Page 8 of Solan

Solan growled at the insult. “Galaxars do not mess around with anything. We are physically perfect when it comes to going into battle.”

Vegas’s cheeks flushed again. “Sorry. I simply meant, well, that we didn’t change what evolved naturally.”

“You’re saying Galaxars are a genetic abnormality?”

Vegas stopped by a door and turned toward him. Although her gaze was cautious, her posture was upright. She wasn’t afraid of him. He admired that.

“What Galaxars do to protect the stars is incredible. You ensure races who aren’t good at defending themselves have peace. You sacrifice a lot to make sure that happens.”

“We sacrifice nothing. We are a superior race.”

She tilted her head to the side. “So superior you can’t breed anymore?”

Solan scowled at her. “We can breed. It is simply more of a... challenge.”

Vegas shook her head. “Whatever you say. In here. This is where we’ll begin your induction.” She pushed the door open and walked in.

Solan took a long, slow breath of the recycled station air. Frustrating human woman. She didn’t understand Galaxar history. As a proud warrior nation, they had to ensure they were genetically fit for fighting. Their prowess on the battlefield was the only asset they had. They traded muscle for all the essentials to sustain life on their harsh planet.

Solan rested his hand against the door. He had a feeling this would be a tricky battle he was entering with Vegas and one where he wasn’t certain what the rules of engagement were.

It was no matter. He would win. He always did.

Chapter 3

Vegas focused on the tablet in her hand. She noticed her fingers trembling as she scanned through the pages of induction notes. Solan was even hotter in the flesh than the pictures she’d seen of him.

She knew all about him. He was known as the Destroyer of Stars. He’d been pivotal in ending several galaxies-wide battles, using his tactical combat skills and lethal aim to cull many enemies. His image was often in the newscasts at the station. She’d fallen in lust with him the first time she’d seen those huge biceps and smoldering eyes.

Nowhere in any of the broadcasts had they said what an utter jerk he was.

He talked about human women as if they were cattle meant only for breeding. Galaxars weren’t known for their chivalry or affection, but he was the first she’d met who’d been so blunt. All he cared about was getting his leg over and siring a child. Even the Retars from the planet Opus knew how to treat their matches with respect and show them a courtesy unknown between them. Their females ate the males when they’d gotten what they wanted, so their natural instinct was to fuck and run.

Solan’s insults about the lack of security on the space station were also out of order. He was the one who’d missed the stealth bots—the station’s little friends who did anything from sneaking into an alien ship to bringing you a drink when you’d had a hard day. He wasn’t the warrior he claimed to be. He was a puffed-up bronzed ball of arrogance. His hot looks would not sway her. She would treat him like any other client and let him know when he stepped out of line. It was the only thing to do when dealing with a feisty alien.

Taking a deep breath, Vegas forced herself to remain calm. Solan was high up in the Galaxar ranks. My Single Alien would get a boost in credibility if this pairing worked. More nobility would use their services. That might even make Diadora smile.

Vegas knew she’d trodden a thin line by speaking out against him in front of his troop. She’d been fortunate he hadn’t challenged her to a fight. She’d seen his anger flair and his eyes glow as he’d fought the desire to harm her. One swipe of those massive hands and she’d be seeing stars and planets for months.

And, if Diadora heard she’d been talking back to a Galaxar colonel, it would be a black mark against her name. Diadora was insisting the numbers of successful pairings rise, and she was monitoring her. This had to go smoothly for both their sakes.

The squeak of a chair as it was pulled back made her glance up. Solan looked far too big for the chair he sat in.

Vegas gave him a moment to settle before turning to her first page of notes. “Welcome to My Single Alien. You have been successfully paired with a female. This induction is to run through all the practicalities that pairing will involve.”

“Where is my female?” Solan looked around the room as if expecting a naked, willing mate to appear out of thin air.

He was nothing if not keen. “You will not meet her until you have been fully briefed. If you don’t know all the information, it is easy for things to go wrong. We have a saying on Earth: first impressions count.”

Solan’s forehead wrinkled. “I heard about a Monomar pairing with a human. Their first impression was bad?”

Vegas winced. That pairing had happened in My Single Alien’s opening month. The company’s protocols had been sketchy with regard to meeting and pairing. The Monomar had not mentioned his retractable tentacles when completing his profile. The poor woman paired with him had run screaming from their room, clutching a pair of panties to her chest after he’d revealed his tentacles all ready for some alien loving. She’d been in therapy for a month, and Diadora had paid her an unknown amount of compensation to keep her quiet.

Since then, they’d learned to do a comprehensive physical and mental assessment of each and every alien who wanted a match with a human. Every area was searched for tentacles and anything else that might spring out and alarm a mate.

“That was an unfortunate one-off.”

“This human I have been matched with, she understands Galaxars?”