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all aggression out of them, making them unable to touch a woman without her permission.
    And so the Shareem were tamed, controlled.
    In theory.
    Katarina had started researching Shareem after Calder had come to the clinic, going through the Ministry of Non-Human Life Forms’ data files. She’d discovered that each Shareem was one of three “levels”. Level one—pure sensual pleasure. Level two—fun and games. Level three—dangerous fantasies and bondage.
    The Shareem called Calder, for whom the record was sketchy, was a level three.
    Katarina shivered. Dangerous fantasy described him well.
    The rest of Calder’s file held little, no holo pic, no mention of why or how he’d been burned. It noted where he lived and listed the dates of his six-month inoculations, including the one Katarina had done the week before.
    Katarina shivered. Calder had commanded the session in the clinic, and he’d more than commanded her in his warehouse. She’d never been treated like that by a man before. She was highborn and female. Men were deferential to her, always.
    If anyone in the Ministry found out what Calder had done to Katarina yesterday— or even discovered that he’d refused the scanning process in the clinic—he’d be arrested.

Arrested, confined. Terminated. Calder, the tall, commanding male who’d made her feel sexy for the first time in her life, would die.
    Her blood went cold.
    “Lady, you gonna order or block the way?”
    Katarina jumped. She’d slowed to a halt in front of a tent that served coffee and pastries, and the woman vendor behind the table was glaring at her. The thick aroma of burned coffee filled the air.
    “Sorry.” Katarina stepped out of the way as a man passed her to get to the tent.
    She stopped in shock.
    The man was Shareem. He had long black hair caught in a ponytail and wore tight black leather leggings and a short-sleeved gray tunic. A thin black chain encircled his right biceps, and his skin was bronze-colored, the same as Calder’s. In fact, his resemblance to Calder, minus the scars, was uncanny.
    “The usual,” he said to the vendor, his smooth, dark voice making it sound like an invitation to bed.
    The sour vendor suddenly grinned. “Hello, Braden. How’ve you been?”
    “All better now that I’ve seen you.”
    “Liar,” the woman said, but she looked happy.
    The Shareem reached for the pastry and coffee the vendor held out to him, paid with a credit slip then turned away, nearly running into a gaping Katarina.
    He skimmed his gaze in a flattering pass over her body then he smiled. “Hello.”
    His smile could melt butter at ten paces. His voice could sop up what was left.
    “What’s your name, pretty lady?” He lifted his thumb from the pastry and licked away a drop of honey. Katarina followed the stroke of his tongue, watched the form of his lips as he sucked.
    “Who are you?” she blurted.
    “Call me Braden, sweetheart. Who are you?”

His eyes were the same blue as Calder’s—sheer azure blue that glowed even under the shadow of the canopies.
    Her heart pounded in her throat. “May I… May I talk to you?”
    “Sure,” he said, still smiling. “Tell me where you live and I’ll make arrangements to come there, no one the wiser.”
    “No, I mean right now. And I truly mean talk.”
    His brows rose. “A highborn woman wanting to talk to a Shareem? Will wonders never cease?”
    “Please.”
    “Suit yourself.”
    Braden led her to a cluster of stools and tables under canopies. All the tables were filled but Braden looked meaningfully at two scruffy men, who immediately vacated and scuttled away.
    Braden set his pasty and coffee on the table then helped Katarina to a stool with a warm hand on her arm. “Have some pastry. Dilla has a sharp tongue but she’d a damn fine baker.”
    Katarina declined. Braden shrugged as he sat down, then broke off a chunk of pasty and put it in his mouth. He closed his eyes as he chewed, slowly savoring it. He swallowed