ever encountered teased his nostrils. Desire rushed through his circuits. His cock hardened, pressing against the confines of his body armor.
That could only mean one thing—his planet rotations of adventure would soon be over. One of the newcomers was the female he was genetically designed to spend his lifespan with.
His side in the upcoming battle was decided. We’re fighting with the humans. He relayed that information to Dissent.
The J Model grunted and fed the drakon another piece of meat.
Truth slammed the Palavian’s hands down on the horizontal support. “You’re strong for a humanoid, warrior.”
“Fuck you, cyborg.” The male’s pleased tone belied his words.
Beings smacked Truth on the back as he waded through the crowd.
The four humans headed toward a corner of the structure. Two of the beings were male. Two of the beings were female. The larger female dusted off the smaller female as they approached a small horizontal support. A layer of gray had settled on their hooded heads and shoulders.
The smaller female appeared to float, her gait so smooth, so light, her tiny boots barely touched the floor. Her movements captivated Truth. They were graceful, flowing.
She waited near the horizontal support.
The thinnest male extracted a square of fabric and flicked it over one of the seats. The small female claimed it, drifting downward. The others positioned themselves protectively around her.
That unsettled Truth. She was his to safeguard. The delectable fragrance originated from her.
She folded her fabric-covered hands in front of her.
“How does one arrange for a mercenary here?” Her voice was as enchantingly airy and as feminine as her stride. “Does one order him or her like a beverage?”
“I will look into it, Pr—” The thin male abruptly stopped talking.
“I should look into it, Valentin.” The male with the bushy gray beard pulled on his too-small black chest covering. “As a military male, I have more in common with these…these.” He waved his leather-clad hands, appearing at a loss to describe the beings around them.
All four of them were dressed in unrelenting black. That was the only thing they had in common with many of the current patrons of the beverage outlet. Their outfits, however, were elaborately, almost dramatically crafted, as though they were playing a role they’d heard about in stories.
The male with the beard might have served in the military many solar cycles ago. But his impressive girth suggested he didn’t presently hold an active role. And lines creased his face.
The thinner male had approximately the same number of solar cycles. He extracted more squares of fabric from his chest covering, proceeded to polish the top of the horizontal support.
The larger female’s carefully coiffured hair was gray. Those curls framed a round sweet face. Her lips were puckered as she fussed over Truth’s female, plucking at her body covering, adjusting the cloth draped over her head, concealing her face from him, from everyone.
They were out of place on a rough, ruthless planet like Nereid Negative One and, if they didn’t leave soon, they’d find more than the mercenary they sought.
They would be met with violence and death.
He had to protect them.
Truth grabbed a chair, dragged it to the horizontal support and sat, straddling its back.
The older female and the two males drew blades and pointed them at his throat.
Truth blinked, surprised, diverted, completely entertained. He hadn’t projected that reaction from them. “You should only draw weapons if you plan to use them.”
“We plan to use them.” The bearded male huffed, his face turning an interesting shade of red. “No one approaches our pr—”
“Lower your weapon, Claude.” Truth’s female plucked at her hand coverings, as though seeking to reassure herself all of her remained concealed. “One is certain the cyborg has mistaken us for someone else.”
“No. That’s not it.” Truth shook his head, amused by her haughty tone. “I know exactly who you are to me…Princess.”
His female’s three companions sucked in their breaths, tightening their grips on their weapons.
She gasped. Her head tilted upward. Her face from the tip of her dainty nose downward was concealed with black fabric. Her hair was covered.
Her eyebrows were dark brown and finely arched. Her skin was light brown and decadently smooth.
“One shouldn’t be called that.” Her gaze met his and it was his turn to lose his breath. Her eyes were stunning. Her eyelashes were long and so dark they were almost black. Her brown eyes glowed. Her irises were rimmed with gold. The combination was striking.
And it was unique. He was 99.5698 percent certain of it.
She was knowledgeable about