Page 1 of Sublime Target

ONE

As Jerik Garul, master weaponsmith and former High Commander of the Kordolian Imperial Militaries, strode down the corridor, he ruminated on why he was so irritated.

Maybe it was because he wasn’t used to asking for things. He ran the divisions under his command with a Callidum fist and prided himself on getting things done with brutal efficiency.

But there was something he just couldn’t attain, even though he’d been trying.

He was restless. Edgy. More short-tempered than usual. Ever since his comrades had started to fall for human mates, he’d been left constantly wondering…

What it would be like.

Even Ikriss, that too-clever-for-his-own-good bastard, had gotten himself shacked up with a human female.

If Ikriss could find a mate, then surely so could he.

The problem lay in the execution.

His Kordolian comrades had come across their mates by chance. He’d seen it time and time again with the First Division warriors. They’d go off on some hazardous mission and return with these perplexing, soft-skinned, outspoken creatures by their sides.

And it had quickly become obvious that they would tear down the stars to protect them.

Kaiin’s Hells; even Tarak al Akkadian, the only man the Empire had feared—and for very good reason—had fallen under the spell of a human.

She was one of the main reasons he’d finally gotten off his Callidum-plated ass and brought down the Kordolian Empire.

Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone to obsess over like that?

But Jerik was hardly in a position to encounter any human females by chance. Tarak had all but locked up this sector of the Universe. The fleet was in position. The defenses were in place. Security was set to the highest possible level.

He couldn’t imagine himself just cruising down to Earth and casually strolling into some human venue—a bar or something—and attracting the attention of some human female.

Firstly, most non-Kordolians were afraid of him. It wasn’t like he tried to intimidate anybody on purpose. But he looked a certain way and spoke a certain way, and he’d held a position of considerable power from the most feared military in the Nine Galaxies.

Secondly, he had no idea how to talk to humans. He’d had brief encounters and passing interactions with the human mates, but for the most part, humans remained largely a mystery to him.

Short of taking his mate by force, what was he supposed to do?

Well, one could always ask.

Jerik gritted his teeth. He didn’t like asking for things. Everything he had, he’d earned through hard work. His single-mindedness had served him well, and he’d clawed his way up through the ranks—from lower division grunt to High Commander.

But… this was a matter of survival of the species and all that, so he supposed he could make an exception.

Besides, the one he was asking was Tarak, his longtime friend and commander—the only one he would ever take orders from.

Tarak wasn’t like the other generals Jerik had served under. He didn’t command his troops from a remote station, safely away from the crossfire. More often than not, he was on the front lines, in the crossfire with the grunts, hauling their asses out of trouble when needed. Tarak wasn’t the sort to let power go to his head, even though he knew how to wield it so very well.

Jerik reached the Qualum doors of the Fleet Station’s armory. Registering his biological signature, the doors unraveled to reveal a vast chamber stacked with all kinds of weapons.

There were rows upon rows of plasma guns, illuminated by the soft blue glow of the charge lights. There were cannons and long-range artillery guns and incendiary devices.

And Jerik’s favorite…

Blades.

Rows and rows of obsidian Callidum blades, perfectly weighted and calibrated. No two were identical; they were designed for individual anthropometrics and fighting styles. He knew because he’d tested each one himself.

One might wonder why Kordolians were so obsessed with swords when they had much more powerful plasma guns at their disposal, but Callidum swords were the single best weapon for close-quarters on-ship combat.

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