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compared to the Houston heat and humidity.
    He stripped off his human clothing and lay on the cool bedspread, allowing his Asazi form to return. He closed his eyes, but the images of the dark-haired, green-eyed spitfire wouldn’t go away.
    Finn reached for the remote, turned on the television and tried to immerse himself in the interests of humans.
    He could not. The programming held little of interest, and Marissa would not stop plaguing his mind. He had time to kill before returning to Two West Two .
    Spying the files, he tossed the remote on the bed and sat up. When he flipped the top one open, he found himself looking at that green-eyed vision’s driver’s license photo. Marissa Secilia Sanchez. Target 41. Suddenly, knowing what would happen to the women mattered. He never paid attention to rumors or whispers, especially ones that didn’t concern or involve him, but he’d heard stories about what had happened to human women in the First Wave. His grandmother was an exception, because the Asazi in charge hadn’t counted on his grandfather falling for a human. His grandfather hadn’t even counted on that.
    That had changed a few things. First, she was taken out of the isolation that the human women of the First Wave had been put into. She was brought to live with the Asazi, to assimilate. She did a good job, but no other human woman was allowed to do that. She wouldn’t have been, either, except Finn’s grandfather was a top-ranking general in the army. The others weren’t about to tell him no.
    Finn had heard that things were different now, that Asazi technology had improved, that the dangers and methodology had changed. Live female humans are no longer needed. There is no reason to accommodate transporting them.
    What in the curses’ name did that mean? If not live females, then—
    A brief image of Marissa—pale, eyes clouded over in death—crossed his mind.
    He didn’t want to think of that. He looked at the cell phone, wanting to call Kal, to ask for details. He punched the headboard, trying to jar the visual away.
    He fought the urge to call Kal, his Asazi sensibilities battling with his human urges, his military training fighting his emotions. He couldn’t call Kal. That would create complications, draw attention to his human qualities, his ability to remain objective. These types of assessments of him would derail his military career. They’d lose respect for him and he’d be lost behind a desk, forever. No assignments, no missions, no excitement, no promotions. Just a dull, dreary, cubicle-centered life.
    Then what were his options? He paced the room, picked up the remote again, flipped channels mindlessly.
    His image in the mirror caught his eye, actually catching him off-guard. Not because he was in his Asazi form, but because his usual shimmering green hue had been replaced with orange undertones. Green represented calm. These orange undertones were becoming more pronounced with every second.
    Orange. The color of anger. A color and an emotion that rarely made its appearance in Finn. He’d always worked hard to control his emotions. And he’d always succeeded. He prided himself on that success.
    Evidently he wasn’t succeeding this time. He didn’t want to see his angry orange Asazi color. He’d sooner take on his human form. He muttered a curse, controlled his pulse, manipulating it, beginning the conversion to human once more. His wings folded, receded. His skin became a ruddy human color once more.
    He flicked the remote. One channel. The next channel. Another one. And another one. And another.
    Loud moans stopped his rapid procession through the channels. A woman was on the screen, one with long dark hair, nude, sitting astride a man, rocking herself on his body. Her head was thrown back, hands cupping, caressing her breasts.
    A strange sensation, an unfamiliar one, not unpleasant, tugged at Finn’s groin area. A glance confirmed what he hadn’t yet experienced in his human body. His