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single word. But it cut Dreylan like no blade he knew. His chest tightened. “Marriage?”
    Naya nodded. “Marriage will save New Earth. I am my people’s only hope. Premier Ipari wants the perfect wife. A wife who will be everything he wants and nothing he doesn’t. A wife who will become exactly what he wishes her to be—a trophy men in all worlds will covet.
    “I am to be Premier Ipari’s wife, and on consummation of our marriage, New Earth will become a member of the Galactic Union and forever be protected by its might.”

Chapter Four
     
    Dreylan stormed through the crowd, mindless of the startled—and in some cases, fearful—expressions. He wanted…what?
    Fuck, what did he want? He growled silently, clenching his fists and jaw.
    He wanted to kill that conniving, narcissistic bastard, Pretorik Ipari.
    He wanted to know why he was experiencing dream-invasion memories about a Terran he’d never met until today.
    He wanted to lose himself in her eyes and bury his cock into her hot, tight…
    Shit . He wanted a drink. He needed to cool off.
    He moved through Level 7, heading for the port’s least raucous bar, The Steam . Some decent Ozio would slake his thirst, if not his lust for the intoxicating Terran he’d left bound to the bed in his rented room. An image of Naya flashed through his head, stretched out on his sleeping station, her sublime body naked, an inescapable band of white io-energy imprisoning her on the bed by her right wrist, enraged indignation flaring in her glare.
    Dreylan shook his head, trying to erase the alluring memory. A dull ache throbbed just below his right eye and a begrudging chuckle escaped him. Naya had not wanted to be cuffed to the bed. He’d felt her punch before he saw it.
    He reached up and touched his sore cheekbone. She knew how to fight. He’d recognized the ancient New Earth style, a mysterious combination of animal movement and meditation. Unusual but deadly. Who’d taught her? The monks who’d raised her?
    Another image flickered through his mind, quick and disturbing. A group of castrated men watching Naya’s lithe body move in fluid action, their stares locked on her long legs, on her subtly muscled arms, on her breasts…
    Oh for fuck’s sake, Tarq. Stop it.
    He dug his nails into his palms and pushed deeper into Mercy’s more seedy section. Ozio. He needed Ozio.
    “Excuse me? I’m reporter Itia Va, for the Mercy Watcher . Can I ask you a few questions?”
    Dreylan stopped, scowling at the reporter barring his way. She looked petite but athletic, full of barely contained energy. And feisty. Very feisty. Exactly the kind of woman he would have once fucked to relieve his tension. Now…
    Another uninvited image of Naya popped into his head. He scowled. Shit , he needed a drink.
    “I’m not from here,” he growled, giving the woman a flat look. “There’s nothing I can tell you.”
    She straightened, the smartcam on her shoulder pointed straight at him. “Oh, I know where you’re from, Peace-Keeper Tarq. Sorry, ex- Peace-Keeper Tarq.” Her brilliant blue eyes flashed with pointed triumph and Dreylan ground his teeth. “And you can tell me plenty. For starters, since when have you been a supporter of the illegal slave trade?”
    “I’m not.”
    “And yet, you bought a slave today.”
    She stared at him, chin tilted, shoulders square, the damn smartcam on her shoulder swiveling back and forth from her to him to her again, like some kind of live serpent.
    He stared at her. Hard. Silent.
    Uncertainty shimmered in her eyes—here was a woman clearly used to getting what she wanted. Her feet shuffled once, twice, before, with a reluctance Dreylan suspected was painful, she stepped aside.
    A distant part of Dreylan admired her. Backing down wasn’t something that came easily to Itia Va, that much was obvious. With a slight nod of acknowledgement, he continued walking through the crowd, ignoring the curious looks.
    He needed Ozio.
    The Steam was packed to