Atlan Warlord Jorik, Interstellar Brides Processing Center, Florida, Earth

      My beast had stirred at the sight of her walking past the gated entry to the Interstellar Brides Processing Center. With her curvy body swaying seductively, a human guard had stared intently, obviously enjoying the sassy sway of her rounded hips and the jiggle of her large breasts. She wore what the humans called shorts, which showed off long, shapely legs and too much soft skin. Her hair fell halfway down her spine, a shimmering pool of liquid black. So straight. So dark the light flashed in odd shades of the deepest blue when the sunlight hit it just right.

      Next to me, Sergeant Derik Gatski, a brute of a man—for a human—whistled under his breath, but I heard him. Loud and clear. “How about some fries with that shake?”

      Before he’d finished the sentence, I had his neck in my hand, his feet dangling beneath him. “You will not disrespect that female. Ever.”

      His blue eyes widened in fear as he stared at me but knew better than to reach for the ion blaster strapped to his hip. Wisely, he held his hands up in the air, palms out. “My apologies, Warlord, I didn’t realize she was yours.”

      I didn’t correct him—she was not mine…yet—but I did settle him back onto his feet without crushing the fragile windpipe beneath my palm. His grin was annoying, but I turned away from the knowing look in his eyes and craned my neck for one last view of my future mate.

      She was going to be mine. I’d been courting her for weeks, going as often as I could to her ice cream store to speak to her. The first time she’d seen me, she’d been shocked. Afraid. Of my size. My deep voice. My strength. Of me.

      That was not what I needed. I needed her hot and