Page 74 of Sublime Target

He knew he could just go to her again and force her to come with him, but…

He was also stubborn in his own way, and he wanted her to come to him.

So he waited.

Sitting in his office on Tranced, one of the fastest and most heavily armed warships under his direct command—well, up until now, for he’d allowed Tarak to take over for the time being—he leaned forward, dropped his head into his hands, and exhaled deeply.

This was madness.

He couldn’t get her out of his fucking mind.

Was this the longest any of them had ever withstood the Mating Fever? The others had claimed their mates relatively quickly, but they’d had the advantage of being in the midst of dangerous situations—and most of the time, in their own familiar territory.

What he was trying to do was different.

He picked up the black leather-bound volume on his desk—the mysterious publication called The Manual. Nobody knew where it had originated from. It had appeared in the Mess Hall on the Fleet Station all of a sudden; this strange book printed in perfect Kordolian on archaic parchment.

The subject matter was very modern, however. It described in detail the values and expectations of modern human women, along with regional and cultural variations.

The first chapter, which Jerik had read over and over again, was entitled Consent.

Then there was information on personality and temperament, which could be shaped by past experiences—that was nothing new to him. There was a chapter on typical human mating customs.

So far, everything he’d read had proven to be correct.

More interestingly, there was a very detailed section devoted to sex.

Jerik couldn’t bring himself to read that part anymore. Doing so would surely drive him mad—and give him an erection that would probably be the death of him.

This was the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life.

He couldn’t help but remember the part that said that human females sometimes enjoyed it when a male was dominant during intercourse.

It all depended on her preferences.

Was she like that? Because that would be complete and utter perfection. Nothing would make him happier than to consume every last part of her in his own way.

And make her feel a kind of pleasure that she would never experience anywhere else.

Almighty Goddess, please let it be so.

He wasn’t a particularly religious or superstitious man, but in this instance, he was praying.

And now he was aroused again. Painfully so. It really didn’t take much.

As if the Goddess had decided to throw him a kernel of sympathy, his comm buzzed, alerting him to an incoming caller on the holo.

He let it through. “Who is it?” he growled, anticipation coursing through him. The last thing he wanted right now was to be bothered by inane matters, but at the same time, he’d told his men to report on anything and everything out of the ordinary that happened with his Clarissa.

“My sympathies, brother.” But the figure in the holo before him wasn’t one of his men but Xalikian, rebel former prince and current Cultural Ambassador to Earth. Jerik didn’t envy Xal his job. Ever since the Krael—factions of the Old Empire that had united to oppose them—had appeared, they’d been messing with the human population, trying to convince them that it was indeed Tarak and the Darkstar Mercenaries that were the terrifying ones.

Given Tarak and the First Division’s record, that wasn’t too difficult.

They were fighting an upstream battle, and Xal had his work cut out for him to convince humans otherwise.

Jerik was in no mood to dwell on that now, though. “What news is there, Xalikian?”

“Good news for you. She finally reached out. She will be attending the Cultural Event. That’s in four rotations. Can you hold out until then, or do we need to stick you in a stasis tank and get Zharek to put you under deep sedation?”

---