Page 3 of Blood Singer

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, breathing in that familiar scent. "That's what mates are for."

But even as I held her close against my chest, feeling the soft rhythm of her breathing, I couldn't shake the haunting image of King Kavan standing in that smoking clearing seven hundred and fifty years ago, watching the light fade from the eyes of his destined mate. I understood that terrifying kind of devotion down in my bones. If anyone ever laid a violent hand on Serna, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would burn the entire galaxy down to cinders just to make them suffer. I only wondered what kind of broken warrior, what kind of unpredictable beast, would claw his way out of that long dark slumber, and whether the innocent woman we sent into his realm was stepping into a diplomatic assignment or an ancient tragedy waiting to repeat itself.

Outside our window, the lights of the Alliance capital glittered like stars, and somewhere in the dark, a planet was waking up.

Chapter 1

Leila

Two weeks had passed since Chloe Blackwood called me into her office with that particular expression she wore when she had something both exciting and terrifying to offer. Now I sat in the observation lounge of an Alliance transport shuttle, watching the stars streak past in ribbons of bright light, trying to convince myself that the cold knot in my stomach was anticipation rather than pure, unadulterated terror.

"You're doing it again," Binwee said from where she sat cross-legged on the bench beside me. At three feet tall with blue skin and white hair that defied gravity in ways I still didn't understand, my Framaddi mentor had a way of reading me that would have been unsettling if it wasn't so damn useful in our line of work.

"Doing what?" I asked, though I knew exactly what she meant.

"That thing where you stare out the window and mentally compose your resignation letter." She tilted her head, her enormous dark blue eyes reflecting the starlight. "You've been an operative for six months, Leila. You have an excellent track record. Stop second-guessing yourself."

I pulled my gaze away from the viewport. "I'm not second-guessing. I'm just... processing."

"Processing," she repeated, her tone making it clear what she thought of that particular word choice. "We're about to land on a planet full of dragon shifters who've been asleep for seven hundred and fifty years, and you're processing."

"When you say it like that, it sounds ridiculous."

"That's because it is ridiculous." But her expression softened, and she reached over to pat my hand with her small fingers. "You were chosen for this mission for very specific reasons, Leila. Reasons that have nothing to do with combat prowess or technological enhancements."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the fact that I'm completely useless in a fight?"

"You're not useless," Binwee said, though her lips twitched with amusement. "You're just... enthusiastically incompetent when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. There's a difference."

"I broke your nose last week during training."

"My nose, yes. Not the practice dummy's nose where you were aiming. Mine." She touched the bridge of her nose as if the memory still stung, though the medi-unit had healed her in minutes. "But that's not why you're here. Most operatives are fitted with optical and auditory enhancements, tech that lets them see in the dark, hear conversations from across a room, and analyze threats in real time. You don't have any of that."

"Because I kept failing the compatibility tests," I said, remembering the utter panic of those early days when I had practically screeched like a terrified child at the mere thought of a surgeon implanting hardware into my eye.

"Not simply because of that." Binwee's voice was firm. "Chloe Blackwood and I both argued that enhancing you would diminish your greatest asset: your ability to read people naturally. You notice things others miss. You build trust quickly, even with beings who have every reason to be suspicious. And you have this uncanny ability to coerce even the most stubborn individuals into cooperation."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "I just talk to people."

"You do far more than that." Binwee hopped down from the bench and gestured for me to follow her toward the fabric replicator. "You spent years managing a classroom full of younglings, Leila. Do you have any idea what kind of skills that requires?"

I did, actually. It demanded high-stakes crisis management whenever a small child decided to consume glue or stage a rebellion over snack time. It required careful behavioral analysis to figure out why a quiet kid had suddenly started biting. I spent half a decade deciphering motives when a tearful culprit swore they did not steal the toy clutched in their sticky fingers. I ran information operations every single afternoon just to convince twenty tiny humans that nap time was a privilege, not a punishment.

"You have abilities in manipulation and coercion that would make a seasoned diplomat weep with envy." Binwee shuddered and her blue skin paled. "I cannot even imagine being locked in a room with that many younglings."

"You're comparing interstellar diplomacy to wrangling kindergarteners?"

"I'm saying that wrangling younglings prepared you for interstellar diplomacy better than any enhancement ever could." She made a face, no doubt remembering my description of rather hectic classroom days. "Most nobles behave exactly like temperamental five-year-olds anyway. The Drakhoni are proud, territorial, and prone to dramatic displays when they don't get their way. You're going to do brilliantly."

I wanted to argue, but something in her words struck deeper than the usual pep talk. I wanted to do well in my new role. The truth was, I didn't have anyone waiting for me back on Earth anyway. My parents had passed years ago, my mother in a car accident when I was twenty-three, my father from a heart attack just three years later. My older brother, Marcus, had moved to Japan with his wife before I'd even finished my teaching degree. We'd drifted so far apart that I couldn't remember the last time we'd actually spoken.

"Besides," Binwee continued, her voice carrying that particular warmth she reserved for when she knew I needed it most, "you're going to be brilliant because you care about people. Because you actually want to understand them, not just manipulate them. That's rare. That's valuable. And that's exactly what the Drakhoni need right now."

I wanted to argue, but something in her tone made me pause. Binwee didn't give compliments lightly. If she thought I was ready for this, maybe I needed to trust that assessment.

I drew a slow breath. "Okay. I can do this."

"Now come on," she said, already scrolling through clothing options on the screen. "We need to get you properly dressed. The Drakhoni are very particular about presentation. Showing up in your standard-issue uniform would be like wearing pajamas to a state dinner."