Bocc ran into the village, his heart pounding, his body covered with perspiration. The explosion had been seen clear across the valley. A starship. Not hers. It can't be hers. It's a day early. It can't be.

"Were there any survivors?" he asked, not expecting a response from the Lokans milling around him. Although the males resembled him with their blue–black hair tied back in braids, their faces tanned from years spent in the sun and their eyes an identical silver, they belonged to the tribe and he didn't.

"One survivor." Minarb braved the chief's disapproval by answering him. The young woman stood in the concealing shadows of her family's stone hut, her high forehead furrowed with lines and her eyes dark with emotion. She plucked at the bodice of her white leather dress.

"A female." She carelessly offered him, the outcast, more information. "We thought there were two, but the other is a machine and he is broken. They're gathering the parts for you."

A female. My female. "Where is she?" Bocc glanced around them, eager to finally meet his mate. Minarb stared back at him, her pretty face blank. "Where is the female?" he clarified.

"She's in the claiming ring." The young woman crossed her arms, the action lifting the large breasts Tukbar found so appealing. "All of the unmated males will fight for her, including your brother." She scowled.

The claiming ring. Bocc placed a hand on his sword as he strode toward the center of the village, the flattened stone path crowded with people.

"I wish you well," Minarb recklessly called after him. "If you mean to fight, I hope you're the one to win her."

I will be the one to win her. "Let me through." Bocc pushed past the rowdy mated males and the cheering youngsters. The ale flowed freely, every raised hand carrying a tankard, and bets were called out, his brother Tukbar's name mentioned frequently as the favorite.

This is one contest I won't allow him to win. Bocc hopped over the wooden barrier separating the spectators from the contestants.

His gaze was immediately drawn to the far end of the ring. By the gods. Bocc stared. Starla was restrained to the claiming pole, her hands drawn behind her dainty physique and attached to the intricately carved wood, the restrictive position thrusting her small chest upward.

I will feast on those breasts tonight. Savage desire slammed into Bocc and his body hardened. She appeared fit and healthy and mercifully unharmed by her ordeal. An animal skin clung to his mate's lithe form, dirt and grease smeared across the leather in a pattern as exotic as she was. Brown curls tumbled over her slight shoulders, sunrays tipping the tendrils with fire.

Needing to feel her heat, Bocc moved closer. His brother's tribesmen, not daring to publicly acknowledge their private friendship, turned their backs as he passed. Bocc ignored their snubs, strengthened by the knowledge that he was no longer alone.

Starla raised her head, met his gaze, and Bocc's breath caught. The Federation had sent him images of her as an incentive to work harder and to sacrifice more and those images hadn't lied. Her brown eyes were as rich and dark as newly tilled soil.

She was worth every sacrifice. "Mine."