The guy was still dressed in that remarkable black fabric that tricked the eye into thinking it was looking into a hole in midnight. The fabric worked well with the man’s completely black eyes, complexion, and sleek black hair where it was tied back in a ponytail that hung down his back. As he picked her out and crossed the paving stones with a leonine walk, a slight smile—one that reeked of challenge—bent his fine lips.

Without hesitation, he walked up and climbed onto the barstool beside hers. She caught his subtle scent, thick with pheromones. Ah, so that was the game. Dek had explained that the nobles born to the families could excrete chemicals that would influence their prey. Her quetzal-improved nose figured it was some kind of male musk meant to increase his sexual allure.

She arched an eyebrow, meeting his designer-black eyes. They reminded her of glass orbs set in his handsome face. Might have shaken someone who hadn’t spent time with quetzals.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked pleasantly.

“Danger,” Rocket whispered from behind her ear.

“Where’s your valet and entourage?” She asked. “Bit adventurous, wandering in here on your own, don’t you think? And unescorted when there’s quetzals about.”

“But, you’re part quetzal, right?” He paused while he really inspected her face, concentrated on her eyes. “That’s the exotic look. Almost as if you were drawn as an enhanced image of a beautiful woman.”

“Yeah,” she told him. “I used to be a lop-jawed hunchback with an oversized nose, and ugly enough to crack a mirror until I got cell-fucked and genetically impregnated with TriNA. Aren’t I lucky that I’ve transformed into such a stunning piece of pulchritude?”

He laughed, looking actually amused. “You’re not what I expected, Talina Perez. And, got to tell you, it’s a vacuum-sucking relief after nineteen months in that cramped warren of a ship.”

“How’re your quarters?”

“Those are really the best beds on the planet?” He stopped as Inga came stalking up.

The big woman gave Cinque a disapproving squint. “Those eyes of yours? They do that on purpose?” she asked as she slapped her towel down and took a couple of swipes at the battered chabacho wood.

“They did,” Cinque told her tonelessly, his black orbs fixing on the buxom woman.

Tal slipped her hand down, fingers lacing around the grip on her pistol. If Cinque went after Inga, she figured she could whip the pistol out, smack him across the bridge of the nose, and have him on the ground before he could recover.

But to her relief, Cinque asked, “And who are you?”

“Meet Inga Lock,” Tal introduced. “If you ask around, you’ll find that most people consider her the most important person on the planet. This is her tavern and restaurant, and she makes the best drink on Donovan.”

At that, Inga grinned. “What’ll you have, mister?”