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“Not until the war is over.” Loka returned the click of horns—it was a gesture of friendship and agreement. “I would not want a life mate drawn into such danger. Nor would I want my children to be put at risk.”

“Then you will need to set up a home away from our planet. Did you hear the latest reports? Two central cities took hits.”

A growl rumbled in Loka’s chest. “I have not heard that. Were the casualties bad?”

“Several thousand. A retaliation is being planned.”

“Do they require our services? Have they found a solution to the instability in the plasma fields?” These were crucial defense shields to protect the home planet from incoming attacks.

“Your genius is not required.” Hoan smiled. “They are making progress.”

“Until they fix that issue, our planet remains vulnerable.” Loka’s thoughts returned to his work on the mapping project. Should he be here when his planet was at war? Was he being selfish with his career choice?

“Our work here is what’s important.” It was as if Hoan could read his thoughts. “We map this galaxy and we might be rewarded with our own piece of space and, you never know, a few agreeable females.”

“I only want one.”

Hoan barked a laugh. “I agree. One would be plenty. But before that, let’s eat.” He walked to Loka’s food replicator. “Two Picar pies.”

“Make mine extra spicy.”

The replicator buzzed and whirred. Nothing came out.

Hoan tapped a knuckle against the replicator. “Is this malfunctioning?”

“It worked fine this morning.” Loka strode over. He peered at the replicator. “Try again. Replicator, two Picar pies.”

The replicator whirred again before a dollop of brown sludge slid out.

“That is not Picar pie,” Hoan said. “It is, well, not edible.”

Loka rubbed a horn. “Let’s go to the cafe. The food there is acceptable.”

“Agreed. Make sure to get your replicator fixed. Brown sludge for breakfast will not be enjoyable.”

“I’ll look at it when I have time,” Loka said. That was his problem. He had no spare time. He needed to complete the mapping project, find himself a stable place to call home, and ensure he had enough resources before he courted his life mate. He needed to stop giving Heather coal. It was only offering her something he couldn’t commit to.

Somehow, Loka didn’t think he’d be able to do that. Heather Roberts had something about her that made his horns ache.

Chapter 3

Stifling a yawn, Heather wrapped the throw around her knees even tighter. It felt cold in her room, despite her having the temperature set to a pleasant twenty-one degrees. Maybe the heating was on the blink again. Whenever engineering had a big job to do, they left the smaller problems, such as room temperature and ensuring there were enough ice cream flavors in the food replicator, on the bottom of their to-do list.

Heather had asked five times for salted caramel and pecan ice cream. She was still waiting.

She slid her finger across the tablet in her hand. “These matches are dreadful.” The pairing in front of her showed a Banti matched with a woman just on the limits of breeding age.

“What’s a Banti doing on this list?” Banti were violent and had a liking for human flesh. This was quickly realized when Banti had been allowed into early negotiations, stolen a group of women, and eaten them. Despite assurances from the Banti High Council that it would never happen again, Heather was certain they’d received a ban from using My Single Alien’s services.

Maybe there had been a policy change she wasn’t aware of. Knowing the ins and outs of the Council of Representatives was way above her pay grade, and she was glad of it. Politics was not her thing. Give her a lonely heart to fix and she’d have no problem. Sort out a diplomatic crisis involving trade routes and logistics and she’d flake out.

Heather looked at the next match, also terrible. What was going on with these matches?

She took a sip of hot chocolate as she read through the file in more detail. The alien was twenty years younger than the human female. She liked quiet, bookish males and had asked to be matched with a calm-natured alien, who enjoyed reading and silent movies. A Monomar was the complete opposite. Heather scooped a blob of marshmallow off the top of her hot chocolate and sucked it from her finger.

Her bedroom door slid open. Ernie scampered out, almost silent on the carpeting on her floor. He hurried to her feet. “Your bed is prepared.”

She reached down and stroked Ernie’s metal head. “Thanks, buddy.”