Prologue
Ursula woke up alone. That wasn’t unexpected, at least for the next ten days or so, but it didn’t stop her from resenting the loneliness. She preferred to be awakened on the precipice of an orgasm with a tongue, fingers, or a prehensile tail between her thighs and calloused hands caressing everywhere else with surprising gentleness. Bran and Gil always took care not to abrade her delicate skin.
Her mates, elite warriors of Uribern, served their frequent and increasingly dangerous military rotations with both stoicism and patriotic pride, fighting against the insectoid Sivuul and the even more horrific Ogranox. Uribern’s alliance with Kaan and Ahn’hudin meant they did not fight alone against two ravenous species spreading across the universe in an endless quest to consume everything they encountered. At least the Sivuul only ate the species they conquered. The Ogranox ate them, too, but they took those considered prime specimens as captives and used them as involuntary hosts for their eggs, much like parasitoid wasps. The thought of Bran and Gil battling against them frightened her and inspired her to pray for their safe return.
Not for the first time, she sighed over the loss of her third mate, Crow, the berserker for whom her young son had beennamed. Being a Urib-human hybrid physically and emotionally bonded to her triad, Ursula could no longer produce offspring because one of her beloved triad was gone.Dead.So, the Urib government sent Gil and Bran out on dangerous missions as often as legally possible in the hope that they mightbothbe killed and that she could be given to another triad who would bond with her, open her womb, and sire more children upon her.
The perfidy of the Urib government’s intentions infuriated her, but there was nothing she could do about it. Females in Urib society enjoyed privileges, not rights. It was great good fortune that Urib males generally doted upon their precious mates.
Shoving her worries aside, Ursula performed her morning ablutions and dressed in the long, flowing garb Urib culture deemed appropriate for females in the planet’s the harsh desert climate. After checking her reflection in the mirror—finely scaled, mother-of-pearl skin, emerald eyes, long white hair confined in a tidy braid—she joined her son, Crow, in the light and airy room she’d designated as the morning room.
“Mama!” he greeted her with a sharp-toothed smile. He pulled away from his nanny and raced into her embrace.
Ursula pressed a kiss to his bald pate between the buds where his horns had begun to grow. “Good morning, pumpkin. Are you ready for breakfast?”
“Yes!” he shouted. Crow seldom remembered to use his “indoor voice.”
Ursula looked at his nanny, one of the many castrati who had sacrificed his breeding potential for the honor of serving the Fangrys Triad, their mate, and their son. “How is he this morning, Suvesh?”
The nanny averted his gaze so as not to look directly into the Prima’s eyes and reported, “He rose at dawn and has already eaten once this morning.”
“Thank you, Suvesh,” she said and gave her son another hug.
The boy wriggled impatiently, so she released him. He bounded to the table and climbed into his chair. “Hungry!”
“Younglings are always hungry,” Suvesh murmured as he passed her on his way to the table where the Lady of Fangrys had established the scandalous custom of dining with a trusted and beloved servant in the mornings.
Two more castrati entered the morning room bearing trays heaped with food, most of which the child would devour. Growing warrior breed males required lots of calories. Ursula filled Crow’s bowl.
“More! More, Mama!”
She paused in the transfer of food to her own plate, knowing Suvesh preferred to serve himself. She leveled a sober look at the child and said, “Finish what I gave you and you may have more.”
Suvesh said nothing, but she felt his approval.
“Yes, Mama.” The boy pouted.
Ursula smiled at her son, keeping her lips closed so as not to expose her teeth. Bared teeth indicated animosity and threat.
As they ate, Ursula informed Suvesh of her plans for the day. The other two servants, lingering nearby to clear empty dishes and take care of any mishaps, as there tended to be with any toddler mastering the use of eating utensils, would no doubt spread the word of those plans. She hadn’t actually witnessed them gossiping, but did not discount the possibility they had the same ability as she had with her mates to communicate mind to mind over short distances.
“I’ve got some new pieces to stock in the shop,” she told Suvesh. “If you don’t mind, I could use some help keeping an eye on Mr. Yells-at-the-Top-of-His-Lungs while I integrate them into inventory.”
Suvesh nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling in silent amusement as he set down his knife and two-pronged fork. “Of course, my lady. It is my honor.”
The castratus took a sip ofti’chaland looked away for a second as he gathered his thoughts. Setting the mug down, Suvesh took a breath as though to speak further, then pressed his lips together and focused his gaze on his plate.
Ursula knew his stalling tactic well. “Spit it out.”
The servant cringed, keeping his eyes averted.
“Tell me,” Ursula commanded, having learned that the servants navigated a fine line between protecting her andnottelling her what to do. As per Bran, the Fangrys Prime,shegave the orders.
“There is word …”
Ursula sighed and set a crumpled napkin on the table beside her plate. “Suvesh, just tell me what’s going on.”
“There is word of rosvoi in the area.”
