one with my future riding on the open-minded grace of the Ruling Council. Grace, by the way, I am unconvinced exists.”

“At the least you could have worn the assigned tunic.”

“No. I am what I am, Jay,” Le Clerc said stubbornly. “Changing my clothes to the regimental diplomatic uniform isn’t going to fool anyone and may even lessen my credibility. They know what they are agreeing to. They expect to see me. The trappings are superfluous.”

“Do you always have to do everything the most difficult way?” She looked, adorably—in Marc’s opinion—irritated, a slight flush to her cheeks, her sleek pale hair tossed back and her green eyes disapproving. She was dressed to impress in a scarlet flowing tunic past her knees, the trim a pale gold color that exactly matched her shining hair. Marc, also, well-used to governmental formalities on all different kinds of planets, wore a full-dress Anasta official uniform that had been delivered to him just that morning. Damon, on the other hand, was casual in a loose white shirt and fitted dark pants, his boots not particularly new.

He looked considerably more comfortable, Marc had to acknowledge wryly, but then again, he wasn’t the new consort of Anasta either. The sacrifice was worth it, in his opinion. He could change later.

“Do you always have to insist on conformity?” Damon muttered, refusing to be cowed by her imperious criticism. “I’m a full-grown male and well past the time in my life when you could instruct me on what to wear. My clothes have nothing to do with the issues we face.”

“That sort of attitude is always what gets you in trouble,” Jayla pointed out.

Marc laughed, which won him a glare from both the participants in the quarrel. “I’d stay here and watch until the two of you came to blows, but—”

“My Lord Consort?” The interruption was in conjunction to the door lifting into the anteroom with no warning. “The Queen would like to see you at once.”

The new title was a little startling, but he could get used to it. Marc nodded, straightened his tunic, and sent both Jayla and Damon a swift glance. “It looks like we are about to have our audience. Try and behave for a few minutes if you find it possible.”

The anteroom seemed unusually full, but Marc wasn’t all that familiar yet with what was normal and wasn’t when it came to the court protocol on the planet, though he had naturally studied it as much as possible before his arrival. He entered first but paused to let Jayla precede him into the actual council room, and in that calculated moment, he turned to Damon. “This is as important to me as it is to you. Let me speak first and set it up. I am the diplomat to your revolutionary. We need each other. I’ll do my job first, and trust me, I’m good at it. Then it is up to you.”

“You’re going to need all your skill, Kartel.” Damon agreed with surprising acquiescence considering his resistance to compromise, his smile wry. “But I trust if anyone can convince them, you can.”

They went into the room together, a strategic move that he hadn’t planned but came naturally and proved effective, for both of them. The meeting area was spacious, with a curved ceiling to mimic the bowl-like atmosphere above the planet, the color a deep sapphire lightened by synthetic cosmic fires, simulated perfectly so it echoed the Anasta night sky. The Ruling Council sat at a polished semi-circular table of some kind of silver stone, most of them elders, a reflection of the colony’s monarchial mode of government. The queen was next to Raphael Le Clerc at the center of the arch, and neither seemed surprised by the united front, though when both Marc and Damon stopped on either side of Jayla, a few murmurs were exchanged.

A thin older male with a shock of white hair and a stately bearing rose. “Princess and my Lord Consort, welcome. Take your seats and let us begin.”

Two places had been reserved for them, Marc saw, to one side, on a small raised platform, and it was obvious, as only honorary members of the council, they were not given voice projectors, so it looked unlikely they were going to be allowed to participate in the debate over Damon’s appointment.

But for the moment, he had the floor and part of diplomacy was showmanship, after all, and this was his first appearance before the ruling body of the planet he now called home. Besides making a good impression, he had a vested interest in Damon Le Clerc’s success. Marc bowed swiftly and caught Jayla’s hand, bringing it theatrically to his lips. “I am honored to be here and enchanted in every other way possible as well.” He smiled at his wife, noting with amusement Jayla seemed both startled and wary.

Letting her fingers slide free, he addressed the council with the kind of informal yet effective speech he’d seen his father employ dozens of times. “I’ve come here in a time when our world and many others are going through changes, some of them bewildering, some frightening, but some optimistic. I am encouraged that free-thinkers with progressive ideals and sound working models for future growth and economic stability take chances to make their work known”—he smiled in deprecating acknowledgement that Damon’s methods were not popular—“even if perhaps we don’t agree with their tactics. How much better if we can control that brilliance to our own ends?”

All yours, Le Clerc.

Marc led Jayla toward their seats, politely helping her into the chair. Her expression neutral, as he sat down next to her, she said so quietly even he almost didn’t catch it, “Will I be eternally thanking you for stepping in on his behalf?”

Marc watched in appreciation as she settled the scarlet fabric of her tunic around her slender legs. “I don’t know,” he answered with a low laugh, sitting next to her and resting his hands on the arms of the chair. “It depends on whether or not he behaves himself after his appointment.”

“Then I suppose my gratitude is doomed to be eternal,” she murmured, her profile clean aristocratic—chin lifted just slightly, lashes lowered, her expression serene. “I swear, I want to kick him half the time. Brilliance, as you call it, is not an indication of good sense.”

Her disgruntled tone made him twitch a smile. “But not necessarily mutually exclusive. Let’s see how he does, shall we?”

* * * *

His critics wore various expressions varying from skeptical to downright forbidding, but Damon had to give Kartel credit. If the situation could be presented in a light the old guard of the Anasta ruling body would consider, he’d just done it with a few facile words.

The point was taken. He couldn’t squander this moment. So he stood, hands clasped lightly behind his back, and met the gaze of the chosen spokesman, which would normally have been his father, who ran the meetings as a matter of course, but was instead a rigid former general in Anasta’s army who was one of his worst detractors.

Not an auspicious start.

“Le Clerc.” The general didn’t precisely sneer, but Damon had a feeling it was buried in there somewhere. No doubt, if his father had any say in it, to make sure the vote was completely uncontested was exactly why General Havov had been selected to moderate the voting on his appointment.

“General.” Damon executed a small bow. It cost him, because he didn’t do subservience well, but then again, Kartel and Jayla sat expectantly, watching him.

Marc, who had suddenly appeared when he needed it most and was an ally, and Jayla…well, he would die for Jayla, so disappointing her now was out of the question.

“The Council has received from the Queen a request for an appointment to an advisory position with voting privileges in the sectors of economics and political policy.” The elder’s expression was stony. “I agreed, to please the Queen, to take the vote to the table, my personal preferences aside.”

The general’s personal preferences were no secret, but then again, Damon had to concede his own opinions were usually out there for everyone, so he could hardly argue the candid disclosure. “I appreciate the fair consideration despite your misgivings.” That was as diplomatic as he ever got, considering he wanted to tell Havov to go fuck himself. Havov believed in military force to solve almost every problem and he was notoriously resistant to the idea of reform.

“Don’t thank me,” the general said in clipped tones. “Before I even hear what you have to say, my vote is no.”

Damon hoped Marc was taking notes because this was a perfect illustration of why he hated the strict regimental following of established rules. “That’s democratic of you.”

“Before your father, this was a pure monarchy. Don’t ask me for democratic forgiveness.”

Damon stood very still, not sure what to say. He’d known, of course, new liberal laws had come into practice since his father had come into power as Chief Advisor, but he hadn’t been aware really until this moment that he was resented for it. After a moment, he said with as much calm as possible, “A pure monarchy is archaic. No one person should shoulder the responsibility for so many. It isn’t fair either way.”

“We aren’t here to debate our judicial system or the way our colony is now governed.” Havov intoned the words. “We wish to know why we should consider a renegade that can’t even be reined in by his own parent as a member of the council.”

Damon could swear his father moved a restive fraction in his chair but his expression didn’t alter.

“My father,” he said in rebuttal, “is hardly responsible for controlling my actions, as I am a fully grown male. It is to your benefit—and that of Anasta—that he instilled in me an ability to think freely and make decisions based on my studies and conclusions, not the instructions of anyone else. That”—he swept the room with a slow, steady look—“is what I could bring to the council table. An independent opinion supported by my years of study and solid facts. I am a scientist and a scholar, not a politician.”

Havov made a derisive noise, which actually was probably a mistake on his part. Several of the council members looked at him in disapproval for his open bias.

“This is supposed to be a fair hearing,” the Queen said in a cool, commanding tone. She inclined her head. “Go on.”

Damon hoped his face didn’t reflect his inner misgivings over that possibility, but he was stubborn enough—and wanted this opportunity enough—that he kept on speaking. “Anasta’s scales need to be balanced better between our agrarian exports and industry. We think because we are rich we are immune. Not so. As other economies become strained we are vulnerable and we must anticipate the repercussions from failing planets. I can help us prepare.”

“Legislation could take years.”

The voice was his father’s. Damon didn’t look at him but faced the council. “We don’t have years. This is happening now.”

“And you are our answer?” Havov’s voice was disparaging.

“Have you a better one?” Damon challenged. “What is your solution to the threat that looms over us, General?”

“If there is one,” the other male scoffed.

“Oh, there is,” the Queen said with usual quiet authority. “Planetary leaders are being targeted for assassination. Already anarchists sense the weakening of our system. Shall we vote?”

Chapter Nine

A part of her was elated, but another both dismayed and frightened. The moment the door slid downward, Jayla asserted curtly, “If either of you knew of the assassination attempts and didn’t tell me, I will castrate you.”

Had she been in the mood to laugh, she would have by both of their reactions. Marc typically took the threat with equanimity, and Damon bristled. The latter said heatedly, “I wouldn’t keep something like that from you, Jay, and besides, until a few hours ago, no one trusted me with any information, remember? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

She did remember, and she was more than happy his place on the council had been granted, though the margin of the vote had been narrow and he was going to have to work to prove his value, but at the moment she was alarmed for her mother’s sake. “Did you know?” she asked Marc directly, swinging around. They were in her quarters now, and she folded her arms over her chest and lifted her chin in a demanding challenge.

“No,” he said quietly. “Apparently my father has already been a target. I am as worried as you are. As a matter of fact, Princess, I think we understand how each other feels, and no doubt Damon does as well. His father is also high profile and could be a target. I had no idea before your mother told us all.”

Her shoulders sagged, for the sincerity in his voice made her believe him. Jayla wandered over to one of the divans and sank down. “I’m sorry.”

“No need to be. My reaction was as visceral as yours.” His aqua eyes were somber. “I think it is telling the timing of this action. It is possible, of course, Damon set this all in motion with his inflammatory article, but I doubt it. The attacks sound too well planned and it takes months, maybe even years to pull off such an operation. I am inclined to think it’s a coincidence his writings just occurred at exactly the right time.”

“This is the only time,” Damon argued, running his hand through his hair. “While I don’t condone terrorism of any kind, I am not surprised it’s happening either. If you recall, I predicted anarchy. I think maybe even my father is beginning to realize I am not just a raving lunatic trying to make trouble. The trouble is out there. I didn’t invent it or cause it. I just saw it coming a long time ago.”

Jayla had known all along his father believed in him, just did not agree with his inflammatory way of getting his point across. So Damon had been tossed into prison. “He knows you are not a lunatic,” she said dryly, “but he also disagrees with your sometimes high-handed methods. Now you are on the Council together. I hope you can get along better.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior.”

His ironic tone was one that had been irritating her as long as she could remember. “That will be a welcome change.”

His voice dropped to a silky, huskier tone. “I was on my best behavior last evening, wasn’t I?”

“We are hardly talking about the same thing,” Jayla said coolly, but her pulse picked up at the heated spark in his eyes.

He took a predatory step forward. “I’ll refresh your memory at any time.”

“We have a serious issue. Don’t be flippant.” She stood her ground, chin up.

“There have been checks ordered on all the locking systems and security has shut down the palace.” Marc moved to slip out of his uniform jacket. “We are essentially locked in for the evening until the scans are completed. The Queen asked us to return to our quarters and stay here until it can be determined whether or not we’ve been targeted. I’d say, with what happened on Mega 3, which is a much smaller colony, we’re likely to have a problem.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” Damon took another step and caught Jayla’s hand, bringing it to his mouth. His lips feathered across her fingers. “But may I say if we have to be trapped, I can’t think of better company.”

She wasn’t used to this, to his charming side, though, it occurred to her, he must not be any stranger to seducing females since he did it so smoothly. Marc, too, was altogether too casually comfortable in the role of dominant male.

Is that a twinge of possessive jealousy?

If so, she immediately told herself, it was unfounded, for whatever females they might have been involved with in the past, they were both hers now.

Damon said, “There isn’t much we can do right now but be compliant and wait for the engineers to find the device.”

“How will we pass the time?” Marc grinned, tossing his jacket aside.

“I’ve got an idea or two.”

“Great minds think alike then.”

Perversely, she found their easy confidence was somehow an aphrodisiac. It must be, for with both them eyeing her like a particularly delectable meal, her skin started to warm. She began to snatch her hand back, but Damon held fast and nibbled on her middle finger.

It had an inexplicable effect. She exhaled slowly and did her best to look unmoved.

The trouble was, Damon knew her too well. “He’s right,” he said persuasively, his fingers closing over her wrist and tugging her closer so their bodies were almost touching. “We are stuck here alone, just the three of us, at least until tomorrow when we get word we can leave our quarters.”

Their relationship had changed dramatically and she still remembered his fervent lovemaking. While Marc was restrained and skilled, Damon was—as always—unpredictable at a guess.

“We haven’t even had our evening meal yet. I’m hungry,” she pointed out.

The two males exchanged a charged glance. “So are we,” Marc murmured.

“Not what I meant.” She did her best to keep the cool princess in her voice. “There’s chilled wine and a cold meal set out for us.” She gestured at where a low table held both food and drink, as promised. More food would be delivered in the morning if the scans were not complete. Both her mother and Raphael Le Clerc had agreed that all ranking members of Anasta’s government should stay in their quarters until it was determined which of them was the target. By not moving around, they wouldn’t run the risk of the individual whose code had been compromised setting off an explosion.

“We’ll feed you, we promise.” Damon grinned. “To make sure you keep your strength up.”

In the background she was dimly aware of Marc undressing, but it was all lost as Damon kissed her. Not with slow persuasive pressure either, but hot and hard.

After all, Damon did nothing by halves.

Neither did Marc, she discovered as she felt her tunic being unfastened and slipped from her body. His arms possessively circled her from behind, his hot, hard erection nestled against her bottom, and his mouth nuzzled her neck.

Which one would take her first? She wasn’t sure, but she was sure that the excitement spiking through her veins was genuine, as was their desire, for both of them were aroused—Damon pressed against her front and Marc now stroking her breasts.

Damon broke the kiss, his voice low. “Bed?”

“Whatever pleases Jayla.” Marc murmured against her sensitized skin, cupping both her bared breasts in his palms, the nipples now erect and tingling.

What pleased her was having two virile lovers and she shivered between them, the tremble involuntary. Damon stepped back and began to strip with swift carelessness. Jayla made an inarticulate sound as Marc swept her up in his arms, took into her sleeping chamber, and set her down on the large bed before hooking the wisp of sheer lingerie she wore under her tunics, and drawing it down her legs. He must have undressed during that tempestuous kiss Damon had given her, because he was fully nude, his cock high and swollen, and his aquamarine eyes gleamed with predatory hunger.

“Open for me.”

A part of her disliked being ordered to do anything, but another part, the part that wanted him inside her as quickly as possible, overruled any imagined outrage. There was a flush of heat on her skin, she was wet and receptive already she realized as she parted her thighs, and the way he stared at her, as if he was mesmerized, was even more arousing.

The bed gave as Marc joined her, immediately moving on top her, his knees widening her legs, the tip of his cock rubbing against her. Pleasure shot through her body and Jayla arched and gasped.

“My mouth first?” he asked, his breath warm against her ear. “Or are you ready to be fucked right away?”

The crudity surprised her, but there was enough of a teasing tone to his voice she knew it was for shock value, a slight smile twitching his lips at her expression.

Two could play that game and she wanted him inside her and as soon as possible.

“Fuck me,” she ordered in her best commanding tone, her hands coming up to rest on his muscled shoulders. “And don’t disappoint me, Ambassador.”

* * * *

He should have known better. His life partner was not only a passionate female, but despite her delicate beauty, more than capable of handling an arrogant male with ease, even if he’d only been joking.

Marc admired her beauty—that he was attracted to her was without question, but he found he also liked her. Jayla would make a capable queen, and undoubtedly a fine mother for his children, and an exceptional mate. Her loyalty to Le Clerc, too, was something he admired. He had no desire to interfere with their special bond, but he did want a bond of his own beyond the legalities of their marriage.

Right now, though, he needed her, the throbbing in his cock distracting, and if the glistening moistness between her slim thighs was any indication, she wanted him just as much. A pink hue to her skin indicated sexual arousal also, as did the hard tips of her delectable breasts.

Marc nudged her vaginal opening, the small slit giving to the pressure so the tip of his erection slid in. “I’ll do my best,” he said through his teeth, her tightness and heat washing a wave of pleasure like a soft rolling sea through him.

She met his first thrust with lifted hips, her small gasp echoing out. March grasped her firm ass in his hands and adjusted their position so he could push deep, impaling her to the hilt, her slick passage accepting his whole length. He began a steady rhythm of withdrawal and penetration, and Jayla matched him with equal fervor, her legs locking around his waist, her breathing erratic.

Those sexy little sounds she made might just push him too far too fast, he decided as he reached between their mating bodies and stroked her, desperation taking on a whole new meaning because she’d issued a challenge and yet he knew the rise of his climax was imminent. His testicles tightened and he fought it, lightly circling her clitoris which each inward thrust. Her nails dug in, she trembled, and he closed his eyes and moved faster, control tenuous at best.

Finally, she came apart beneath him, her inner muscles rippling and tightening, and he groaned and buried his penis deep, the surge of his ejaculation shaking his entire body.

“How was that, your Highness?” he managed to say once he’d regained his breath, not quite attaining the lazy insouciance he tried for, but coming at least close. “You didn’t seem….disappointed.”

Jayla’s eyes drifted open, her face framed in the spill of her pale hair and her smile all feminine provocation. “How could you tell?”

“I think I’m bleeding,” he said dryly, and he probably was, but every scratch was worth it. “You have a singular enthusiasm when you are about to come, sweetheart.”

“She does, doesn’t she?”

Marc hadn’t forgotten about Le Clerc precisely, he just hadn’t cared when in the process of making love to Jayla. He withdrew and rolled to his back, lazily watching as the other male came into the room, naked, aroused, but also carrying a tray on which sat several bowls. One held fruit in a vibrant array of colors, the other an assortment of cheeses, and then there was a plate of different breads. A bottle of chilled wine completed the delivery, condensation on the sides of the glass, with three goblets. Damon set it on a small table near the bed.

Jayla, naked and lush, rose on one elbow, shaking back her silky hair. “Damon.”

“You said you were hungry.”

Physically satisfied, Marc found he was hungry himself, but also amused. Were they rivals, Le Clerc would be a force to face with caution, but luckily, they were not rivals at all but shared not only the most beautiful female on Anasta, but also a common purpose.

“I’ll feed you.” Damon set the tray on the bed on the other side of Jayla’s reclining body, between her and Marc, and with deliberate purpose, picked up a small piece of cherry red fruit and offered it between his fingertips. He grinned. “You’re going to need your strength. Open up, Jay.”

“I can feed my—”

He interrupted her as he leaned down. “Don’t argue with me for once in our lifetime. Now, open up.”

Marc laughed and reached for the wine bottle. “I’ll pour.”

* * * *

The fruit was a more brilliant shade than the soft pink of Jayla’s lips, but it reminded him of the texture and taste. Soft, silky, and delicious. Damon lightly rubbed the offering along the line of her lower lip and then slipped it into her mouth, the entire time aware of her eyes, so emerald green it was startling at times, her body still lax in the aftermath of sexual intercourse.

“Eating can be a very sensual experience,” he told her, not able to keep a slight hoarseness out of his voice. “Let me show you.”

While Marc watched, his expression amused but still very interested, Damon fed her alternately the sweet fruit, all gathered from the palace gardens and not only fresh, but perfectly ripe, alternating with a morsel of salty cheese, the varieties from the farms on Anasta, some creamy soft and white, others veined with yellow and pungent. After each mouthful, Damon offered Jayla a sip of wine.

Should he tell her he’d always had a fantasy about a moment like this? When he had her in bed, when she was so beautifully naked, her hair loose, her slender body available while he hand-fed her a romantic dinner…

No, she had enough power over him already, whether she knew it or not.

The tip of her tongue brushed his finger as he fed her a berry, and whether or not it was on purpose, his body tightened. “You aren’t eating,” she said, her voice hushed, her lashes lowered minutely.

“Later.” Food was not the most important thing on his mind at the moment.

“I recognize that particular smile. It reminds me of all the times when you’d suggest a course of action that landed us in trouble.”

He grinned and with a fingertip brushed the corner of her mouth to catch a stray crumb. “If I recall correctly, I wasn’t the one who suggested we should hijack a small transport and fly it over to the Talisman Sea.”

She had the grace to look guilty, but retorted, “I wasn’t the one who crashed it.”

“I didn’t know how to fly it.” He shrugged. “It’s a miracle we weren’t both hurt badly.”

“I’ve flown one of those small transports,” Marc murmured in easy camaraderie. “It’s not as easy as it looks. I’d say it’s a miracle you were able to get away with it at all.”

“I know you are a diplomat but please do not feed his arrogance,” Jayla interjected, but a smile twitched her mouth. “It is bad enough as it is.”

Jayla’s new consort, Damon noted, just laughed, but who could blame him? He was probably one of the most satisfied males on the planet. She was particularly delectable naked and disheveled, and considering how beautiful she was all the time, that was very delicious indeed.

For dessert they’d been given some of the soft clear gelatin that was a specialty on Anasta. It tasted like the finest chocolate from Earth, but more delicate, and had the consistency of a whipped cream. “I’m going to ignore the criticism, but maybe you can feed me in another way, Jay.” Damon picked up the bowl, took a spoon, and then gently pushed her to her back, scooping out a measure of the dessert and dribbling it over the curve of one breast.

She was new to the games males and females played together in a sexual way, and Jayla merely looked at him uncertainly. But she made a very satisfying sound when he leaned forward and began to lick the sticky sweetness away in long, wicked glides of his tongue.

The saltiness of her damp skin mingled with the creamy texture and taste of the gelatin was even more arousing and he wasn’t sure it was possible to be more aroused. He moved his lips and tongue against the soft, enticing underside of her breast before taking the straining nipple into his mouth. And while he feasted, his hand slipped between her legs, finding the sleek wetness of her female passage with questing, exploring fingers as he hid a secret smile over her short, but oh-so telling moan in response.

“Jay.” He lightly nipped her nipple with his teeth and lifted his head, removing his hand. “You haven’t had dessert yet.”

Before she could say anything, he picked up the spoon again, dipped out a generous portion of the mixture and, in a half-reclining position, poured it over the rigid length of his cock, coating the tip and sides in sensuous motions of the utensil in his hand.

She looked slightly shocked.

But just as intrigued, her gaze fixed on his surging, now glistening erection.

The irrefutable edge he had on Le Clerc was how well he knew her. There was no question in his mind as Jayla started to discover sexual freedom that she would be curious and not inclined to disdain exploring the boundaries. She sat up, shook back her hair, and briefly their gazes locked, his challenging and amused.

Then she shifted to her knees and bent over his reclining form, her mouth tentatively hovering over the crest of his cock, before she touched her tongue to the tip in a slow swirl.

The balance of power shifted abruptly.

Damon felt as if his chest was caving in, the sensation of her mouth touching him enough his muscles weakened and he groaned. The sight of her, the long silk of her pale hair trailing over her back, one hand braced next to his thigh as she slowly began to suck his cock, was almost too much. He managed to catch his breath, but only just, and though she was hesitant and hardly skilled at what she was doing for the first time, it was still the singularly most erotic encounter of his lifetime so far.

Because this was Jayla and he’d been waiting for her so very long...

Breathing raggedly as the pleasure escalated, he waited until it was almost too late to thread his fingers into her hair and tug her head up just before he exploded, and when he rolled her over with an abruptness he might not normally have used, he was gratified to have her arms wind around his neck and hear his name said in a breathless exhale against his cheek.

In urgent need, he shifted so he could part her legs with intemperate insistence, his penetration so unrestrained he feared for a moment he’d hurt her until she tightened her grip on his biceps and whispered fiercely, “Don’t you dare stop moving…oh…oh.”

She was reckless, his beautiful princess, but he’d known that his entire life. “Fly with me again, Jay,” he whispered in her ear, moving now easily in her receptive body, every sigh like a touch of flame, “and let’s crash together.”

She met him, as she always had, on equal ground, taking but giving, and at the moment the white-hot pinnacle soared, she clung to him with the same intensity of trust that had brought them together their entire lives. She plummeted first, and he followed, wanting to be there to buffer the fall, and his orgasm was so overwhelming Damon could only shudder against her and within her until they were both lax and speechless in the chaotic aftermath.

At first he didn’t even realize the security sirens had begun to peal.

It was Marc who bolted to his feet and said, “What the hell is that?”

Chapter Ten

The engineers had found the device linked to the door that opened the main commons area by the courtyard, and to Jayla, it made no sense.

“If you want to kill a lot of people, why put it here?” she asked, glancing at her mother who was a little pale but as regal as ever, standing close by with her chin lifted and her gaze steady on the slow and meticulous progress of the workers assigned to remove the explosives.

“Good question.” Her mother transferred her regard to her. “Now that the direct threat is over, come with me. Alone.”

Both Marc and Damon looked as if they wanted to object, or at the least join them, but a single royal glance quelled any comments they might make, and that alone amused Jayla enough she meekly followed her mother from the room.

Once a queen, always a queen. Maybe it was a good lesson to learn with two intractable males in her life.

They went to the family apartments, so familiar Jayla could walk the corridors blindfolded, and when her mother waved her into the sitting room, used only for meditation or the most private of personal conversations, Jayla chose a comfortable corner chair.

No one was invited into this sanctum lightly. The discussion was going to be weighty.

Very well. It wasn’t like she hadn’t been expecting it ever since she’d accepted Marc Kartel as her consort. Her mother had been supportive, but then again, she had hadn’t advised her one way or the other.

Kartel was best for Anasta and that was all that mattered.

“In light of what is happening now here on this planet, not to mention this latest threat to the Federation, I thought we should talk.” Her mother moved to fill two glasses with cool amber liquid from a nearby table that held glasses and a decanter. “Tell me about Kartel’s son. To be truthful, I wasn’t so sure you would move that direction if I pushed you to accept him, but since you have, as a queen I am pleased. As a mother I would like to hear your feelings now that he is your mate.”

By mate she meant now he was her lover in a physical sense. Jayla fought a blush over the personal nature of the question. “Marc is…more than acceptable.”

“He’s quite a handsome male, isn’t he?” She proffered a glass. “Reminds me of his father.”

“I’ve never met the Governor.” Jayla took the drink and the first sip was both soothing and mellow.

“He’s…interesting, like his son.”

Was Marc interesting? Yes, of course he was, with his mesmerizing eyes and chestnut brown hair, not to mention the tender skill of his touch. “I liked him at once,” Jayla admitted.

“I noticed.” Her mother sat back down in the carved chair behind her desk and looked at her thoughtfully over the rim of her glass. “You have always gone your own way. If he hadn’t appealed to you, there would not have been a marriage. What of Damon?”

That was a very direct question, but then again, her mother tended to be straightforward. Jayla considered her answer carefully. Damon was always a volatile subject. “I think he will do well on the Council. You were right in supporting his appointment and I know Marc agrees.”

“I also believe he will be valuable though he wasn’t the easiest candidate I have ever supported. But, darling…that is not what I meant. Both Raphael and I have been worried over how he would take your alliance with another male.”

Considering what she and Damon had been doing just before the palace alarms went off, Jayla was fairly sure he was just fine with her marriage. What would not have been possible for the two of them before Marc was now an option. “It isn’t an issue.”

“I see.” Her mother settled back, a faint look of amusement on her face. “I rather thought that might be the case. Kartel is just as intelligent as I thought he was to share you so willingly.”

“He and Damon are not at all alike, and yet…”—Jayla searched for the right words—“…and yet they complement each other in many ways. Marc is naturally more diplomatic—almost everyone is more diplomatic than Damon—but Damon is so passionate about the same causes that concern Marc that their disparate personalities do not seem to be a conflict.”

“Nor are you?”

This time she definitely blushed. “Nor am I.”

“I’m glad.”

She agreed. Wholeheartedly. If they were going to coexist with any semblance of harmony, there could be no jealousy. S-species males were territorial by nature, but they were also aware of the rules of sharing a female. Both Marc and Damon seemed to accept the situation with equanimity, and she understood she was lucky in their accord. “I know you do not always approve of him, but Damon is more reasonable than you perceive.”

“I most definitely don’t approve of him half of the time and yet I am aware he can be prudent when he wishes to be.”

Jayla wasn’t surprised to hear it put just that way. Her smile was rueful. “He just isn’t prudent often enough.”

“No, he isn’t. Especially when it comes to you.” Her mother took a small sip of wine and then cleared her throat. “I’m pleased. With you and for you.”

She was pleased too, but the current crisis precluded discussing her happiness. “There was a threat found here. Marc said his father was also targeted. Someone tried to kill you.”

“We won’t know who was supposed to enter their code until the team finishes defusing the explosives.”

Jayla knew when her mother was being politic and when she was just evasive. “But you already have an idea.”

“Me.”

She turned in her chair, watching Damon’s father enter the room, a slight ironic smile on his face. He had always seemed so tall when she was a child but she’d realized as she got older he was a slight bit shorter than his son, but he had the same striking features. He crossed over to take a goblet, filled it, and turned around. “The target was me. I hope I am not intruding.”

“What?”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry, it is disarmed. Can I get you something, Highness?”

“No.” Her mother smiled but it was strained and she had visibly paled. “Of course not, Raphael. What…what makes you think the device was aimed at you?”

She loves him. Jayla realized it in a single blink of a moment with astonishment. Her mother loved Raphael Le Clerc because she clearly would rather have had the explosive set to detonate when she scanned in that doorway rather than him. When her mother had thought she was the target, she was pragmatic over it. Having him the quarry was a different matter.

Jayla was starting to think she understood. What she felt for Damon had always seemed to be more a quarrelsome childhood rivalry than anything else, but she knew now that wasn’t true. He loved her—he’d said so, and Marc…well, her relationship with her new husband was just beginning but there had been an instant chemistry between them from the moment they’d met.

Life had certainly taken an interesting turn.

“It was set to my code.” Raphael sank down and crossed his long legs. “I suggest we not limit ourselves to the palace and have all the government offices swept. We must be thorough.”

Her mother nodded in one decisive inclination of her head. “I’ll order it at once.”

“It isn’t often I say this, but I think Damon’s revolutionary tendencies could be helpful to us.”

Jayla watched her mother’s brows rise. “How so?”

“He has, by virtue of his political views, some interesting contacts.”

There was a twinge of alarm deep in the pit of Jayla’s stomach. “Are you saying some of Damon’s friends could be involved in the bombings?”

“No.” Raphael looked at her and a glimmer of a smile touched his mouth. “While my son can be irritatingly nonconformist, he doesn’t associate with extremists. But, they do approach him frequently enough. He’s told me so. Tell me, Princess, has he mentioned anyone he specifically suspects could be behind the conspiracy?”

At least Jayla could honestly shake her head. “No.”

“You should encourage him to start thinking about maybe not who he knows, but who he knows who might know someone else that has the right connections to gather information.”

It made sense, but Raphael Le Clerc usually did make sense, hence his position as her mother’s advisor for so many years.

“I’m sure Damon has already considered it.”

His father looked at her gravely. “Maybe, but he has the disadvantage of idealistic perceptions about how civilized beings should act, but isn’t quite as canny over how they actually act. That is why he cannot see eye to eye with political agendas. My son finds them useless if he considers them not a straightforward route to a goal, but the truth is, a circle will still get you to the same destination as a straight line. It just takes a bit longer and you don’t have to plow over everything in your path.”

Jayla had to laugh, for Damon was definitely guilty as charged for a lack of subtlety. “I’ve reminded him of that a time or two myself.”

“And your opinion means everything to him.” Le Clerc hesitated and then said quietly, “I am very glad my son is included in your life.”

* * * *

Marc stared at the screen. His father’s face was grave, the image so clear that Marc almost imagined he could reach out and touch him. Colonel Ian Helm stood in the background, his face also grim and forbidding.

“What we have is intelligence that tells us the group doing this is headed by a radical that calls himself ‘The Prophet’.”

Damon, sitting next to him, muttered, “That’s original.”

“What we need,” Helm said, tall and broad, the insignia on his tunic prominent as he was one of the most influential commanders working for the Federation, “is information from the other side. So far, other than his self-imposed nickname, we aren’t gathering any data on who he might be. I think the group is small, but obviously, effective enough to concern us. They were able to set bombs on five different planets, all of them major powers with high security.”

A valid point. Marc had wondered all along how that was possible. “Do you have any insight as to how the systems were breached?”

“Here on Minoa,” his father responded, looking troubled, “we have a missing security expert with top clearance.”

“I’ll relay that information to the queen. What else do you know?”

“We have investigations begun, naturally. We are hoping Le Clerc can help us.”

To his credit, Damon didn’t bristle. He merely said, “If you mean through a few questionable contacts I know, be assured had I ever caught wind of a threat to the lives of any citizens of Anasta or any other colony, I would have reported it at once.”

“As you are now a member of the Ruling Council, they apparently do trust you,” Marc heard his father say dryly. “And since my son seems to agree, I will also. But I concur with your father. You have contacts we don’t. Is there anything you can do? I am confident we will find the responsible party, but I don’t want more casualties before it happens.”

“I have people I can ask.” Damon’s voice was carefully modulated. “But please understand that while my recent arrest was broadcast across the Federation pipeline, my appointment to the council will be just as publicized. My friends vary from moderates who simply wish to make their opinions heard on the deteriorating economic situations on some of the colonies to more rabid reformists, but I can’t think of a single one who would push others to commit murder.”

“Any help you can give us would be appreciated.”

“I would die at this moment for Jayla and let’s not forget my father was targeted also. You must know I will help.”

Marc was almost amused at the heated response, for he had expected Damon to lose his patience with the conversation long before it happened. He quickly interjected, “We’ll let you know if anything of significance comes up.”

“Be careful. Your mother is worried about you. We both are.”

“I will.” Marc knew his mother well enough to imagine his father was telling the truth and his recent alliance to Jayla, while negotiated in part by their respective governments and not a surprise, still was no doubt an adjustment as his mother became not the only female in his life.

The screen flashed dark and next to him in a chair, his long legs crossed at the ankle, Damon sat quietly, just looking at the blank screen. Marc waited, cognizant they didn’t process information the same way, which was one of reasons he’d always thought Damon Le Clerc would be a valuable partner.

“I think we are dealing with more than we see,” Damon said eventually, his brow furrowed.

Marc had actually come to the same conclusion. “Tell me why.”

“The purpose of this is unclear to me.” Damon shifted in his seat, his face drawn into a dark frown.

“I agree.” Marc turned away from the monitors, his gaze narrowed on the male across from him. “While they’ve set up the detonations, we’ve much too easily circumvented their purpose.”

“If it was their purpose.”

“Exactly.”

They looked at each other across the small space of the personal conference room, both moody and introspective. “There were casualties on Mega 3,” Marc pointed out.

“But only because they didn’t take the threat seriously and check their security systems.”

It was true. The governor of the colony hadn’t acted on the advice coming from the Federation. “What we need to ask ourselves,” Marc said slowly, thinking out loud, “is what purpose could there be in distracting us with these explosive devices and causing a general elevated level of security?”

“Maybe we need to find out how the alert was generated in the first place.”

“My father told me it came from an undisclosed source to one of the members of the Universal Council.”

“Do they normally allow unsubstantiated information to cause a galaxy-wide alarm?”

Le Clerc had a point, but then again, they were talking about a member of the Universal Council. “He wouldn’t say who informed him, but let’s keep in mind, it proved to be true.”

“I have to admit I find it interesting.”

“I have to admit I find it disturbing.”

They exchanged glances again. Marc said slowly, “Maybe you should test out your underground contacts.”

“Maybe I should,” Damon agreed grimly.

Chapter Eleven

“Let me help you.”

Ellesandra turned around and swept up her long hair, letting out a long sigh as gentle fingers brushed her nape when the male behind her unfastened her tunic. “Thank you.”

“I’ve mentioned you work too hard, haven’t I?” His voice was amused.

“Considering you work the exact same amount of hours as I do, I don’t believe you have room to talk, Raphael.” As queen, her days were long. As her advisor, his were just as grueling. Her tunic slipped off her shoulders and she turned around to face him, her breasts already heavy as languid desire seeped into her body, despite her fatigue. “Let’s admit we both work too hard and leave it there, shall we?”

“As always, we are in accord.” Raphael Le Clerc’s eyes were heavy-lidded, his tone soft. “But you cannot stop me from worrying about you, Elle.”

In his own way, he was as intense as his handsome son. They were different, yes. Where Damon was passionate and vocal, his father was charismatic and calm, but underneath there was a similar sense of purpose and intellect. They looked alike too, dark and almost brooding, with that singular flash when they were angry. Raphael also had it when he was aroused.

Ellesandra hoped to see that flash very soon. Clad only in her filmy undergarments, she stepped free of her tunic and walked across her bedroom, the inner sanctum one she only let the staff enter when she was absent. The rich carpet was soft against her bare feet.

Her private apartments were off limits with the exception, of course, of Raphael. Not that she thought of him as part of her staff. He was, of course, but so much, much more. He was like no one else in her life. A lover. A brilliant policymaker…and most of all, a friend. They could talk with each other frankly, and that was a singular joy in her life.

She said with asperity, “It works both ways. I also worry about you, and especially now. Weren’t you just targeted in a terrorist attack?”

“So they told me.” He watched her, easing out of his uniform. He’d worn full dress military today. Technically, he held the rank of general, but he hadn’t served in a combat unit in two decades. He was also unlike most soldiers she’d met, which had been something she’d noticed—and been drawn to—the day she’d met him.

It had been a memorable encounter. Her husband had died only three months before and she mourned his loss deeply, but she was still female and noticed the tall, dark-haired male who had entered the palace antechamber and requested an interview. For the sake of his young son, Raphael had petitioned, since Damon had just lost his mother, he wanted a position close to home. The application had been for a supervisory position with the palace guard. She had liked his quiet dignity and keen intellect and ended up giving him something a little more challenging that still allowed him to keep track of his wayward son by putting him into a tactical advisory position.

The attraction grew into something more as their grief eased and years passed. At first there had been unmistakable passion, both of them feeling the same guilt over it, which changed into a sense of rightness—of an acknowledgment that those they had loved were gone but they were still vibrant and alive—and then between them grew a true communion of both common purpose and companionship.

“Maybe?” She lifted her brows as she turned by the bed. “You yourself told me—”

“Yes.” Raphael stalked toward her, in this arena his glittering gaze predatory. “Yes, they targeted me. I’m glad, for had it been you…if anything ever happened to you, I…”

His opinion on the matter was stifled by his mouth coming down to cover hers and she responded with fervor, curving her arm around his neck, allowing him to lower her to the bed. Later, after the touching and low sighs and erotic pleasure of sexual joining, they lay together in mutual accord, and Ellesandra murmured drowsily, “Damon and Jayla…”

“…have always belonged together.” He finished her sentence and kissed her temple.

“I know.” She added, “I like Marc Kartel.”

“Males who can share females without trouble are just as much partners as in the male/female relationship. I think my son has finally met his match. Kartel recognizes his brilliance but also has the ability to rein him in. I think were it anyone else, Damon would be too possessive, but Kartel can hold his own. I couldn’t ask for more.”

“Nor could I for my daughter,” she admitted.

“The three of them seem perfect for each other.”

“I’m happy for her.”

“I am also happy for my son. He has wanted her for so long. I would guess, if asked, he could not recall a time he didn’t love Jayla.”

“I think I could say the same for her about him.”

Raphael’s arms were safe, secure, and she drifted, close to sleep, before he whispered, “I know how they feel, Elle.”

“So do I,” she murmured in response.

* * * *

Kale’s face was grim but a flicker of amusement crossed it as he sat down opposite and without preamble said, “I’ve never had a security meeting in a common bar area before with one of the members of the Ruling Council. Trust you to be the first, Damon. Do you think your new colleagues would approve?”

“I didn’t ask. We both know convention has never been my strong suit. Want a drink?” Damon pointed at his own half-full glass. He’d been waiting the better part of an hour but wasn’t surprised. The whole planet was on top alert, and as head of security for the palace, Kale had his hands full. No doubt the reason Damon had even gotten a response to his request was his new position.

The male across the table shook his head and ran his hand over his face. “I’d love one if you want the truth, but I am not sure when we’ll be done with all the detonation sweeps. I’d better abstain.”

The room was crowded, but the usual boisterous atmosphere was absent, and instead the conversations around them low and hushed. The long bar held various bottles of different kinds of liquors and other beverages as well, and both patrons and servers either sat or moved quietly. The establishment was dimly lit but both Kale and Damon had been recognized and there was no doubt they were being watched with a great deal of curiosity.

“I won’t keep you long.” Damon paused and then said bluntly, “I just have a few questions.”

The man in charge of palace security narrowed his eyes. “Go ahead.”

“Obviously security was breached here somehow.”

“Am I being blamed?” Kale stiffened, his mouth settling into a narrow line. “Damon, you know better. Your father knows better. I run one of the tightest security forces in the Federation.”

“Exactly.” Damon leaned back, took a sip from his glass, and then deliberately set it down. “It isn’t just here either, Kale. Minoa was compromised, Mega 3 actually had casualties, and two other colonies have found explosives.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” The response was bitter.

“You aren’t being blamed. I’m just wondering how they—this terrorist cell—managed it.”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing, but quite frankly, I haven’t had a lot of time to analyze how. Explosive devices might still be out there and my energy is focused on how to find them. You know your father’s scan was supposed to set off the one we located.”

“I know.” The two words were grim, clipped, and behind them there was a wealth of emotion he didn’t show. He and his father were at odds often enough, but Damon loved his only parent and the thought of losing him sparked a particular depth of emotion that was almost surprising. It wasn’t that he didn’t know he loved his father, but the threat was more devastating than he realized. “Don’t you find it interesting we don’t know what they want?”

The queen’s chief security officer looked bland. “I am not always told everything. Her majesty and the Ruling Council expect me to guard the palace no matter the nature of the threat.”

Exactly the kind of mentality that was a hindrance, not a help. Damon shook his head in disgust. “That’s damned counterproductive.”

Kale took a moment but then muttered, “I’ve always thought so.”

“What have you done differently?”

His companion gazed at him with sharpened attention. “In response to the threat?”

“Precisely.”

“I’ve pulled all the men in I can, with the help of some of the Royal Troops normally deployed on other parts of the planet, to keep a perimeter of the grounds. I doubled the inside guard as well.”

That was about what Damon expected to hear. He nodded. “What, in consequence of all this, was left with less security?”

It was obvious Kale followed him. Slowly, he said, “Just about everything, I suppose. We have a finite amount of resources, of course. I can’t conjure extra guards out of thin air.”

Damon had been brooding over this ever since his conversation with Marc. “There’s more to this than meets the eye, Kale.”

“Like what?”

“Good question. I’m trying to figure out what they’re after.” Damon rubbed one finger along the condensation on his glass. “Help me out here. Let’s say you wanted to divert the attention of the most prosperous planets and your goal wasn’t really to assassinate anyone but just have a threat significant enough colonies like Anasta would divert their manpower to one place. What would you hit?”

“That’s one hell of a question.” Kale leveled a stare his way. “We have museums with irreplaceable historical objects, ammunition centers, technology and intelligence banks…how could I possibly speculate on someone else’s political agenda?”

Damon changed tactic. “Tell me about Nathan Lettrick.”

“Lettrick? There’s an interesting segue if I’ve ever heard one. He works for me. He’s nothing but a service tech who oversees the portal maintenance.”

“To you he’s nothing but a technician.” Damon trusted Kale or he wouldn’t be having this conversation, and since he couldn’t be sure he was right anyway, he needed help. “But he came from Minoa recently, didn’t he? And I could swear you mentioned you hired him because he’d worked for several other colonies. Was Mega 3 one by chance?”

“I don’t remember…but I can check since this seems important to you and I have never known you to take any issue at half measure. Damon, damn it, care to tell me why you are asking?”

“His brother is a militant member of a sect I know of. They’ve made contact with me before.”

“Why am I not surprised they’d reach out to you. Is there some reason I am only learning of this now?”

It was difficult to not sound defensive, but Damon kept his voice even. “I’m not an advocate for any of the radical groups out there, Kale, and you know it. My work is based on scientific economic principles. Unfortunately, when those principles clash with politics, sometimes the wrong people get involved. I’ve been trying to raise awareness, not tempers. Had I heard of an actual threat, you would have been informed. Do you think I would ever risk harm to Anasta?”

After a moment, Kale conceded, “No. If for no other reason than the princess is here.”

There were many more reasons than that, but he was right, Damon would never allow harm to come to Jayla. “I’ve tried to tell everyone who would listen I am not interested in destruction, but preservation. The means to reform isn’t breaking the old laws but making new ones. Can I be allowed to find irony in that neither side wants to listen to that?”

“I’m not interested in you at the moment, Damon. I want to hear about Lettrick.” Kale leaned back and blew out a breath. “That information about his brother didn’t come out in his profile.”

Apparently he wasn’t allowed to find the irony. That was fine…Damon had known all along his switch from subversive to authority figure would take some time. Kale would never speak to any other member of the Ruling Council that way. “It doesn’t mean he’s aligned with them, but considering what’s happened so far, it might bear looking into before he leaves the planet.”

“I’ll do it.” Kale rose, lines of fatigue by his mouth. “You know, you have the most questionable of methods in gaining them, but you do have friends. Congratulations on the appointment. Had you asked me just a few days ago, I would have predicted you’d be in that cell for a long time.”

I agree. How quickly life can change, Damon thought, slowly finishing his drink as he watched the head of security stalk away, imagining Jayla even now waiting for him with her silken pale hair and emerald eyes. And that wasn’t just it either. She was beautiful, but also spirited and independent, and though she’d aligned herself with Kartel for life, she’d also taken care to include him.

Because she loved him. He knew it as well as he knew he loved her and there was nothing he was more certain of in his life than his feelings for Jayla.

As for Lettrick, who knew if the connection had any significance…but Damon also had a few other avenues to pursue.

Chapter Twelve

Marc watched his life partner pace and he finally said with gentle remonstration, “Jayla, he’ll be fine. All he was doing was pursuing a few questions. I offered to go along but he’s probably right, my presence would only make his contacts wary. My face is too well-known.”

“Maybe so, but I know him better than you do.” She turned around, her hands propped militantly on her slender hips.

“Yes.” He smiled. “You do.”

A faint pink touched her cheeks. “I mean I know how reckless he can be. Are you sure he should—”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Maybe one day she would worry over him the same way. Marc shoved himself to his feet. “The entire planet is on lock down. Le Clerc will be fine. Only a fool would threaten him.”

“You have no idea how idiotic he can be,” she muttered. “Oh, I know he is intelligent almost to a fault, which always gets him in trouble, but he is also impulsive and that is his real downfall.”

It was probably true, but it was also only good sense that Damon not drag along the new consort to the princess if he wanted to dig up any information. Marc was experienced enough to know that his high profile was likely to send any potential informants running. On the other hand, Le Clerc was—if not one of the militant anarchists—a person that those that distrusted authority might still talk to despite his recent appointment. His persona as a folk hero gained him entrance to places where Marc knew he couldn’t go.

“I know he can be idiotic,” he argued, admiring the way the soft lighting gave her hair deep gold highlights. “He was incarcerated when I got here, remember?”

“I remember.” His wife smiled in a rueful curve of her soft mouth. “I kissed him on purpose to make a point to my mother.”

He’d wondered about that, the timing much too convenient.

“It looked to me like he didn’t mind in the least.” Marc laughed softly, holding her gaze. “Not that I blame him. For two very different males we do think along the same lines in some ways. You would be an example.”

Wearing a soft tunic in a light blue color, her hair loose, she looked very young, and also very desirable. Marc couldn’t do anything at the moment to help Damon in his quest for information, but he could ease her anxiety—or at the least distract her from it.

“Spoken like a true S-species male,” she said tartly.

“I am an S-species male,” he said mildly.

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’m glad I’ve made an impression. Look, Jayla, it’s getting late,” he said persuasively, “and while I know you are worried, pacing the floor doesn’t do him any good.”

“It is getting late,” she burst out, her emerald eyes flashing. “And I’m worried and I loathe the feeling and if he was here now, I’d—”

“What?”

Neither one of them had heard the swoosh of the door, and Marc had to admit he was a little thankful to see Damon stroll in, his hand casually loosening his tunic. They exchanged a look, but immediately Damon refocused on Jayla. “You’d do what?” he asked softly, a slight grin shaping his mouth.

Marc could have told him that was a mistake, but then again Le Clerc didn’t seem prone to taking advice.

“What would you do, Jay?”

“Flay you alive,” she said defiantly, but there was a definite expression of relief on her lovely face.

“Flay? I can only vaguely recall, but that’s a medieval Earth tradition, isn’t it? Be my guest.” Damon shed his tunic and, clad only in fitted trousers, strolled over to where the open bottle of wine sat by the large window overlooking the gardens. The sound of the fountain in the background lent a musical note to the conversation. “But before you skin me alive, let me tell you about my inquiries this evening. If I die with my secrets intact, you’ll have to start over.”

That certainly sparked Marc’s interest. “I take it the meeting went well.”

“I met with Kale, yes, but as predicted he couldn’t really tell me much, because if he’d known anything, he would have moved on his own to negate the threat. However,”—Damon’s smile was slow and deliberate—“it occurred to me I might find some answers elsewhere. I went to a little place I used to visit as a student. It’s on the edge of Anasta City. It’s a bit dangerous to ask too many questions there, but then again, the clientele are of a sort so eclectic if you can find just the right person who will actually speak to you, there’s no telling what you might find out. That’s why I’m so late.”

“You went to Belgravia?” Jayla’s voice held a hint of disbelief and open disapproval.

Though Marc had taken the time to research Anasta’s culture thoroughly, the name was unfamiliar. “What’s that?”

“Named for a part of old Earth’s city of London that was particularly aristocratic, it was supposed to serve as the same sort of status building address here on Anasta when the colony was founded,” Damon explained. “The opposite happened. The main city grew the other direction and it has acquired a different sort of reputation altogether.”

“Dangerous.” Jayla chose a chair and sank down, her slender legs outlined by the silhouette of her sleeping gown as she visibly shivered. “Violence. Crime. To use the word unsavory is an understatement. It’s dark, half in ruins, and even the soldiers have given up patrolling it. There is no law there.”

“This from someone who once begged me to take her there.” Damon smiled over the rim of his goblet. In answer to Marc’s raised brows, he shook his head. “I refused. I have my moments, and rules are not always meant to be followed, but I wouldn’t risk her.”

It was nice to know they understood each other. This protective urge was new, but strong. Marc was no novice when it came to females, but he’d never taken a life mate before.

“Yet he went himself.” Jayla leveled an accusing stare at Damon. “You idiot. And don’t either of you try to tell me that males have unique privileges, because I’m not interested in hearing it. Since you seem to still be in one piece, just tell us, what did you discover when you went into a violent slum with no protection?”

For a moment Le Clerc looked as if he was foolish enough to argue, but he wisely just said, “I went because I remembered there was an underground newspaper always available there. Nothing that is ever put on digital mediums. If you were not willing to go to Belgravia to read it, it was not going to be put in front of you. Frequently, if there was a rumor about subversive activities, they commented on it. I just wondered.”

“And?” Marc asked pointedly.

“What’s happening isn’t about assassination,” Damon said flatly. “I think the national treasuries of the major colonies are the real targets. We aren’t dealing with terrorists, but thieves.”

* * * *

Jayla dozed, not because the subject of conversation wasn’t interesting, but because it was very late, she’d had a stressful day—no, make that a stressful week, and oddly enough, Damon’s hypothesis, as he and Marc tossed ideas back and forth, made more and more sense.

“…good diversion.”

“I agree. What if they…”

The voices faded in and out and Jayla woke to the sensation of being gently lifted. It was Marc’s amused eyes she saw, the aquamarine color unique and vivid. “I think you’ve passed the point, my beautiful princess, where you are interested in the conversation.”

Was she his? She supposed she was, actually, she thought drowsily as he scooped her up and carried her into their sleeping quarters. When he deposited her on the cool sheets, she murmured, “The two of you have been arguing over this for hours. What are we going to do?”

“Worry about it in the morning.” He kissed her throat, just a subtle tease of his warm mouth, and then lifted away. “Nothing can be done right now.”

But she found, as tired as she was, she wanted him to stay. Jayla half sat up and caught his arm. “I might sleep better,” she murmured, “if you were with me.”

His brows arched. “You aren’t too tired?”

“I’m tired,” she acquiesced, “but I’d like to be exhausted.”

“That can be arranged.” Heat flared in his eyes and Marc began to swiftly unfasten her tunic, lifting her up to strip it swiftly off and toss it away. Her sheer undergarment went next and she was nude in a flash, supine on the bed, her legs spread wide by his insistent, strong hands. On a growl he asked, “How tired do you want to be?”

“Very,” she said on a challenging pant, knowing she was already wet by the rush of warmth between her open thighs, the heat tangible. She meant it too, because what she wanted was a deep, dreamless sleep in which she forgot about the threat to her planet, to her mother and Damon’s father, to Marc’s father also…to them all. In the morning, she was willing to face it again, to try and work out the solution, but for now, she just wanted to…feel, not think.

Marc leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue over the quivering muscles of her stomach. He muttered against the underside of her breast, “I think we can accomplish that.”

“I know we can.”

Damon had followed them into their sleeping quarters, which didn’t surprise her. It pleased her, actually. Sex was pleasurable with each one of them alone, but together…it was decadent and wonderful and she surprised herself by how much she enjoyed being with them both, as if the three of them were one unit, connected, and not just by pleasure. That Marc and Damon also had a natural understanding with each other was as much a joy for her as the tie they had with her.

Damon unlaced his trousers and stepped out of them, his cock already swollen and rigid in arousal. “I want to taste you, Jay.”

She’d learned to recognize that particular husky tone, deeper than his usual voice, and a small thrill twisted in her stomach because she also knew exactly what he meant. Marc nibbled at one of her nipples, not quite taking it into his mouth, making her squirm. He stroked the other breast. “I’ll undress and play with these.”

“We both win.” Damon climbed onto the bed, but to her surprise—and disappointment—he didn’t lower his head between her legs as Marc slid away to take off his clothes. Instead he lay down beside her and caught her hand, giving a small tug. “Climb on up, Princess.”

Uncertain, still new to sexual play, she gave a look of confusion.

“On top of me,” he explained with a hint of laughter in his voice. “I’ll do the rest, don’t worry.”

A part of her wanted to refuse him because he was obviously a great deal more experienced than she had ever guessed. Trust Damon to make her irritated with him even when she wanted him so badly the throbbing between legs was almost painful, but her aroused body refused to let her start an argument right then. So she did as instructed and went up on her hands and knees to perch above his lean body, straddling his waist and moving backward enough the tip of his cock rubbed her sex and she made a low appreciative noise.

“Soon,” he promised softly, but his hands cupped her ass and urged her forward. “Come a little closer.”

Now she really had no idea what he wanted but obediently inched forward until her hands were braced on either side of his head, her tense body poised over him. “Damon…”

“You’ll like this,” he promised. “Lower yourself just enough I can reach your sweetness with my tongue, Jay. I swear you are going to really enjoy this position. It gives you more control.”

The idea of some measure of control when with two such dominant males made her do as he asked and she leaned forward so she was over his face, lowering her body in response to the pressure of his hands until the first warm touch of his tongue in a long, tantalizing lick along her labia caused her entire body to quiver. “Oh.”

Pleasure radiated in tingles along her nerve endings and she spread her thighs wider to give him better access.

Being Damon, he took full advantage of it, his mouth busy on her sex, his tongue first pushing into her vaginal passage, mimicking the act of mating, and then teasing her clitoris in a way that sent jolts of rapture with each small circular motion. Jayla moaned, arched her spine, and adjusted her position again a little lower. The pleasure built as he stroked her inner thighs, his mouth moving between her legs, and he was right she found, she could rotate her hips so it produced the most acute sensation.

On her hands and knees, she rocked slightly, the nibble of his lips on the most intimate part of her making her entire body quiver.

And when Marc’s hands slid under her breasts, cupping the soft flesh, compressing her nipples, the inexorable rise of her climax began, the pleasure escalating until it was out of control, and she gave a low scream and would have slumped forward except two pairs of strong male hands held her steady.

She was lost in the daze of the aftermath when they turned her over and one of them—she couldn’t yet open her eyes—slowly pushed his cock into her still-pulsing vaginal passage. The excess of sensation made her gasp out a short protest, but she climaxed again right then, her aroused body giving no quarter as she circled her arms around his neck—Damon, she discovered—and he chuckled.

“So wild and reckless under that regal composure,” he murmured, and kissed her, the taste of arousal scintillating, the hard length of his penis impaling her. “What a perfect combination.”

Whether it was perfect or not she had no idea, but the truth was, she luxuriated in his potent desire, in the possession of that part of him that made him male, and Jayla lifted her pelvis in response to his penetration. “You’ve always talked too much.”

He chuckled and kissed her again. “I’ve been told, but never in such a delightful position.” His voice softened. “I love you, Jay.”

It disarmed her. He’d always had that ability, but now, in this vulnerable and intimate position, it was magnified. Jayla glided her hand down his back, the hard muscles contracting under the pressure of her fingertips. “You’ve never been one to hide your feelings, Damon. I know you do.”

Marc was listening. She knew it—so did Damon for that matter, the presence of the other male in the room somehow innately comfortable, as if there were simply no secrets between the three of them.

Damon didn’t respond, beginning to move in long, slow thrusts. His hungry kiss was like being lit on fire and Jayla’s aroused body moved with him in perfect sync.

And when he gasped and went taut, she was ready, clenching around his surging penetration, her inner muscles holding him tight as they both slid over the edge into heated paradise.

Sated and breathless, she forgot momentarily about the possibility of conspiracies and conscienceless thieves willing to risk innocent lives to gain a fortune in priceless national treasures.

She forgot about everything.

Damon had always had a habit of being able to distract her.

Chapter Thirteen

Nathan Lettrick wasn’t exactly what he expected, but then again this wasn’t his area of expertise either. Damon studied the male sitting across from them and wondered if it wouldn’t be better if he left the room, but then again, Marc had requested his presence.

Kartel rarely did anything without purpose and so he stayed.

The rectangle of cool stone and pale, clean floors had no personality whatsoever, which fairly well described the man sitting across from them. He was blond, tall but angular, and had predictably regular S-species features. “Why is it, again, I’m here?” Lettrick asked with an affable smile. “I think Anasta law decrees that I be told the nature of my offense if there is an interrogation.”

Mild-mannered. Yes. That was an accurate description. And cooperative. More adjectives? Damon considered the brother of a known subversive and contemplated. Out loud he said, “Pleasant, hard-working, anonymous. Just what they need”

Lettrick gazed at him with mild inquisitiveness, his pale blue eyes narrowing only a fraction.

That alone told him something. Most individuals, in his opinion, would be more alarmed over being questioned by the new Royal Consort and a member of the Ruling Council.

Marc smiled pleasantly. “This is not an official proceeding. Have you ever heard of a paper called the Dominion?”

“No.”

First lie. They were off to a good start. Damon folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall as he informed their guest, “It’s an underground publication started by a few militants…more thugs than actual terrorists, who rant about social reform but in reality just want to cause unrest. I happen to know a few people who inform me your brother is a frequent contributor using the pseudonym ‘The Prophet.’ Now have you heard of it?”

“My brother?” Lettrick didn’t blink an eye. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see him often.”

A few communiqués early that morning had produced evidence that Lettrick and his older brother had met two months before on Minoa at a bar that was about as safe as the one Damon had visited in Belgravia last evening, the seedy area on the outskirts of the First City also considered dangerous and monitored by security forces on a constant basis.

“How long has it been?” Marc leaned back in his chair, his eyes watchful but his expression neutral.

Lettrick shrugged. “Half a year maybe. He doesn’t have a reliable address.”

Lie number two.

“You work for the palace guard.”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure you are well-aware that someone infiltrated the system at the highest level and arranged to have explosives go off if a designated person scanned in.”

“Colonel Kale naturally told us that there was a problem but until now I did not know exactly what it might be.”

That was also a lie. Damon could see it in the slight twitch of a muscle in Lettrick’s cheek, but even more in the sardonic skepticism in Marc’s expression.

It wasn’t wise to underestimate the Kartel ability to read minds.

“If you did not know, why did you send this communication last night to an unknown source on Minoa?” Marc turned and pressed a button on a handheld device and the screen glowed. He read out loud, “Skeleton force only. Janitorial doors programmed to deactivate.”

“Shall I request my right to have a judicial activist present?”

“You can’t,” Marc informed him with a small smile. “This isn’t an official interview. If you would like it to be, I can arrange it, but at this point, perhaps you’d do better just to talk to us.“There’s no use denying you wrote this. Kale had it traced back.”

“I’m not denying or confirming anything.”

Damon lifted his brows. “I’ve heard more than just the little tidbits about your brother. For instance, there seems to be a general movement in the underground to subvert governments by stealing valuable artifacts and using them as bargaining tools to blackmail for whatever concessions your group believes they want.”

For the first time Damon saw a true flicker of emotion in Lettrick’s eyes. “Wants. Not believe they want. And that message means nothing that can be proven.”

Conversationally, Marc commented, “Conviction is admirable, especially if you are planning to rob powerful planets…tell me, once there were casualties on Mega 3, you knew that murder was on the table, correct? When the Federation establishes a general threat, intergalactic laws apply. Anasta is particularly rigid when it comes to enforcing the harsher penalties.”

It was true. Anasta still occasionally used death as a means of chastising those who crossed the realm of criminal into evil. Damon had in his youth not agreed with it, but as an adult, he was coming to terms with the realities of what it took to maintain an ordered society. Though on a moral level, he wasn’t sure it did not rankle.

Yet, his father had been targeted, so perhaps he wasn’t quite as detached from the issue as he might usually be.

“Think about that,” he said calmly to Nathan Lettrick, “and contemplate Kale’s efficiency. Once we informed him that you were a possible suspect, he sent out a Federation-wide request for information.”

That might have been unwelcome news, but if so, Lettrick hid it fairly well. “I passed the security test to be admitted on staff, didn’t I? If there is a problem, I’m going to say it is your fault.”

“What kind of problem?” Damon was only too aware of his father’s role as the assassination of choice and his voice was more brittle than he intended.

“It depends on your point of view.”

“Is that so?” Marc contradicted softly. “I’m getting distinctly the opposite impression. I sense excitement and anticipation…is there some timetable we’re not aware of?”

Lettrick smiled. “Are you going to formally detain me or can I go?”

* * * *

Jayla nodded at a guard who had recognized her. The young man seemed startled, stammering “Princess. Wel…welcome.”

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t like she hadn’t visited the Royal Museum before���she had, many times—but it had been a while.

There were rows of cases, all protected by laser sensors, and she walked the perimeter, two of the guards her mother insisted accompany her out in public trailing behind, looking at the presentation of old documents, books by famous Anasta authors, and other interesting historical pieces.

It wasn’t until she got to the case that held the Rykar papers that she stopped, arrested. Alfred Rykar had been one of the original S-species colonists that had come to Anasta. A historian and a scholar, Rykar had founded the first university on the planet and been instrumental in setting up the Ruling Council, serving on it for two decades. Every young student knew his name from the time they entered school.

Yes, there were some treasures here that could never be replaced.

“Good morning, Princess.”

She glanced up. A man standing near the same case was looking at her with a congenial smile. He was about the same age as Marc and Damon, good-looking like most S-species, with wavy blond hair worn to his shoulders and very pale blue eyes.

Jayla nodded. There were a fair amount of visitors and maybe if it wasn’t for the palace guards she would not be recognized, but those two tall soldiers following her around were rather hard to miss. “Good morning.”

“It is a pleasant surprise to see you here. Are you a student of the Rykar philosophy?”

“Everyone knows his name,” she acquiesced politely.

The man inclined his head. “I agree…but in truth, I think very few understand his true message. Did you know he preached democracy even while he elevated the royal family and allowed government manipulation of Anasta’s basic judicial system?”

Had he not been smiling at her in such a friendly way, Jayla could have sworn the words were antagonistic. “I am not sure the word manipulation should be applied.”

“What would you use?’ he asked in the same even tone.

This wasn’t the particular time she wanted to debate historical politics with a stranger, so she simply excused herself and moved on.

What would they target?

In the next wing there were pieces of art, statuary, paintings, and of course, the collection of royal jewels, court pieces that were gifts from other planets, the security there even more enhanced.

Even with the speculation that too many guards had been pulled from here to the palace, she didn’t see how theft was possible. And, of course, now that Marc and Damon had presented their theory, immediately the staffing was restored and all seemed to be in order.

Perhaps they’d been wrong. This wasn’t the target.

In the next moment, she discovered they weren’t.

The lights went first, extinguished to low beams from the overhead fixtures, and the people in the museum muttered, not quite in open protest but definitely confused. Instantly both of Jayla’s guards were by her side, hands on their weapons.

One of them leaned close and said curtly, “Let’s exit the building, your Highness. We have orders that if anything at all is unusual, we’re to get you back as soon as possible.”

There was a hiss in the air and she turned, realizing that the room was filling with a strange sort of mist, the sensation like being touched with a light rain. Jayla stepped back, her head suddenly light, her vision not as clear.

This is why they wanted the decreased security…

She didn’t really understand until she took another step back and stumbled, realizing one of her guards was already on the floor, sprawled in an ungraceful heap, one arm out flung. Her other guard had gone to his knees, his breathing audible. He said, “Take my weapon, Highness…”

Had it been possible, she would have taken the advice. Obviously, she thought dimly, falling to the floor on her stomach, trying to escape the descending drug, the time given the thieves or terrorists, whichever they may be, had been utilized as they had installed some sort of poison in the air-filtration system.

Both Marc and Damon were going to be furious with her, she contemplated, cheek to the cool floor, her muscles beginning to go lax already. They’d told her to stay in the palace once the sprawling complex had been cleared, but she’d been intensely curious to refresh her memory over the museum…

And it might be the last mistake she ever made.

“Princess.” A face swam into view, distorted by a mask of some kind, but she recognized even through the growing fog the mocking voice of the truculent stranger. “I’m Lucien.”

It meant nothing…she wasn’t sure anything was significant at the moment.

Floating…

The stranger said, “You will add a certain piquant nuance to the upcoming negotiation. Thank you for joining us. I only hoped to take the museum and its contents, but never dreamed a member of the royal family was a possibility. The rumors aren’t exaggerated. You are very beautiful.”

“Why are you doing this?” She couldn’t quite focus and her words were slurred. The floor was oddly comfortable.

“For the oldest reason in the world,” he said on a light laugh, kneeling next to her.

“Money?” It was unsettling to hear the drowsiness in her voice, the lack of inflection.

“It’s not the only motivation but we do need to fund our cause.”

This is awful. They’ll use me against my mother….against Anasta…

“What else?” She barely managed the words.

“Not just money,” he leaned close and whispered. “Power. They aren’t necessarily one and the same, but in the right hands…oh yes, my gorgeous, privileged princess, one can bring the other. We are going to prove to the Federation we are a force of our own. At this time, we can’t fight your military, but give us time and the necessary funds to raise our own forces. That is all we want.”

“Is…that…all?” She somehow managed to insert an edge of scathing sarcasm despite it was an effort to even stay awake.

“That’s all. Some will die, of course. Someone always has to die. The Federation needs to be destroyed. Le Clerc has some good ideas, but he is too conservative. No change comes without cost, trust me.”

Damon, conservative? And she didn’t trust Lucien, whoever he might be. Except to the extent that he wanted power and at the moment, she feared, thanks to her, he had it.

He reached out and touched her hair. “Such a pity. Good bye, Princess.”

Chapter Fourteen

Jayla was missing and the Royal Museum had been literally taken hostage, and unfortunately the two events seemed to be connected.

Palace security kept track of her all the time but her movements were not restricted in any way as she was a grown woman and allowed to do what she wished. Though both he and Damon had asked she stay in the confines of the palace compound, evidently she’d decided to do otherwise.

Marc would worry about her reckless independence some other time. Right now they needed to get her out of there.

He tried his best to calm the rise of fear, but considering his conversation with his father and the current state of alarm, he wanted to do nothing but deploy troops and take the museum back at once.

Minoa had also been hit. In their case, the Federation library, currently under the control of the group calling themselves The Power.

The Power.

“What exactly did they say?” Damon paced, his agitated movements not helping the atmosphere of the room. “You are being deliberately vague, Father.”

It was true. Raphael Le Clerc had merely said that the terrorists had sent a communiqué with some demands.

Regal and pale, the queen sat back in her chair and leveled a glare at Colonel Kale. “This is your domain. What do you suggest?”

Her chief security officer briefly bowed. “There is a reason we train and employ special enforcers, Majesty. Let’s send them in to surround the building.”

“You can’t! Jayla is in there.” Damon was vehement, halting in yet another sweep of the floor, his pallor pronounced, a lock of dark wayward hair hanging over his brow. Marc knew exactly how he felt but he didn’t express fear the same way. He kept it contained…he’d been trained to deal with every crisis in a forthright manner with all sights on a positive outcome.

They had left the part out of his diplomatic training when it involved the female a male had taken as his wife. Especially one like Jayla. He was much more emotionally invested than was wise. The idea of her in the hands of conscienceless criminals told him a great deal about how he felt about her, even on such short acquaintance. His mother had always told him he’d recognize his life mate on sight, and it appeared she was right. “I agree with Damon,” he said in a deceptively even tone. “At least to the extent we cannot go rushing in with weapons and the obvious other ploys.”

“Kale, I swear I’ll kill you myself if you put her in danger.”

Truly, Damon might make the worst single negotiator ever. The queen instantly bristled, her eyes a betraying red, her face taking on a tight expression. “It isn’t your decision.”

To his credit, Kale said coolly, “Like any of us would ever risk her if there was a choice, Damon. Calm down, because your hot-headed reaction doesn’t help a bit. Do you have a better suggestion?”

“We could pay them,” Raphael said in his measured way. “It is always an option.”

“No.”

To the surprise of the entire room both Damon and the queen spoke in unison. Damon said passionately, “I don’t trust them to release her. The Power is a militant group, not just a pack of thieves. The explosives were set as a diversion to lessen the security in the places they wished to take over, but obviously they didn’t care if, like on Mega 3, the ploy didn’t work and people were killed. Why not let Marc and I talk to them? He’s the diplomat among us and they’ve at least heard of me and know I support political change. If anyone can negotiate for her freedom, maybe we can. Once Jay is free, you can deal with the museum. They didn’t intend to kidnap her, she just happened to be there and they are capitalizing on the moment. Maybe they all aren’t in agreement on how to handle it. From their demands, murder is not the intention. They want leverage of a different kind.”

“Power,” Marc corrected quietly. “I agree with Damon…I’d like to talk to them, to find out what is at the core of this. Do they wish reform like Damon, or destruction? They are not printing inflammatory articles with ideals for change, but seizing buildings and extorting ransom to fuel their cause. It isn’t at all the same.”

As if on cue, a light flashed on the desk and the queen reached over to push it, quickly scanning the screen that rose up from the console. She said grimly, “Two other planets are reporting hostage situations, so with Anasta and Minoa, that makes four.”

“Well-planned,” Kale muttered, rubbing his hand over his face, lines of fatigue from the long night of supervising the scan for explosives in the palace showing around his mouth. “All at the same time, so we can’t help the others as we deal with our own situation. I’m glad we detained Lettrick before he had a chance to flee.”

“Give me about five minutes alone with him—”

Marc interrupted Damon, his voice taking on a hint of steel. “No, let me start there. The first time I was just feeling him out, but this time I know he’s involved. I’ll interview him again and then I’m going to the museum.”

“We don’t need more hostages,” Raphael objected, leaning back in his chair, calm but clearly shaken, his voice not completely steady.

“If I don’t succeed,” Marc said as he rose, “consider me already dead.”

“There’s no way in hell you’re going without me.” Damon followed him from the room in long, impatient strides.

Kale followed too, Marc found, but that really didn’t surprise him. The current situation was certainly not the fault of Anasta’s chief security officer, but there was no doubt he was responsible to contain it.

“I will do all the talking,” Marc instructed, his father’s authority creeping unconsciously into his voice, that tone familiar his entire life. “What I want is information and I don’t need anyone else intervening no matter what I say. Understood?”

In any other circumstances he might expect Damon to argue but if he’d learned anything about Jayla’s other lover, it was that he was deeply loyal. “Just save Jay,” Damon told him, his voice hoarse. “I’ll do anything you say. If necessary, I’ll die for her.” His smile was crooked. “Apparently you would too.”

Their gazes locked for a moment, their purpose entirely understood.

Marc nodded, and as Kale scanned them into the secure area, he realized that maybe for the first time in his adult life he was actually nervous about his ability to defuse a potentially volatile situation.

But then again, he’d never been a life mate before, nor had he ever met a female like Jayla.

* * * *

She was surprised to be alive.

The impression was that perhaps she was in some sort of storage space, the slightly musty odor reminiscent of a closed room, a hint of decaying paper in the air.

But where? It was entirely too dark to tell. Jayla sat up and found that her hands had been bound with a form of stubborn tape that made even flexing her wrists nearly impossible. Though her ankles were free, she soon discovered why after getting up on wobbly legs and trying to go more than three feet in any direction.

Definitely a confined environment. Maybe a closet. She fought a surge of panic over the utter darkness and took in a deep, calming breath.

What did she know?

Her head ached and her memory was a bit foggy…yes, she recalled, thinking that she wanted to visit the museum after Damon spouted his theory of what might be the motivation. She’d talked to someone by the case of Rykar’s papers…and there had been a sudden sound, and a mist…people crumpling to the floor…

They’d all been drugged. Her back pressed against the wall, alone in the pitch dark, Jayla tried not to give in to wild panic. She hadn’t been gagged, which simply meant screaming would do no good, so why waste the energy?

That was it. Logic. Cool. Sound. Controlled.

One deep shuddering breath and she calmed, but it wasn’t easy, especially as she was sure she was imprisoned alone, which meant she had no idea what might be happening.

And left her to wildly conjecture what it might be.

The enemy had taken over the museum. That she knew. She hazily remembered the blond man kneeling next to her as she lost consciousness. But what did they really want?

He’d told her. Power…

There was only one controlling power on Anasta.

The threat to her mother was real and she groped behind her with her bound hands, searching, feeling…finding bare walls, and then slid a little to the right, still trying, her bound wrists a challenge, her head pounding from whatever the abductors had planted to stun them all.

And she found nothing.

No weapon, no clue as to where exactly she might be—no help.

Bound, locked in complete darkness, helpless…

No, not exactly.

She had one edge she could use, though whether or not it would work was not a question she could answer. Maybe Marc had to be close to read her mind…maybe he had to be in the same room. She had no idea, but she did know that their adversaries weren’t trustworthy and that whatever deal might be made was going to be under false pretenses and she would gladly die to spare Anasta’s people…

Help…the museum…they want more than what they say…don’t trust…

Damon would be frantic to get to her. She knew this and it was comforting, even as she slumped against the wall, her fingers cold from too little circulation, trying to reach out to Marc. She’d managed to catch one lip of the tape but it evaded her, briefly clinging to a fingertip and then pulling free.

It’s money…it’s destruction and death…it’s power…

What were they doing now? Getting ready to destroy the building? Launching an attack on the palace? Obviously they had successfully managed to distract even Kale’s trained staff enough they could set up the take-over of the museum, and that wasn’t easy to do.

Bastards.

Give… me… a name.

The words seeped in, a trickle, like she imagined it. Him? She thought so. Why would she ask herself something she already knew…and besides, she could swear, in that dark space, she felt him.

Marc.

Lucien, she answered.

Lettrick?

I don’t know. She wanted to sob out loud in relief at being able to have this…this incredible connection. Just a first name.

Where are you, Jay?

The only one who ever called her Jay was Damon, but this was Marc’s voice whispering in her brain, his presence, but she liked that too.

No, she loved it. She loved them both. She could swear she could smell a hint of Marc’s scent and feel his fingertips running along her skin…she pulled at the tape and actually heard it tear free, circulation returning to one hand in a tingling rush.

Don’t know. Dark. Musty. Underground storage?

We’ll find you…stay there. Damon has the plans for the building.

She believed him. That was one thing about Damon, he never gave up, his stubbornness normally irritating, but at the moment, it was reassuring. She rubbed her abraded wrist and then ripped the rest of the tape off the opposite hand, taking off quite a bit of skin if the warm wetness running over her fingers was an indication. It hurt, but it was much better than being bound. Not that she was quite free, but if she could manage it, maybe she could keep Lucien—whoever he was—from destroying the museum. She had no idea if the other people inside were still alive or not

The door, she found, was locked.

Of course it was, she thought in despair. The darkness was awful because she had no idea what her surroundings were like and…

Frantically, she pushed at the door, and miraculously, it opened. Jayla stumbled out into more darkness, but the air was cool, the impression of the space bigger. Either the lock had failed, or someone had been careless and not closed the door completely

Stay here? Marc, I’m sorry, but no.

* * * *

Ran sat, staring hard at the screen, his mouth tight. It wasn’t like he hadn’t dealt with crisis situations before, but the widespread nature of the attacks was a true concern, not just for Minoa but in the sense that the governments of all the planets involved needed to deal with the problem the same way. A united front to terrorist attacks was always best, in his opinion. If other planets managed to successfully negotiate and save lives and some refused and citizens were killed, fingers were going to be pointed.

That’s why he wanted to talk to Ian Helm before he met with the Universal Council over this crisis.

“No doubt Mega 3 was a target also, but that went awry.”

Ran glanced up and saw that Ian was also staring at the illuminated map, one sinewy hand braced on the desk. “But now they have four others that were successful.”

“Big planets. All major powers. The targets valuable but not military…I’m still trying to decide how to handle it. What do you think?”

“They don’t want a war.” There was a thoughtful pause. “Yet. No one does something this complicated for nothing. If they destroy these buildings, it’s a powerful statement.”

There was that word again. Power.

“They are asking for money.”

“To finance a revolution, Ran.”

“Maybe.”

“Marc has interviewed one of them. He should be able to get more information.”

“His new wife is a hostage. He isn’t exactly available right now.”

Ian lifted a brow. “What advice are you going to give the Universal Council until then?”

Ran shook his head and stood. “I’m not sure yet, but our emergency meeting is in five minutes. Come with me.”

Chapter Fifteen

All those adventures as children had taught Damon that Jayla might possess a delicate beauty, but underneath she was an intelligent, resourceful female.

However, that was not all that reassuring when he knew she was trapped inside a besieged building with a group of fanatics who thought their cause could be best served by violence. A threat to execute the daughter of the ruler of Anasta was an effective bargaining tool.

It appeared there were only ten of them. Infrared detectors showed the majority of the life-forms in one room in the far southwest corner of the building, most of them unmoving, some of them glowing softer than others, which could mean cooling body temperatures indicating there had already been casualties.

The ten were scattered in various parts of the perimeter of the building, no doubt armed and ready for a possible attack.

“I can let you in by remotely deactivating the locks,” Kale said tersely, “but I can’t promise they won’t kill you the minute the door opens and you step through. The communication sent to them was met with refusal. No negotiation. They want payment.”

“They must have known we would want to try and bargain,” Marc said, his face set. They stood on the street outside the building, with transport vehicles everywhere but Kale keeping his men back and out of sight. “They have to be able to get off the planet once this is done.”

It was a good point. Holding the legacy of a planet’s history hostage was one thing, but the captor’s had to have a plan for fleeing once the money was transferred to the specified accounts.

Damon was still dead-set against giving into their demands. To him on an intellectual basis, what was happening was a strike against all proposed reform and a general detriment to the cause to evoke new, more modern laws. When force was used instead of logic and education, it impeded back the timetable of progress.

Above all though, there was Jayla.

If he thought about it too much, he would lose all sense of perspective, and he needed to be calm. The idea of her in danger paralyzed him and he had to be ready and clear-headed.

Damon stared at the building’s square façade, the glass walls going up several stories, all power currently cut so it was utterly dark inside. Marc swore Jay was alive…

“She is,” Marc said, his voice grim. “But she doesn’t know where she is in the building. It’s a big facility and it’s dark in there. We need to give them back the lights.”

“I’m going to have to restore power to open the doors anyway.” Kale was scanning a handheld device as spoke, his usual immaculate uniform rumpled from the long night. “As for how they plan on getting out of there, I just got a communication saying there is an unlicensed transport that is blocking all signals in close hover. The aircraft could be on the ground in minutes.”

“What makes them think we won’t take it out the moment the terrorists are on board?” Damon asked, running his fingers restlessly through his hair. He wanted—no needed—to do something now. He’d studied enough military tactics to know long delays in response to threats ended disastrously often enough. Then he answered his own question, “Because they plan on taking several hostages with them. Damn it.”

“That would be my guess,” Kale agreed. He nodded toward the front entrance. “The Universal Council is in session right now and they are going to issue a decree about how all the involved planets should handle this. I might receive orders to not let you go in there at any moment, depending on their decision. So I suggest if you are intent on trying this angle, go now. I’ll activate the power as soon as you are close. When lights come back on, the doors should unlock. There are two of them in the main lobby and if they were my men, I would have given orders to kill anyone coming through that entrance.”

“That’s reassuring,” Damon muttered. He said to Marc, “You’d better be one hell of a diplomat, Kartel.” Then to Kale he said succinctly, “Let them know we’re coming in.”

* * * *

None of the scans were working, the transport elevators from floor to floor were inoperable, and it was so dark that Jayla stumbled over something after yet another futile attempt to try and find a way to the main floor. She went down hard, her palm slamming into the floor as she tried to break her fall, and the pain jolted upward from wrist to shoulder. It was impossible to not cry out, though immediately she stifled the small sound of discomfort.

Too late. Someone had heard it.

He came out of a doorway, obviously holding a glow lamp, the thin pencil of light vivid in the darkness, the result making him just a shadowy figure, the light sweeping the hallway.

Was that a stairwell? she wondered in a panic, not wanting to be locked away again, but unarmed and now injured, it wasn’t like she was a formidable opponent. She scooted back as unobtrusively as possible against the wall, wondering if there was anywhere to hide. The only option was one of the entrances to the nonfunctioning floor-to-floor station doors a few feet away, and when the man—or it might be a female, she couldn’t tell—turned around to sweep the light the other direction, she got to her feet and made a short dash and pressed there against the doors, her heart pounding.

It was better, to the extent she felt somewhat hidden, but also worse, because she couldn’t see the person with the light any longer, just the glow as it slid along the walls and floor, searching….searching…

The beam caught what she’d fallen over. It was a small sign that was obviously temporary, the writing on it impossible to read as the illumination skittered over it, but it was there.

Peeking around the corner, Jayla saw the figure was startlingly close, only a few feet away.

Terrorist, she reminded herself, her wrist hurting, her head still aching from the drug. He’s willing to kill innocent people. More than anything, she wanted that light in his hand—but it had to be a male from his height…

We’re going in, Jay. We’re here.

Marc’s voice, coming through in her mind…

She sprang forward, dipping down to grab up the small sign by the metal base and swinging it, catching her stalker by surprise, but unfortunately not getting him in the head as she wanted, but just the shoulder. He grunted and staggered back and she tried again, and this time, since he was off balance as he slammed against the wall, the impetus of his weight was more effective than her impromptu weapon.

The illumination device rolled away but the male—he wore the same dark clothing as Lucien Lettrick had—didn’t move, slumped in a sitting position as Jayla cautiously moved to retrieve it.

At that moment, all the lights came on.

* * * *

He wasn’t as powerful as his father but at the moment every nerve ending, every synapses in his brain was firing as adrenalin flowed through his bloodstream and Marc stepped into the foyer, tersely instructing Damon to stay behind him.

Not that giving Le Clerc orders usually worked, and this time was no different. Their strides matched as they walked inside the taken building, both of them immediately noticing a pungent odor in the air.

“Borus.” Damon’s voice was curt. “A drug used to stun troops banned about two decades ago. It’s unreliable and therefore not used any longer. Too many can’t tolerate it. Don’t worry, it fades fast and is odorless. What we smell is the artificial scent introduced to identify it. Where is our greeting committee? I thought there were two of them.”

The entrance was vast, stretching up two full stories, with lots of glass and hanging lights and a magnificent polished floor of some dark blue stone.

The words drifted into his mind. Marc, Marc…are you there? I have a weapon but I accidentally set off an alarm of some kind.

Jayla. She was right too, for there was a blinking red light above the main portal leading up to the viewer floors and there was only one of the terrorists standing there waiting for them, his figure tense, a weapon in his hand.

We’re inside but in the lobby. Are you on the main floor?

I…I don’t know. One of them is unconscious and I just stunned another one…

For the first time since this all started, he smiled. He turned to Damon. “Thanks to Jay, there’s only eight of them now.”

“Better odds,” Damon agreed, his smile taut. “Where is she?”

“That isn’t how this works. If she doesn’t know, I don’t know either.”

“Inconvenient,” he muttered, but inwardly he was elated at the idea Jayla was armed. She’d had a pampered upbringing in some ways, but her mother had insisted she take a training course in the weapons used by their military. He attended it with her and had been surprised at how quickly she’d caught on, but then again, she’d never liked for him to be more proficient at something than she was. He had no idea what kind of weapons this group was using, but if she’d managed to take out two of them, she must have been able to figure it out.

“Lucien?” Marc called out, his voice echoing in the space.

“Leave now. We have no desire to talk.” The lone male shook his head, his weapon half-extended. “Pay or we will destroy the building and the prisoners. That is all we have to say.”

Had there not been an explosion at that moment, maybe Marc would have gotten to test his diplomatic skills, but the building shook, windows shattered, and Damon found himself suddenly face down on the floor.

What the hell?

Nearly deafened, he sat up, brushing glass off his clothes, heedless of the small cuts to his hands. Similarly Marc was nearby on the floor, but still conscious, his eyelashes fluttering and then his eyes opening. “Jay.”

Above them the building groaned, the reinforcing beams shifting. It sounded like it might all come down…

“Now,” Damon responded hoarsely, leaning down to extend a hand and pull him to his feet. “Let’s find out where she is now.”

* * * *

Had that been a mistake?

Jayla wasn’t sure, but truth be told, she hadn’t really had a lot of choice.

The noise had been more than she expected, but then again, she had never anticipated setting off an explosive device either.

The male who had identified himself as Lucien now lay in a loose sprawl at her feet, his blond hair in disarray, one arm out flung. She’d been at the top of the stairwell to the main floor when he’d appeared out of nowhere, and truthfully she’d been so startled and edgy, when he’d smiled at her with the self-satisfied smirk and his hand had lifted, she had fired.

One second later, to her horror, she’d heard the horrendous sound of a bomb exploding.

How could I possibly know he carried a detonator?

You couldn’t.

Marc. Knees weak, she almost sank to the floor. I think I killed Lucien…sorry.

Stay put. I mean it, Jay. Kale is coming in now and we’re on our way. Don’t move, my reckless princess…promise me. Promise us.

There was shouting nearby and she lifted her head, the drift of acrid smoke already filling the air, and she realized that someone was pounding on a door nearby. She found the courage to kneel by Lucien’s prostrate body and begin with shaking hands to search his body, her injured wrist making it a painful process. They had to scan into the rooms somehow…surely he had a device with the codes…

A piece of ceiling crashed down next to her, exploding on the polished floor, the sound making her jump.

Please…Find us quickly.

* * * *

“You’ve finally stopped trembling, my love.”

Ellesandra sat back with a long breath expelled from her lungs. It was true. From the moment she’d heard her only child was trapped in the Royal Museum with a terrorist group an icy calm had seized her, but when the notice of the explosion had come, she’d been unable to stop shaking. “At least I am not accepting well-intentioned sympathy, but instead congratulations on the bravery of my daughter. Seven casualties is still a grave number, but considering how many have been rescued and that we have six of The Power imprisoned, not to mention that Damon and Marc Kartel are still alive, I count this ordeal resolved in as satisfactory a manner as was possible under the circumstances.”

Raphael’s smile was faint and he poured her a glass of pale golden wine. He admitted, “I was not so steady myself. I could not imagine anything but a grim end to the situation. Anasta acquitted itself well in general.”

That was true. The Universal Council had passed down the resolution that none of the affected planets deal with their attackers, and even Minoa had not managed such a violence-free rescue of both the building and the hostages. True, Lucien Lettrick had not survived the eventual collapse of the building, but that death was of his own making.

“I agree.” She took the glass now that she could hold it steadily and took a grateful sip.

“Kale deserves due credit for the ultimate success of the endeavor. Perhaps he can take my place on the Royal Council when Jayla succeeds you. As queen and consort, she and Kartel will have enough to deal with as the new laws begin to pass and fall into place. Kale has a cool head.”

Gazing at her lover, Ellesandra murmured, “Are we really going to leave Anasta?”

“Could you remain here, my love, and not rule?”

He had a point, but then again, Raphael had always known her better than anyone else. After a moment, she shook her head. “I doubt it. But this has all taught me that though they are just beginning, Jayla and Marc can conduct themselves in the best interest of the people. That young male was willing to die for her and she was willing to die for Anasta.”

“As was Damon.”

“Of course he was. Grandiose gestures are his specialty.” Ellesandra couldn’t help an indulgent smile and a raised eyebrow. “It’s odd how he thinks you are his greatest critic when in truth you are his most staunch supporter.”

“It’s odd how he has so managed to irritate me and yet make me a proud father at the same time his entire life.”

She had to laugh at his sardonic tone. Then she sobered, “Jayla loves him. I think she has also come to have deep feelings for Marc…I am so happy for her. The three of them obviously make a formidable force.”

“True.” He relaxed back in his chair, his eyes glimmering. “So then, where shall we go? Someplace warm, comfortable, far from all the strife of Federation politics…someplace the rest of the galaxy ignores…”

“What about Earth?”

“Earth?” He looked perplexed. “It’s so…insignificant.”

“I hear it has warm climes and crystal clear seas in some places. It’s peaceful, and far away.”

“The weather is not controlled there,” he objected. “They’ve never learned how.”

“Please don’t tell me you wish to abandon all sense of adventure,” Ellesandra said serenely. “I know I don’t.”

Epilogue

Anasta, One year later

Warm ripples of sensation moved through her and Jayla stretched under the brush of Marc’s fingers, her back arching. The pleasure was sleek, insidious, consuming, and she all but forgot their argument.

Until Damon reminded her by sliding his hand up her thigh, the caress light but persuasive. “We’ll take care of you, Jay.”

Was it not for the warmth of his mouth on her sex a moment later and the tantalizing tease of his tongue on her clitoris, she would have made a sharp retort, but the luxurious rapture of what he was doing to her body temporarily robbed her of speech.

Damn him for being able to distract her so easily.

Her orgasm was tumultuous and satisfying.

Marc wasted no time, his entry into her body measured, his mouth gentle on hers as he sheathed himself completely. Damon watched them through heavy-lidded eyes, his erection prominent, and when she lay gasping and limp, it was his turn to coax her into erotic bliss once again, his strong body braced over hers, suggestive words whispered wickedly in her ear, until they both climaxed in trembling joy and then lay in the shipwreck of the aftermath.

Once she could catch a breath, she said decisively, “I’m still going. As brilliant as you both think you are, the diversion didn’t work.”

Marc, propped on one elbow next to them, touched her cheek. “Just stay here until the child is born. That’s all we ask.”

I should never have even told you.

Yes, you should have, he countered in silent communication. We’re both delighted. My child or his, it doesn’t matter. We both love you…

“We could take you prisoner,” Damon said cheekily, his grin sinfully attractive. He licked her lower lip, carefully balanced above her. “And keep you for our pleasure…”

“I want to see my mother.” Jayla normally didn’t embrace vulnerability, but ever since she’d discovered that she was pregnant, her world had changed. “I can’t explain it.”

“You don’t need to.” Marc touched her hair, his smile reassuring. “I sense this is important. We’ll arrange it.”

Damon gently slid free of her body and immediately there was a sense of loss. He rolled to his back, large and supine beside her, one arm carelessly curved over his head. “He’s right,” he said, though she sensed it cost him. “Of course you should go. We can keep Anasta safe in your absence. Marc could accompany you.”

“Or Damon could go along and see his father as well.”

“You’re the consort.”

“True, but—”

For two territorial males, they were certainly being generous and their solicitude moved her. Jayla cleared her throat and interrupted. “I was actually wondering if all three of us couldn’t go together. Kale can certainly handle matters here and—”

“Yes,” Damon said abruptly, his palm moving to rest on her stomach. “I admit I don’t wish to be away from you.”

“Like I should let the two of you journey off together into who only knows what kind of disaster,” Marc said jokingly, but his aqua eyes were serious. “I think you’re right. All three of us should go.”

“Four of us,” Damon interjected, nude and relaxed beside her, his dark hair disheveled, his grin a white flash. “Let’s not forget our child.”

“Five of us,” Marc corrected. “Children. Twins.”

“What?” Damon’s gaze caught hers accusingly, his expression appropriately shocked.

Really, this business of having a mate who always knew your secrets was quite tedious. Jayla gave Damon a superior smile. “Don’t worry…I would have told you eventually.”

THE END

www.annabelwolfe.com

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Annabel Wolfe loves all forms of fiction including fantasy worlds full of danger and sexy characters. She also writes erotic historical romance as Emma Wildes and erotic suspense as Kate Watterson.

Visit her at www.annabelwolfe.com, www.emmawildes.com, and www.katewatterson.com

Also by Annabel Wolfe

The Starlight Chronicles 1: Pale Stars in Her Eyes

The Starlight Chronicles 2: The Covenant

The Starlight Chronicles 3: Under His Command

Available at

BOOKSTRAND.COM

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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