Page 24 of Sublime Target

There’s no need to be nervous, he wanted to say, but he knew words alone couldn’t counter the immense weight of reputation.

Especially since most of that reputation was warranted.

For a human, she was doing remarkably well to keep her composure.

“Follow me,” Clarissa said stiffly, gesturing toward the exit. As he reached her, she walked away, expecting him to follow.

So he did, allowing her to stay a step ahead of him as she led him toward the transportation module the humans referred to as an elevator.

She pressed her palm against a panel in the wall and waited until the doors opened. “After you, Sir.”

“It’s just Jerik,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want her to call him Sir. It didn’t sit well with him at all.

“Jerik, then.” She smiled, a flash of brilliant white between her dusky red lips.

Why was that sight so fucking tantalizing?

Jerik remained silent as he followed her into the transportation module.

The doors closed behind them.

The elevator was lined with mirrors. The effect was disconcerting, throwing up an infinite array of repeated reflections on either side.

Why did humans always clutter their environments with unnecessary visual stimuli?

He looked at the two of them in the mirror, stealing a glance at the woman who had captured his curiosity ever since she’d been presented to him as a candidate.

He hadn’t expected to come this close to her so soon.

She really was beautiful; elegant and delicate, her skin flawless, her face immaculately enhanced by subtle applications of pigment. Her sleek black hair was tied up in a smooth bun, revealing the silky nape of her neck.

The sight of it drove him a little mad.

What would happen if he caught a tendril of her scent in a confined space like this?

Would she be in danger from him?

How did those First Division bastards do it—keep their composure?

There was a faint ding as the elevator reached its destination. The doors slid open.

Jerik caught her staring in the mirror—at him?

Surely not.

She stepped out.

He followed, a brisk breeze swirling around them as they walked onto an open-air platform.

The infernal sunlight was blinding. Jerik raised his hand to shield his eyes, squinting against the harsh light. He could see—only just.

He uttered a command in Kordolian, activating his integrated armor-suit. Worn and not integrated, it wasn’t as seamless as the symbiotic nanites his First Division brothers had been implanted with, but it was the next best thing—light, ultra-strong, and responsive.

That was what he wore almost all of the time.

He couldn’t be bothered trying to blend in with the humans; to experiment with Earthian fashions like Mavrel or some of the younger Kordolians.

He was what he was, and he was too old and battle-hardened to change his ways. Whoever became his mate—and he prayed it would be her—would have to accept him as he was, armor, scars, and all.

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