Page 5

With a shoestring budget and chronic understaffing, Vegas was amazed the whole thing hadn’t collapsed. And with Diadora Hardwick, her tyrannical boss, breathing down her neck, demanding reports and completed key performance indicators, she had a tough job on her hands. But Vegas loved a challenge. What could be more challenging than matching aliens from across the star system with desperate, fertile human women, while living in a space station in bad need of repair?

Heather squeaked as they entered the docking bay. “Check out the size of their craft.”

She was right to admire the sleek silver bullet-shaped Galaxar vessel. Galaxars knew how to travel in style. Having mastered long-distance space travel over a thousand years ago, humans were struggling to keep up with their technology. Scratch that: they didn’t have a hope of getting close to the technology Galaxars used to surf through space.

“We really do have royalty on the space station if this ship is anything to go by.”

“Don’t go curtsying,” Vegas muttered. “They won’t know what to make of it.”

“Of course. They might think it’s a signal to mate. That would be embarrassing, trying to fight off six randy Galaxars.”

“Are all six Galaxars intending to profile for mates while they’re here?”

Heather checked the tablet she held. “The Colonel is the only one who has completed his profile. Here is his match.” She held up the tablet. “He’s older than the others and needs to reproduce within the year if he’s to maintain his rank.”

Vegas skimmed the details of the female he’d been matched with. “What about the others? Are they all healthy and sane? I don’t want them coming out of their craft and running amok with their blades.” Galaxars loved nothing more than a fight with the long, thin blades they carried.

“They’re all accounted for. No problems reported.” Heather tucked the tablet under her arm. “They’re all here for one thing. To get us pregnant. Well, to get some lucky female pregnant.”

Vegas focused on the release clamps of the Galaxar ship as they descended. Galaxar colonels could be tricky characters. If they were the highest ranking Galaxar in the room, they liked to throw their weight around and show everyone who was in charge. Vegas had reprimanded several Galaxar colonels because they’d gotten too full of themselves.

She always made sure to do it away from their officers and foot soldiers. It didn’t do to humiliate a colonel in front of his lower ranked comrades. That resulted in a slit throat and your innards prettily decorating the nearest wall in a glistening, warm display of Galaxar strength.

“Here we go,” Heather said as the stamping footsteps of the Galaxars approached the ramp.

Galaxars all wore the same style of uniform, reinforced metal plates and tough, manufactured ribbed armored guards on their arms and legs. They covered their bronzed muscles in form-fitting black. It did nothing to hide how enormous they were.

The Colonel appeared on the ramp. Vegas suddenly found it hard to breathe. She checked the air monitor on the docking bay wall. It wasn’t that. The air in here was fine. Why couldn’t she breathe?

“No way,” Heather spluttered. “It’s him! It’s your Galaxar.”

Chapter 2

Colonel Solan stopped at the foot of the ramp. His five officers did the same, standing behind him in an organized semi-circle. He closed his eyes and inhaled. There were females here. He could smell them. Not the perfumes they adorned themselves with, but the primal, female scent of their pheromones. It stirred a longing in him. A fertile mate, that’s what he needed. That was why he had made the stop here.

It was his first time on the Prodigy space station. Located in the Terra Galaxy, he had passed it on numerous occasions when coming through the wormhole. He’d been on the waiting list for a female for almost a year. His time was running out.

Solan felt a twitch of movement behind him. Normally, his troop obeyed his every order. Coming here had been different. There had been several fights as they’d traveled. His Galaxar troop was as wound up as he was. They all needed to produce offspring. Without them, a male Galaxar was seen as less. He was incomplete without having sired a squib.

Solan opened his eyes at the sound of rapid footsteps approaching. A tiny, red-faced female was almost running toward him. She looked familiar. An even smaller, blonde female was next to her. His hand instinctively moved to the blade held in the scabbard on his right hip. It looked like they were going to attack.

The red-faced female’s eyes widened as she saw where his hand rested. She stopped dead. “You must be Colonel Solan.”

He nodded, recognizing the female now that she was so close. She was not here to fight. “I’m here for my mate.” His gaze ran over the women. It still surprised him that human women were able to breed with Galaxars. They were so tiny.

“I’m Vegas Munro.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m the manager of My Single Alien.”

He nodded again. Solan had communicated with Vegas over the past year as they’d refined his desired mate requirements. She had an odd sense of humor, but a pleasant voice, and she knew her job. Her final description of his female had been ideal. For some bizarre reason, he had missed their monthly conference calls to discuss his needs and the females available to him. Not that it mattered now. He was here, and his mate was waiting.

Solan’s gaze shifted to the blonde female. “You are my mate?” He hoped not. She would barely come up to his chest when they stood together or laid together. He would crush her. Maybe Vegas was not so good at her job after all.

The blonde giggled and took a step back. “Oh no. We’ve not been matched. I also work at My Single Alien. I’m Heather Roberts. I’m a matchmaker.”

“A what maker?” Solan shook his head. The space station’s primitive universal translator system seemed to have a glitch. It translated the human’s words to hatchling maker.

“Heather helps to find aliens their perfect match,” Vegas said. “She’s an expert profiler.”

Solan raised his chin and looked over their heads. Humans always insisted on pointless talk before getting down to business. It was no wonder their planet was such a mess. They’d likely been discussing the weather and hadn’t noticed someone detonating bombs all around them.