Alien Burn

He knows everyone's secrets. He guards his own.

Dhomhes sees through people. It's what makes him the most dangerous Gol-Vett in any room — and the most untouchable. He doesn't get attached. He gets information.

When the conspiracy threatening Kantenan turns out to run deeper than anyone suspected, it falls to him to unravel it. Quietly. Carefully. Before the wrong people realize he's looking.

He didn't plan on Sereya.

She's been standing next to the enemy the whole time — close enough to see things she can't explain and smart enough to know she's in over her head. When the most dangerous man on the planet starts paying attention to her, she doesn't know if she should run toward him or away.

The answer might depend on whether she can trust him before the truth gets them both killed.

The secrets run all the way to the top. And someone is burning everything to keep them buried.

Alien Burn — Book 3 in the Most Wanted Alien Brides: Kantenans series

Excerpt

Stron was already at the platform when Dhomhes arrived, standing under the awning in formal robes that looked uncomfortable enough to satisfy the Coalition.

“You look pleased to be here,” Dhomhes said.

“I've spoken to Patrie.”

“Ah. And she wished you well?”

“She hopes I fall into a shaft.”

“Perhaps avoid the edge.”

Stron gave him a flat look. Dhomhes smiled and went to find the security commander.

The man had the inspection results waiting. Dhomhes checked the names against the previous night's duty roster, then asked to see the maintenance access points. The commander accompanied him, patiently at first and less patiently by the second circuit.

At the north hatch, Dhomhes stopped.

Fresh scrapes marked the lock housing.

“This was opened?”

“During the inspection.”

The commander showed him the access record. Correct time. Correct crew. Dhomhes looked through the open hatch at the service passage beneath, where an engineer was still gathering tools.

“And the supports?”

“All checked, Gol-Vett.”

He would have liked to crawl through and check them himself. It would have taken hours, and he knew enough about these systems to recognize a problem, not enough to certify one safe.

The engineer climbed out, saluted, and secured the hatch.

Dhomhes went back to Stron.

“Satisfied?” his friend asked.

“Rarely.”

“You should try it.”

Fiviel joined them with a quiet grinding from his mechanical knee. He adjusted his robes, scowled at the fabric, and looked toward the ship's expected approach.

“How long?”

“Before the ship, or before you tear those off?” Dhomhes asked.

“I can do both at once.”

They had spent enough mornings beating each other around a training floor that ceremonial clothes felt faintly ridiculous. Dhomhes knew how Fiviel favored his leg after a hard bout, which shoulder Stron dropped before a feint. Khalzin hoped to leave with a mate. Dhomhes would be content to get through the ceremony without a diplomatic incident.

Fiviel's mouth twitched. “Are you going to talk like this all day?”

“Only if I'm encouraged.”

“No one encourages you.”

“And yet I thrive.”

Stron made a sound of disgust that was spoiled by his smile.

He had agreed to stand beside Khalzin, greet the visitors, and help make the program respectable enough for others to try. He expected a ceremony, introductions, perhaps an enjoyable evening. Nothing that would decide the rest of his life.

Stron checked the sky again when he thought no one was looking. Dhomhes hoped his friend found whatever he was looking for.

Khalzin approached, tugging once at his repaired clasp.

“Don't,” he said to Dhomhes.

“I haven't spoken.”

“You're about to.”

“We're here,” Stron said.

Khalzin looked at them, and some of the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Dhomhes let the moment pass without a remark.

The arrival beacon sounded.

They turned together. Beyond the upper branches, the Galactic Alliance ship emerged between the peaks, larger than it had looked in the approach images. Its hull caught the light as it descended toward them.

Khalzin stepped closer to Dhomhes.

“Watch everyone,” he said quietly.

“Including you?”

“Especially you,” Stron said from his other side.

The ship's engines drowned out Dhomhes's answer. Wind drove the banners sideways and pulled at his robes. He caught the loose cloth before it slapped him in the face.

Fiviel laughed.

“Not a word,” Dhomhes told him, which made it worse.

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