Chapter 2 #2
Kariosak shifted his weight, his emerald green skin appearing washed out and sickly under the fluorescent glare.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of concern we all felt but hadn't yet voiced.
"Lady Prime, have you considered that the President won't be amenable to capturing one of her own? "
The Prime drew a slow breath, and I watched the subtle tension gather at the corners of her eyes before she released it in a faint sigh.
"I have," she admitted. "As is her right.
" She paused, her golden gaze distant for a moment, as though reviewing memories of past encounters.
"But from what I know of her from our earlier dealings, she is righteous and fair.
Once she hears of Hewes' crimes—the full extent of what he's done—I cannot imagine she will let him go unpunished. "
Ixaka, the only one in attendance stranger looking than me, remained utterly silent in the corner.
The Wojonik cut an imposing figure even in stillness.
Dark red skin that seemed to absorb the light, yellow eyes that tracked every movement with predatory awareness, curved horns that swept back from his temples, leathery wings folded tight against his broad back, and a tail that occasionally twitched with barely suppressed energy.
Our captain's human mate, Maddie, had taken one look at him and declared he looked like someone on Earth called Satan.
I looked up the reference and understood immediately.
Pavo, as usual, just looked bored. His pale features showed the familiar expression of detached tolerance that I had come to recognize. Like most Romvesians, he had little patience for military maneuvers and political posturing.
I stood at the Prime's left shoulder, my position deliberate and protective.
As the senior officer, all the others would look to me for direction—whether it was time for diplomacy or violence.
And while I took my orders from the Lady Prime and would follow her lead in all matters of diplomacy, I would not allow her to come to harm.
When the door opened again, every muscle in my body went rigid, coiling with instinctive readiness.
Four males entered first, and I assessed them with the practiced eye of a warrior.
These were not the soft politicians or bureaucrats I'd expected.
These males were soldiers, protectors. Each stood tall and broad-shouldered, their bodies honed by training and discipline.
They moved with the coordination of a unit that had worked together for years, eyes sweeping the room in overlapping patterns that left no blind spots.
They wore dark suits paired with stark white shirts and dark ties.
I found myself appreciating the attire, the clean lines, the understated authority it conveyed.
I had adopted Earth suits for my own wardrobe whenever possible, finding them far more refined than the ceremonial garb of the ship.
Then a female stepped through the doorway, and everything inside me went still.
I had known, intellectually, that the American President was female. I'd reviewed her dossier, studied her photograph, and memorized the facts of her political career. But nothing—no image, no briefing, no amount of preparation—could have readied me for the visceral impact of her presence.
She was diminutive. The crown of her head would barely reach the center of my chest. Her frame was slender, almost delicate, yet she possessed curves that proclaimed her femininity with unmistakable clarity.
The swell of her hips, the fullness of her breasts straining subtly against the fabric of her navy-blue tailored suit.
She had secured her hair in a loose bun at the nape of her neck, but even restrained, I could see the thickness and richness of it.
The color reminded me of the ordoz nuts that grew in the forests of my youth, deep brown shot through with veins of gold that caught the light.
Her face was heart-shaped, with high cheekbones that gave her an air of aristocratic grace.
Large green eyes, the color of new leaves in spring, surveyed the room with keen intelligence.
And her lips, full and naturally pink, pressed together in a line that suggested both determination and barely concealed anxiety.
I drew a deep breath, unable to stop myself from seeking her scent.
It flooded my senses like a drug, hitting me with an intensity that made my head swim.
Fundamentally sweet, with an underlying note of spice that made my pulse quicken and my blood heat.
Beneath that, I detected the acrid tang of nervousness—her body betraying what her composure tried to hide.
But stronger than her fear, richer and more intoxicating, was the unmistakable aroma of courage.
This female was afraid, yes, but she had walked through that door anyway. She was brave.
My wings fluttered involuntarily, a response I couldn't suppress.
For a Gudari like myself, such a telling reaction was more significant than I cared to admit.
My heart hammered against my ribs as an unfamiliar heat spread through my chest, radiating outward until my entire body thrummed with awareness.
This wasn't just appreciation for a beautiful female. This was something far more dangerous, far more profound.