Galactic Temptation (Galactic Mates #1)

1. Felicity

Chapter one

Felicity

T he morning sun streams through the government building's windows, creating golden rectangles on the polished floor as I hurry down the corridor.

My sensible heels click a steady rhythm against the tiles, echoing my racing heartbeat.

Today's my first day handling the Zexian integration cases, and I'm determined to prove I can handle the responsibility Director Chan dumped on me.

"Ready for the Zexian influx, Felicity?" My colleague, Marco, falls into step beside me, his coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of his mug.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I reply, adjusting the stack of tablets balanced against my hip. "Though the training barely scratched the surface of their culture."

Marco chuckles. "Well, at least they're humanoid. Not like the Gellarians with their communication through color changes."

I smile despite my nerves. "True. Though I've heard the warriors can be... intense."

We round the corner, and holy crap—the full impact of today's assignment hits me at once.

The office is buzzing with activity. Chatter from the newly arrived Zexians fills the air, their deep, resonant voices creating a backdrop of sound that seems to vibrate in my chest. Along with the voices comes an aroma that I recognize from training as the distinct smell of post-space-travel decontamination—a mix of ozone and something vaguely herbal.

Marco whistles low. "Good luck. I'm glad I'm still on the Nechian desk." With a sympathetic pat on my shoulder, he disappears into his office, leaving me to face the sea of purple skin and golden eyes alone.

The office, a newly created division within the US Border Control department, has been hastily established to help with the influx of Zexian aliens now settling on Earth.

The walls still smell of fresh paint, and some of the signage remains temporary—printed papers taped beside doorways rather than the permanent plaques that adorn older departments.

I pause at the threshold of the waiting area, taking a moment to observe the Zexians before announcing my presence.

Their size is the first thing that strikes me—even seated, they tower over the human staff.

Most of the males have their long, dark hair pulled back in intricate braids adorned with metal beads that catch the light when they move.

The room seems smaller with them in it, as if the architecture itself isn't designed to contain such powerful beings.

Zexians are a fearsome warrior race of aliens who have protected Earth for decades in exchange for Earthling brides.

The arrangement, while initially controversial, has allowed the Zexians to grow their numbers and kept Earth safe from less friendly aliens patrolling the solar system's farthest edges.

It has been this way since first contact nearly forty years ago.

But this year marks a significant change.

For the first time, the Zexians are making Earth their home—establishing permanent residences, integrating into our society rather than simply taking brides back to their homeworld or space stations.

The political implications are massive, and the responsibility of smooth integration falls to caseworkers like me.

I take a deep breath, straighten my blazer and smooth my dark hair. My practical pantsuit feels like armor—fake it till you make it, right? Time to project some confidence I definitely don't feel.

The waiting room falls quieter as I enter, golden eyes tracking my movement with an intensity that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

Zexians are tall, humanoid aliens with purple skin in varying shades—from violet to deep eggplant.

Their muscles ripple under their purple scales as they shift in their seats.

They look like they've been chiseled from stone by a sculptor with a passion for anatomical perfection.

It's no secret that humans find them desirable. Their otherworldly beauty combined with their protective nature has made the strange mating arrangement acceptable to most people, though there are still protest groups who oppose any alien-human relationships.

My hands tighten around my tablet as I survey the purple faces, trying to project confidence that has suddenly gone MIA. I've worked with other alien species during my five years at Border Control, but never beings with such an intense presence.

"Good morning," I say, my voice steady despite my nerves. "I'm Caseworker Stone. I'll be calling you in alphabetical order according to your application numbers."

A few nods greet my announcement. One Zexian seated near the back studies me with particular interest, his head tilted as if trying to solve a puzzle. I avert my gaze, focusing on my tablet as I pull up the first file.

My voice trembles slightly as I call out the name of my first client. "Vren?" I call. "Applicant US-000829. Vren." I repeat when nobody immediately responds. There's a murmur and a shifting of bodies in the crowd before a figure stands from a corner seat.

The Zexian, the same one who'd met my gaze only seconds before, stands up.

As he approaches, I note the distinctive markings on his forearms—swirling golden tattoos that seem almost alive against his deep purple skin.

His golden eyes survey the room before landing on me.

As our gazes meet, I feel my heart skip a beat, followed by an acceleration that leaves me momentarily breathless.

Professional, I remind myself sternly. Keep it professional, for God's sake.

I've counseled dozens of aliens from various worlds, advised them on Earth customs, helped them navigate our complex immigration systems. I've always planned to do exactly that with the Zexians—maintain the professional distance that makes me effective at my job.

But nothing could have prepared me for the visceral reaction I have to Vren.

The pull I feel toward this purple alien is stronger than anything I've experienced with any being, human or otherwise.

Vren stands at over seven feet tall, his muscular build evident through his tight-fitting black clothes—a style somewhere between military uniform and civilian attire. His features are sharply defined, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw.

"Vren," I say, extending my hand in the human greeting I've been trained to use with all newcomers. It's important for them to learn the customs right away.

He looks at it for a moment—a hesitation that reminds me of the cultural differences between us—before finally taking it in his.

His grip is firm but carefully controlled, as if he's highly conscious of his strength.

His skin feels warm against mine, warmer than a human's would be, and textured with the finest pattern of scales that are nearly invisible to the eye but perceptible to touch.

"I'm Felicity Stone, and I'll be your caseworker," I continue, withdrawing my hand when the contact begins to feel too charged. "Please follow me to my office so we can begin your integration process."

He nods, a slight incline of his head that still manages to convey both respect and an unmistakable confidence. "Thank you, Felicity Stone." His voice is deep, with a resonant quality that reminds me of distant thunder.

I turn quickly, not wanting him to see the effect his voice has on me.

What the hell is wrong with me today? I silently chastise myself as I lead him down the hallway to my office.

It's only Monday morning, my first day handling the Zexian integration cases, and I'm already losing my professional composure. This is completely unprofessional.

My office is small but private, with a window overlooking the government complex's central garden.

I've decorated it sparingly—a few plants, a framed degree, and a small stone sculpture from Proxima Centauri b that a grateful client gave me.

It's a professional space, designed to put anxious immigrants at ease while maintaining the appropriate boundaries.

Vren seems to fill the room, making the space feel suddenly inadequate. He examines everything with interest—the plants, the view, the stack of reference materials on my bookshelf—before taking the seat I offer him across from my desk.

I settle into my chair, activating my tablet and pulling up his file. "So, Vren, welcome to Earth. This is your first time here?"

"Yes," he confirms, those golden eyes fixed on my face with an attention that's both flattering and unnerving.

I nod, making a note in his file. "And you've chosen to settle in this region rather than one of the designated Zexian enclaves. May I ask why?"

A slight smile touches his lips, transforming his serious expression into something that makes my pulse quicken embarrassingly. "I am interested in true integration. The enclaves are comfortable but isolated. I wish to understand humans as they truly are, not just as visitors to our spaces."

His answer impresses me. Most newcomers prefer the safety of communities filled with their own kind. "That's commendable. Integration can be challenging, but ultimately more rewarding."

He inclines his head in acknowledgment, and I notice the way the overhead light catches the metallic beads in his braided hair.

Gathering my professional focus, I begin explaining the process ahead of him.

I outline the cultural norms, the customs, and the expectations that come with living on Earth.

I cover the basics of human social interactions, the importance of understanding local laws, and the resources available to him as he establishes his new life.

I make sure to emphasize the importance of consent and respect towards women, a point that our training materials highlight for Zexians, whose homeworld apparently has different gender dynamics.