Chapter 1

Rosemary:

One million credits.

It was more money than Rosemary had any reason to believe she’d ever have. It was life-changing money. Solve-your-problems money. One million credits awarded as a bonus for her sister marrying an alien. Rosemary just couldn’t believe how fast it vanished.

The ancient handheld phone vibrated with an incoming message. A glance at the cracked screen confirmed it was her sister, Hazel. Ignoring the call, she shoved the phone in her bag. She certainly didn’t spend all the money on fancy gadgets.

One million credits. Gone.

The culprit sat on her front porch in the lumpy form of her ex, Vince. That guy could sniff out money like a bloodhound on the trail of a rabbit.

“Mother fudging honey smacks.” She’d been making an effort to curse less in front of her seven-year-old. Some days were more trying than others.

“Mom?” Michael shifted in the backseat, clutching his backpack. “What’s he doing here?”

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, twisting in the front seat to give him a broad smile.

“I don’t want to go with him. He smells bad.” Michael wrinkled his nose.

“I know, sweetie. You just go inside and I’ll talk to him. Change out of your school clothes and we’ll make pizza for dinner.”

Out of the car, Michael ignored her and stood directly in front of her, as if shielding her from Vince. “Hey, buddy,” Vince said.

Michael flinched but stood his ground. Rosemary pressed a kiss to the top of his head and murmured, “I’m fine.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” Michael said.

“You wanna help? Go inside and be ready to call the cops if I shout, okay?” She kept her voice low, just for Michael.

“Okay,” he said, his tone making it clear that he didn’t like it. He swerved wide around Vince and ran into the house.

“Real charmer you got there, Rosemary,” Vince said.

Rosemary grabbed her bag from the car. She folded her arms over her chest and put on her serious face. “You got a lot of nerve showing up here. What do you want, Vince?”

“What makes you think I want something?”

She snorted. He always wanted something, usually money.

“I was just thinking how it’s a shame I don’t know my kid better.” He chewed on a toothpick, hanging in the corner of his mouth.

Yeah, he wanted money.

“The bank is closed,” she said. And broke, too.

Vince’s gaze swept up and down her form before settling on the car behind her. “You sure about that?”

“Do I look like I have any fudging money?” Outside of bar regulars, bartending during the day was not lucrative. The weekends, yes, but she had a seven-year-old kid. If things got tight, she’d ask the neighbor to watch Michael and she’d work the evening shift, but Rosemary tried to avoid that. She didn’t need to give Vince anything that could be twisted into evidence of neglect.

She rented a modest house with a tiny lawn in a decent-enough part of town. She wore holes in her shoes and her clothes until they fell apart. Michael had everything he needed. Maybe not the coolest toys, clothes, gadgets or whatever the kids just had to have, but he had what he needed.

She could wear her coat for one more winter if it kept food on the table and the bills paid.

“Seem to be dressing pretty nice for a bartender and driving a fancy car,” Vince said.

Her hands clenched into fists. “I need a reliable car to drive my son to school and practice.”

“Our son.”

“My son.” She lifted her chin. She’d fight him tooth and nail on that. Michael was her son. Vince might have donated the sperm, but he was not Michael’s father. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

“Funny thing. The law says different.” He tossed the toothpick on the ground.

Rosemary should have saved up some money and gone to a sperm bank like most women who didn’t want to be married off to aliens. There was no question about custody or parental rights when the father was a frozen popsicle. Or she could have had unprotected, anonymous sex until she got pregnant, which is the route ladies took when they didn’t have the cash for the frozen pops. That way was risky and opened up a gal to disease, or worse.

She thought she was being smart. She thought Vince was a good man. She thought that she loved him and even if they never got married, they’d be in each other’s—and their child’s—life.

She had been wrong on all accounts.

They met at the bar where she worked. That should have been her first clue, but she was young and easily impressed by the cash he splashed around. Vince liked to have a good time and spent money like it was water. His family had wealth, old money, and he was used to doing what he wanted, who he wanted and when he decided he wanted her, Rosemary couldn’t believe her luck. A man like that was interested in boring old her.

Now she knew better. Now she knew Vince saw an easy mark when he looked at her. She believed all his half-truths and never questioned anything too closely, which made her gullible beyond belief.

If she could go back in time and shake some sense into twenty-year-old her—

No. Then she wouldn’t have Michael.

Rosemary might have loved Vince at the time, but he didn’t love her, at least not the way she wanted. Vince was cut off from the family trust fund and hustled his way from one party to the next. He also had no problem “renting” out his services to any woman with the cash. Fake fiancée. Temporary husband. Baby daddy. He did it all if he got paid at the end.

The situation Rosemary found herself in, along with every other woman on Earth, was fundamentally wrong. It had been since the aliens invaded. To protect the planet, politicians bargained away the lives of every woman in exchange for protection by the Mahdfel against the Suhlik.

The Mahdfel would save Earth if they agreed that all healthy and single women be screened for genetic compatibility. Those deemed compatible were sent off as brides and the surviving family was given a pile of credits as compensation.

Aliens had literally ruined everything. The Suhlik arrived when she was just barely ten and leveled all the major cities. One day there was no television, and no electricity, and no more school. Then her father didn’t come home a few days later. Her mother did her best to keep Rosemary and Hazel safe. They moved from shelter to shelter after their house had been destroyed. Then she got sick, and Rosemary and Hazel became war orphans.

Aliens took everything.

They took her parents, her home, her safety, and eventually, they took away her choices.

Well, Rosemary Rovelli wasn’t a sucker, and she wasn’t going to sit around and wait for some hulking purple or red alien to haul her off to make babies. Married women and women with children were exempt from the genetic matching, so the Rovelli sisters did what they had to do. She had a baby. Hazel got married.

At the time, the sisters thought they were being smart. Turned out that Hazel married an abusive, controlling jerk and Rosemary got knocked up by the biggest mooch on the East Coast. Life is just funny that way.

“I already gave you all my money,” Rosemary said, truthfully. She gave him the lump sum with the verbal agreement that he would sign over complete custody of Michael. She had a lawyer draw up the papers but Vince never showed. He took the money and skipped town.

She should have known better. She didn’t give him the money until the day of their appointment with the lawyer. She made him wait and didn’t transfer a single credit until he walked into the office. She wasn’t a complete idiot.

She should have made him wait to get the money until he signed the papers. When he said he needed to use the toilet, she should have made him sit there and piss his pants before she let him slip away with all the money.

Instead, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and waited at the lawyer’s office like a chump; a sucker.

Never again.

Vince had always been a drain on her bank account. He knew all her buttons and just the right threats to make. He just had to mention sharing custody of Michael, and she would give him any amount to make him go away. His threats weren’t empty, either. Even though his family had disowned him, they would spring for the best attorney’s money could buy if they went to court. They’d do anything to protect the family’s good name and avoid the scandal of the black sheep son and the barmaid’s illegitimate child.

“As I recall, you agreed to sign over custody. I paid for it and then you ran off. You ripped me off, Vince.”

“Verbal agreements aren’t binding, sweet cheeks. That was a gift. A very fine gift, by the way, but I think it’s time to collect the rest.”

“And I gave it to you.” Her sister ran off with an alien and gave Rosemary the money, who in turn gave it to Vince to make him go away. Before the windfall from Hazel, he only showed up about once a year. It never took much to make him go away, which was fortunate because she never had much to give. Bartending paid the bills, but it didn’t quite cover the Vince-go-away fund.

“I think you’re not looking hard enough,” he said. “And I think if you don’t look again, I’ll tell my father about this mouthy barmaid who trying to drag the family name through the mud.”

There it was, the classic threat. Give me money or I’ll sic my family on you.

It was a good one. If they ever went to court, a judge would easily see that Rosemary was the better parent. She had a steady job, family support and was in the best position to provide for Michael. Vince had no job, an expensive booze habit and blackmailed women to support that habit. He wouldn’t stand a chance in court if it were just him.

But it wasn’t just him. It was his family, their money and all the prestige of his last name. She wouldn’t stand a chance against that, not with whatever pro-bono lawyer she could find.

“I think the boy needs his father. Family, you know?”

“He doesn’t need a father.” Not a father like him. “We’re fine the way we are.”

Vince shrugged. The afternoon light highlighted the stubble on his face. His whole appearance was scruffy, from the rumpled clothes, the stale beer smell and the circles under his eyes. He looked a lot rougher than he did back when they were a couple but could only wonder in horror that she once found him attractive.

She was never going to be rid of him. Money only kept him away for a little while. Threats didn’t work because he held the biggest threat of all over her head. He would always come round, she would always cave, and it would be for the rest of her life. The idea of that exhausted her. She needed a way to finish their twisted relationship for good.

“How about you sign those papers like you agreed and I won’t call the cops?”

He laughed. “Go right ahead, sweetheart. Let’s get the law involved.”

Vince shoved off the porch and walked around her car. It was new with all the latest auto-navigation systems and safety features. The car was smart: it could drop her off at the curb, park itself, and pick her later.

“The car buys you a month,” he said.

“No deal. I need a car.”

“A car, not that fancy car. Two months.”

Two months wasn’t a lot of time, but it was time. She could make do with public transportation for a bit. She’d need to move. Maybe not a house in such a nice neighborhood but someplace safe enough with a good school. She’d have to find a new job but finding a gig was always easy in bartending if you weren’t particular.

Dang it. She liked her little house and her stupid job. Stupid Vince and her stupid twenty-year-old self for thinking he was a good idea.

She should call his bluff. His parents with their social standing and all their money didn’t care about Vince. Why would they care about a squabble he had with one working-class woman? They thought she was garbage. They told it to her face when she had been pregnant and trying to find a freshly-vanished Vince.

They didn’t care about Vince as long as he didn’t bring his trouble to their door. They might care if the society pages starting reporting about a nasty custody battle, and she really didn’t want to take that chance.

“Six months,” she said, hating herself for caving once again.

A stained, foul grin broke over his face. “Four, but I’d consider adding on a few more days if you wanted to get reacquainted. You are looking fine, Rosemary.” He leaned in, rank breath wafting over her face, and made kissy noises.

She flinched away. So not happening.

This conversation needed to be over. She needed to make dinner, and she knew Michael was listening at the door.

She held out the car keys. “Take it. I don’t want to see you back here for at least six months.”

Vince took the keys with a grin and drove away with the only new car she’d ever own.

Rosemary stayed on the porch long enough to let her anger drain away. She didn’t have a solid plan for what happened in six months. She’d scrape up the money somehow, just like always.

Inside, she found Michael sitting casually on the sofa, cartoons playing on the holoscreen, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His fingers drummed against the arms of the sofa. That little faker.

“How much did you hear?” No use pretending he didn’t hear every word.

“I didn’t,” Michael said, fingers continuing to drum a nervous rhythm.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Rosemary said.

“I didn’t!”

“Michael, honey, it’s okay if you listened. We were talking about you.” She sat next to him on the couch. He flinched away from the arm she put around his shoulder but relaxed into her. Just touching her son drained away the anger and resentment Vince inspired. How such a creep helped make such a wonderful little guy, she’d never understand. She had regrets when it came to her relationship with Vince, but she had no regrets regarding Michael.

“You’re not going to make me go away with him?”

“Sweet baby cheese, no.” Over her dead body. And maybe Vince’s dead body, too. “He’s just looking for money, like always.”

“He doesn’t want me,” Michael said, voice small. His words broke her heart.

“Oh, honey. No. You listen to me. You are my absolutely favorite person in the world.” She kissed the top of his shampoo-scented head. Her baby always smelled so good.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my mom.”

“Maybe even the entire universe. That man is an idiot for not wanting to get to know you. I know the situation with your father is weird. I’m sorry, but even if I could change it, I won’t. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

“I got you and you’re my favorite person in the universe.”

“Mom,” Michael moaned, stretching out her title.

“You got homework?”

“Some math problems.” He wrinkled his nose.

“Get on it, buster, and I’ll start dinner.”

“Pizza? You said pizza.” His eyes sparkled with anticipation. The little monster was always hungry. She completely expected to go broke feeding him once he became a teenager.

“I also told you to change out of your school clothes. I see you’re real good at listening to your momma.”

He jumped off the sofa, grabbed his backpack and headed to his room. “No green stuff on the pizza!”

“Yes, my little carnivore.”

* * *

“What do you mean fired?”

“The shift starts at ten. Not ten-fifteen.”

“The flipping bus was late.” Again. If the public auto transports ran on time, she’d get to work with plenty of time to spare.

“Not my problem.”

“Can’t we work something out? I’ll make up the time.” Rosemary tilted down her chin and made her eyes wide, willing herself to cry on command. She’d escalate the situation with a wobbly bottom lip if her boss was immune to her weepy eyes.

The manager folded his arms, decision made.

Immune. Damn it.

“Look, finish up your shift, and I’ll figure you into the day’s tips.”

Wow, he’d let her have a portion of the money she helped earn. It wasn’t like the tips were that great to begin with. How generous. The bar was on the fringe of an up -and -coming trendy neighborhood and had a menu to reflect gentrification. Locals who were seriously dedicated to day drinking didn’t have the credit to splurge on their overpriced, locally-sourced organic menu and the types who imbibed on a business lunch didn’t stray out this far. Tips were never great. If he thought Rosemary was going to grovel, he had another thing coming.

“On second thought, I’ll take my pay now,” she said. The stickler-for-time wasn’t exactly thrilled about coughing up her wages, but Rosemary refused to leave without it. Cash was cash. Meager wages in hand, she called a private auto-transport. Yes, public was cheaper, but she didn’t want to break down and cry in front of strangers. If she had to cry, she’d rather do it in private.

Alone, she slumped down in the seat.

Fudge.

Inwardly, she moaned. Today was bad enough to curse like an adult.

“Shit,” she mumbled. Her skin pricked at the illicit word. If Michael were there, he’d point his finger and crow in triumph, demanding that she feed another dollar into the swear jar.

“Shit,” she repeated. “Fuck fuck, fucking damn fuck!”

Her heart fluttered at the naughty words, and she smiled. Six dollars well spent.

She needed that job. Her problems—Vince—weren’t cheap. Back when she still had money, she should have moved far, far away. Started fresh. New phone. New town. New everything, just her and Michael, starting over far away from Vince and his bottomless greed.

Maybe she should call his bluff. Vince didn’t really want to be a dad. He never expressed any interest in Michael, other than what Rosemary could afford to pay him to go away. Vince never called on birthdays or holidays. He never wanted to spend time with Michael and get to know his son. If Rosemary suddenly gave in and shared custody, Vince wouldn’t know what to do. He’d panic. Fear of actual adult responsibility might keep him away for good.

Michael wouldn’t understand all that. His face went pale when he saw Vince waiting for them on the front steps. Even if she explained her plan, that it was all fake, he wouldn’t believe her. He’d think he did something wrong to make her not want him anymore.

No. She couldn’t do that to her little man.

She’d find another job and manage to get by, like always.

An incoming call broke the silence of the cabin. Before she could swipe to ignore on her phone, the vehicle automatically answered.

“Hazel?” Her absent sister’s image appeared on the embedded screen in the cabin wall.

“Oh good, you finally answered.” Hazel leaned into the screen, all smiles. “Is that a private cab?”

“Well, I thought I’d treat myself since I got fired.”

“What! Why?”

“Late. Public transport was late again.”

“What happened to that new car?” The unspoken question hung heavy, What happened to all that money I gave you?

Rosemary scratched her nose, buying time to think of a distraction. “Isn’t this too expensive to waste time worrying about that?”

“Probably. I ask Seeran about credits, and he acts like I’ve insulted his manhood.”

Typical backwards alien attitude. Don’t let the little female worry about money.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Hazel said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

Distraction successful. “Did you really call me from space to argue?”

Hazel’s smile returned. “I have a surprise!”

“You’re pregnant,” Rosemary said. Of course Hazel was knocked up. That was the alien’s prime directive. Acquire female. Make babies. Make more babies.

“I was going to invite you to visit us, sourpuss.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You were thinking it.” Hazel’s voice remained cheerful.

“I can’t exactly afford an off-planet vacation right now.”

“I’ll pay.”

“Really? Wow.”

“There’s this winter holiday that Seeran’s family celebrates. It’s basically Christmas.”

“Alien Christmas.”

“Christmas. And I want to hug my nephew.”

“Michael has school—”

“Sign him out. People do it for vacations all the time.”

Did they? Rosemary never really had a vacation to know. “Will I be able to eat the food? I don’t want to eat that weird alien stuff.”

“We have Earth food, you know. You won’t starve.” Hazel rolled her eyes in an amazing feat of sisterly attitude from the other side of the galaxy.

“I don’t know,” Rosemary said, searching for a reason to decline. The idea of being off Earth seemed wrong. The idea of facing all those aliens, with their alien food and speaking a language she couldn’t understand overwhelmed her. “I should be looking for a job.”

Hazel pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated. “It’s an all-expenses-paid trip to Sangrin. His family owns a vineyard. It’s scenic. How can you pass that up?”

True. Her schedule suddenly had a lot of availability. Plus, getting away from Vince for a time would be good, if only for her peace of mind. If he ever found out that she took an off-planet vacation, he’d hound her mercilessly for cash she didn’t have. Only the ultra-rich—or Mahdfel brides—went off-planet.

She missed Hazel. It had only been the two of them for so long, and her sister was her best friend. After Hazel’s divorce, she had to leave town and Rosemary missed her companion. Phone calls were not enough.

“Please, Rosemary. I miss you—”

Shit. She couldn’t say no now without breaking her pregnant sister’s heart. This could be good. No, this would be good. “When do we leave?” Rosemary asked.

Mene:

Council meetings were insufferable at the best of times, but the Elder refused to stop flapping his mouth, pleased with the sound of his own voice.

Mene sent a brief message to his brother. Father will not stop talking.

Too busy to greet our guests? Lorran responded.

Mene frowned at the screen. The two Terrans were not his guests but Seeran’s, his other brother. Or rather, the sister of his brother’s mate. His mother had insisted that Mene be the one to meet them when they arrived on Sangrin. Tani claimed it was to welcome them after a long journey and make them feel welcome, rather than let an impersonal auto-transport deliver them.

He knew the true reason. Tani played at matchmaking. The sister of Seeran’s mate—Hazel, he recalled her name—would likely have a high degree of compatibility with one of Seeran’s brothers. His unmated brothers.

Tani wanted grandsons more than she respected the autonomy of her sons. Mene was not interested in being matched to a mate, and he was not interested in claiming the passed -over sibling of Seeran’s mate.

Good. Mother already sent me to spaceport, Lorran typed.

Mene growled low in the back of his throat. He did not want his charming and personable younger brother to greet the female.

I will be there. Mene’s fingers stabbed at the screen as he entered the words.

Afraid the female will prefer my company?

No.

He did worry that the Terran female would prefer Lorran to himself. He didn’t want her, but the idea of her wanting Lorran sat uncomfortably with him.

I don’t care, Mene wrote. Just fetch the Terrans.

So gracious. So inspiring. Truly, a leader of warriors.

Mene chuffed at the screen.

“Something amusing you, Warrior Rhew?” The Elder’s dry voice rustled across the expanse of the council chamber.

Mene shifted his stance, standing at his attention behind his father’s chair. “No, sir. I followed up on a previous mission.”

The elder turned to Oran. “Monitoring these sessions is his only mission. Our security’s focus should not be split. We are far too important to leave vulnerable and exposed because this young one is...is flirting.”

Flirting? Mene bit his tongue. Elders demanded respect, even the pompous, self-important windbags.

Oran choked back a laugh. Though his hair was white with age, he remained in peak physical form. If an attack happened, Oran was not so far advanced in his years to be helpless. “The hour grows late. I believe our families are anxious to celebrate Golau.”

The Elders of the Council murmured agreement before breaking for the evening. A mix of Mahdfel warriors and Sangrin politicians populated the council that oversaw Mahdfel activity on Sangrin. The council members fancied that they directed the clan warlords, but Mene saw the truth: the warlords listened to the Council out of respect for experience and wisdom. If they disagreed and defied the Council’s will, there was little recourse.

The little recourse was him, the Council’s enforcer, but Mene rarely had to act in that capacity. The times he had done so had left vivid reminders on his body.

Currently, the Council argued about a power struggle between two warlords. A young, ambitious warlord had designs on a larger clan. Tradition demanded that the warlords resolve it among themselves. The clans self-governed, mostly, and the most powerful and cunning warrior rose to the rank of warlord. The trouble in this situation was the older warlord with the larger clan was deeply unpopular with the Council. The younger warlord was reckless and let the Suhlik, their sworn enemy, gain an advantage.

Mene had the feeling that if the warlords did not resolve this soon, he would have to mediate. His form of mediation did not involve sitting around a large table and flapping his maw. His mediation was violent and direct.

For the most part, the council directed the Mahdfel clans of Sangrin, spent money building stations and equipment, funded research, and oversaw the testing of the Sangrin female population for genetic compatibility, in accordance with the Mahdfel-Sangrin treaty. The Mahdfel had defended Sangrin against invasion for several generations. There remained little for the Council to do at this point but squabble about taxes and perceived insults to their honor.

Mene’s father, Oran, left active duty for this. Worse, Oran expected Mene to follow in a political career.

He hated politics. Almost as much as he hated politicians.

A small female, hair white as the snow on the ground, motioned for Mene. “Elder Deron,” he said, nodding his head.

“I want you to meet my daughter, Charin,” Elder Deron said. He tapped the shoulder of a younger female standing next to him. She turned around, a pleasant smile on her face, and visibly flinched when she saw Mene. Not unattractive, the female was slight in stature, and her small horns curled delicately from her brow. Her color drained away, but her smile remained fixed in place. A true politician’s daughter, hiding her disgust at his scars.

Mene gave a short nod, ignoring her revulsion. He should be used to it, but it still stung. Regardless, it did not matter. Her scent did not appeal to him. Recently invented, the genetic compatibility test replaced the traditional method of hunting a mate via scent. According to mated males, though, the aroma of their female was the most luscious, delectable fragrance they had ever experienced.

Mene wanted that. He wanted to find his female, to detect her unique essence and let it overwhelm his senses. He wanted her taste to explode on his tongue as he licked the salt from her skin and the cream from her quim. He wanted her to genuinely smile when she saw him because he was a vain creature, and he never wanted to see the shadow of fear in her eyes. He wanted to hold her, protect her and make a family with her. It was a deep-seated need, one embedded in his genetic code by the Mahdfel’s former masters, he knew, but that did not diminish the need.

He refused to settle for anything less, and he felt no such pull with this female. Charin was not his.

She murmured a greeting, eyes demurely downcast. Even if her scent had intrigued him, that alone would have been enough to turn him away. Mene had no patience for a shy and tender female.

“She is a Mahdfel widow,” Elder Deron said, as if that revelation would magically make them compatible. She was simply not his.

“I wish you a festive Golau,” Mene said blandly. “My mother has made many promises of my time, and I must deliver my father safely home. Please forgive my departure.”

First, his mother played matchmaker and now Elder Deron. Was there no escape from meddlers?