That, and I wanted an Atlan warlord like Tane for my very own. Or Bahre. Hell, I wasn’t picky. Any warlord would do as long as he looked at me the way Tane looked at my friend Elena. Lucky, lucky Elena. But…Atlans didn’t bite. Did they?

I opened my eyes to see a kind but not smiling Warden Egara looking at me with her lips tight and her head tilted at an angle as she studied me. “Are you all right?”

Was I? Well, my body was still pulsing with the aftershocks from an orgasm that hadn’t really been mine. I’d been bitten by some kind of freak alien with fangs and loved it. Wanted more. My wrists were in restraints so I wouldn’t fall off the chair as I writhed and begged some unknown alien to pump his cock into me, bite me, and make me scream. And I had no idea what the hell I’d just seen. I’d signed up to get matched to an Atlan. Not…that. Whatever that alien creature had been.

“I don’t like vampires. You know that, right?” The thought of sucking blood had always made me nauseous. Gross. Just gross.

Warden Egara raised her perfectly arched brow. “There are no vampires in the Coalition Fleet.”

“Then what’s with the fangs?”

She glanced down at the tablet screen she held in her hands. “You have been matched to the moon base Rogue 5. The people there are hybrid descendants of a native race of fanged creatures who lived on the planet Hyperion.”

“All of them? They all have fangs?”

“Yes.” She studied me for long, silent seconds. “Did you find the bite uncomfortable?”

I couldn’t lie. I wanted to, but I couldn’t make myself do it. “No.”

“Excellent.” She seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as she ran through a series of rapid-fire questions. Was I married? Did I have children? Was I legally responsible for any children here on Earth? I would have thirty days to reject the match. Blah. Blah. Blah. I’d already read everything, checked every box, and answered all these questions more than once. I barely listened. I couldn’t stop thinking about those fangs. That orgasm. That feeling of being blissed out.

That kind of pleasure would be addictive. I’d be eager. Desperate. Needy. I hated that. What if he said no? What if he got her—me—all hot and bothered and needy and then refused to bite me? I would not be like that woman in my dream. I would not beg. Would. Not.

“Why do they bite? What’s in that venom?”