by Lea Kirk
ABOVE
THE STORM
SILVERSTAR MATES
Intergalactic Dating Agency
USA TODAY BESTSELLING AUTHOR
LEA KIRK
ABOVE THE STORM
Silverstar Mates
Intergalactic Dating Agency
Love can be as elusive as stardust.
After thirty-five years married to a controlling husband, Robyn Martin Donahue now has her freedom, friends, and a job she adores. And there’s still room in her heart for a special someone. Where in the galaxy can she find a man who will love and respect her, not try to rule her?
By law, a monarch cannot govern alone.
Recently widowed Kyzel Raptorclaw, the remaining sovereign of his clan, is on the hunt for a new mate. This time he wants more than just an ally; he wants love. But breaking with his peoples’ ancient mating tradition comes at a personal price—one his new mate may not accept.
Can Kyzel convince Robyn they are better together, or will their happily ever after crash and burn before it has a chance to soar?
Welcome to the Silverstar Agency, specializing in intergalactic love matches for those over fifty.
Contents
About Above the Storm * Chapter 1 * Chapter 2 * Chapter 3 * Chapter 4 * Chapter 5 * Chapter 6 * Chapter 7 * Chapter 8 * Chapter 9 * Chapter 10 * Chapter 11 * Chapter 12 * Chapter 13 * Chapter 14 * Chapter 15 * Chapter 16 * Chapter 17 * Chapter 18
Excerpt from Wing and a Prayer * Want More Intergalactic Dating Agency? * About the Author * Other Books by Lea Kirk * Copyright
Chapter 1
What is a love match? Kyzel Raptorclaw stared at the projection of the mate matching application that hovered in the air over the table in front of him. A monarch should know, should understand, but this was beyond his experience.
He shifted his backend to ease the ache from sitting too long on the coved wooden perch. Careene had known—on some level, at least. And it had resonated with her enough to pluck a death-bed promise from him.
“Your next mate, Kyzel, choose her for love, not duty or tradition. Swear it.”
He had so sworn. There had been no other choice. After more than thirty-seven sun migrations together as co-monarchs of the raptor clan, he could not let her soul pass into the Great Aerie in anything other than a state of peace.
It was now nearly one long sun migration of mourning, and secrets, since her passing.
“Are you sure you must do it this way, Kyzel?” The question came from the male at the opposite end of the long wooden council table.
He raised his gaze to meet Rol’s eyes, one gray one blue—a unique combination for a raptor. His childhood friend, and full-time prime advisor, understood the reasons behind his subterfuge, but had reservations. Heavens, he had reservations, yet he must follow through. It was a sin to disregard a deathbed vow.
“Do you know a better way to both keep my promise and fulfill the law?” Because the law for surviving monarchs was clear: a sun migration to mourn, another sun migration to find a new mate and co-ruler.
If he did not fulfill the law, he would be replaced as the elected leader of the raptor clan. In short, he would betray the confidence of his people. Yet, fulfilling his promise to Careene could very well disturb the fabric of Bezchian society. No, not could…would. Once the elders found out, they would protest. It was not his intent to undermine the immortal mate-matchers of the Firewing clan, but they did not make matches for this elusive emotion called love. Their matches were made based on logic and the strengthening of the families. It was a sacred duty they performed for the four mortal clans, and they took it very seriously.
Rol shook his head, the silvery streaks through his dark headfeathers catching the light from the ceiling fixture as he did so. “I had hoped that during your time of mourning, a better air current would open to you than the services of an agency located on another world.”
So did I.
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “The Silverstar Agency has an excellent reputation for love matches. Their success rate rivals that of the elders.”
“The elders did well by you and Careene.”
True. Both of them had had the desired strengths of character to lead their clan, and, by law, no monarch could rule alone. So, they had entered into a mating union together, provided six heirs for the Raptorclaw clan, and led their people in harmony and prosperity.
Kyzel rested his forearms on the table and let his wings droop a fraction. “As fond as we were of each other, it was never a love match. And that is what she wanted for me.”
“But, Earth? We know so little about them.”
True. The Galactic Alliance of Planets had admitted the obscure little planet into the union a mere ten sun migrations ago.
A chuckle rose up. “Honestly, Rol, you have already admitted several times that such a match might help solidify our relationship with Earth. It is largely due to your efforts that the Bezchi Intergalactic Trade Guild has finally reached out to them with a request to open negotiations.”
Rol fluffed the feathers of his mighty wings and made a harrumph sound. “Only because Captain Sovah’s Earthling mate would not stop beating her wings at me.”
He gave an amused huff at the turn of phrase. “She does not have wings.”
“And there is another issue,” Rol raised one finger and shook it in his direction. “They have no wings, or even talons.”
As illustration, Rol extended and retracted the claws embedded in the tips of his fingers.
“Eva’s lack of wings, and the presence of finger and toe nails, does not seem to have affected Sovah’s feelings for her.” The older couple had been a mated pair for over fifteen sun migrations, ever since Sovah had discovered and freed the human female from an illegal slave ship.
Admit it—they have something you and Careene never had.
Something the elders had never acknowledged either. He tapped one finger against the opposite forearm. Could Careene’s close friendship with the captain and his mate be why she had made her request?
“You know,” Rol said traced a design across the tabletop with one finger, “you could have the elders match you with a younger mate who could provide more heirs.”
Anger swelled in his chest. He slapped his palms against the table and rose, unfurling his wings almost fully. “Again, no.” How many times did he have to say it? “At sixty sun migrations, the last thing I need is a new brood of fledglings to chase around. I have done my duty to Bezchi in that department, Rol. Have you?”
Red colored Rol’s face from pointed peak of his headfeathers down to his chin. His friend drew his wings close to his back and dipped his head in a show of submission. “I chose to serve our clan and Bezchi by serving you and Careene, Kyzel.”
Shame washed away the anger, and Kyzel blew out a gust of air. “I did not mean to devalue your contribution, my friend. Forgive my words spoken in haste and frustration.”
The stress of this decision must be weighing heavier on his wings than he’d realized.
He straightened and shoved his fingers through his headfeathers. “I do understand the sentiment you are trying to convey, Rol. I truly do. I do not seek to disrespect the elders; they are vital for the continuation of our society. But I have done my duty to all, as did Careene. We have assured the future of our clan, and our world, with more than enough heirs. I have no desire to enter another arrangement with a younger, fertile female. Bezchi has what it needs from me. It is my turn to find a female of age with me to share what remains of my time this side of Aerie.”
The final choice was up to his mate, of course—whoever she was. And rejection was always a possibility. A ripple of unease tingled through his wings as he returned his backend to the highly polished perch. This would be a quest of faith, one in which he would put his trust in others he did not know. Others not from Bezchi.
“You spoke to your heirs, then?” Rol’s question broke through his thoughts.
“Yes. They are all in support of my choice.” Especially the youngest three, who were not yet mate matched.
“Then by all means, submit the application now before the rest of your advisors arrive. They will be here at any moment.”
He shifted his gaze to the projected document and tapped the fuzzy outline of the button marked Submit at the bottom. The image blinked out of existence and another took its place.
Application and bio-sample accepted. The Silverstar Agency thanks you for your application. You will be contacted by an agent for an interview. Your agent’s name is Ms. Nixy Vogel.
“It is done.” A deep sigh slid out. “Do you still plan to make the journey to Earth with me once a match is found?”
Rol nodded. “With any luck, the Trade Guild will have progressed to negotiations stage with the humans by then. It would give me an opportunity to sit in on a session or two.”
The soft sigh of the doors opening to admit his lesser advisors, Kopa and Vyat, ended their private conversation. Kyzel waved his hand through the projection and it dissipated.
“Greetings, my monarch.” Kopa—Rol’s presumed successor when his friend eventually stepped down—bowed her head in his direction.
Vyat mimicked her action, dipping his featherless head.
“Greetings, Kopa, Vyat.” Kyzel inclined his head as each took a seat on the backless perches on either side of the table.
It had been the four of them since Careene’s passing. An even number—which was risky if they split on a vote. That had not happened yet, but could change today depending on how well he presented the situation at hand. And if he could convince them he was not in the beginning stages of the mindlessness. Thankfully, the cognitive-stealing condition did not normally affect one of only sixty sun migrations, and there was no history of it in his lineage.
“Thank you for your attention today.” He paused as they murmured the appropriate responses. “My sun migration of mourning is near an end, and I have much to tell you about our future. I request you hold your comments and questions until I have laid out my plan.”
He then presented them with what detail they needed from his promise to Careene, and his projected path to fulfilling that promise.
“Rest assured, my advisors, I do not make this decision lightly. After extensive research, I have determined two facts. First, though smaller and wingless, the humans of Earth are compatible with Bezchians. Second, the Silverstar Agency has a nearly perfect love-match success rate. What remains is if you can support me in this endeavor?”
Silence weighed heavy in the room, which was better than he had hoped. At least neither of them had jumped off their perches to shout him down as some sort of winged abomination. Or worse, a traitor.
“My monarch.” Vyat tilted his head to one side. His crown was topped with smooth, leathery red skin instead of headfeathers. “I am not unsympathetic, but do have my reservations about this plan.”
Kyzel flicked his gaze to Rol and back. “You are not alone in this, Vyat. Even I have reservations. However, after nearly a full sun migration, no better plan has presented itself. Unless you have one.”
“If only I did.” Vyat sighed. “Still, it is my advice that you refrain from this action and have the elders find you a new mate.”
“I disagree.” Kopa’s caramel headfeathers framed her heart-shaped face and round golden eyes. Her kind were one of the few raptors with night vision. “Our monarch has served us well. I say that he has more than earned the right to such potential happiness, as unconventional as it may seem.”
A chuffing sound of disagreement rattled in Vyat’s throat. “The tradition of mate matching has also served us well, for many thousands of sun migrations.”
“True.” Kopa nodded. “Yet, would you agree that without the support of his advisors, Monarch Kyzel will be unable to fulfill Monarch Careene’s final wish?”
“I do agree.”
“And that failure to not at least attempt to do so will be a sin upon his soul, which could deny him entrance into the Great Aerie?”
Vyat shifted in his seat and lowered his gaze to where his folded hands rested on the table. “Yes.”
The poor bird was as conflicted as the rest of them.
Rol’s heavy sigh drew Kyzel’s attention back to the opposite end of the table. “You say the Earth agency has a nearly perfect success rate?”
Kyzel gave his head a single slow nod. “They do.”
“Then, there is a chance this will fail. If it does, will you agree to turn to the elders and accept a Bezchian mate?”
“That sounds fair. I agree to do this.”
“Then you have my support, my monarch.”
Satisfaction flashed in Kopa’s eyes as she turned to Kyzel. “You have my approval as well, my monarch.”
“Which leaves me.” Vyat chuckled and shrugged his hands. “Despite our current even numbers, we do not seem to be in danger of a split vote. You have my support, my monarch, although I still have reservations. But the future is unwritten, and I look forward to meeting your new mate.”
Kyzel dipped his head in gracious acknowledgment. “I am humbled by your support, my advisors. Rol, will you oversee announcing our plan to our clan?”
The sooner word got out, the sooner he could address his peoples’ questions and concerns. It would be reassuring to have most, if not all, on his air current before Silverstar located his mate.
I hope you are right about this, Careene.
Chapter 2
“I can’t believe you talked me into this crazy idea, Meryl.” Robyn Martin Donahue stared at her cell phone, which lay on her kitchen breakfast bar, as if it carried a contagious disease. “Why am I even listening to you?”
She shifted her gaze to her best friend perched on the stool next to hers.
“Because you know I’m always right.” Meryl took a sip of wine. “And because you deserve to have a guy in your life who will treat you right.”
Okay, that might be true. Beyond the kitchen window screen, the late summer night was alive with crickets and young party goers hanging out at the park across the street. But in the tiny, well-lit kitchen of her mid-twentieth century bungalow, it was just her and Meryl, having their weekly wine and whine session.
“But, dating an off-worlder?” Funny how that sounded better outside her head.
Meryl barked a laugh. “I think we can both agree that Earth guys haven’t exactly panned out for either of us.”
That was true. Kevin, had been a verbally abusive mega control freak. He still was, with his weekly “check-in” phone calls. Gracious, how had she managed to live thirty-five years with the guy and not suffocate him with his pillow?
“Besides,” Meryl continued. “You deserve someone who doesn’t mysteriously bolt after a couple of dates.”
Not this again. Kevin wasn’t the reason she couldn’t seem to keep a guy around. If anything, it was her expectations that scared them away. Yes, she could do better than her ex, and a couple of times she’d thought she had. Too bad none of the handful of guys she’d dated in the last five years had felt the same about her.
But Meryl wasn’t going to distract her with that old disagreement.
“All right.” She straightened her spine and adjusted her black-framed glasses on her nose. “I’ll submit an application…if you do too.”
Meryl’s hazel eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yehhsss, you.” Because what off-worlder wouldn’t want to date Meryl? She was tall and slim, and had been mistaken for Michelle Hurd more than
once. The complete opposite of my pale, blonde, frumpy, librarian-in-a-sweater look. “C’mon, Meryl. Ya know you want to.”
“Date, yes.” Meryl frowned critically at the final centimeter of wine in her glass, then slid it toward Robyn over the Formica countertop. “Date off-worlders, not so sure. Hit me.”
Robyn grinned and tipped the bottle. Meryl was stalling and soon would cave. The merry chug of liquid was a promise by the crisp white wine to help deliver her friend’s consent. “Think about it this way: you won’t have to sleep with every man on the planet to prove your theory that all Earth guys suck.”
Meryl sniffed. “Maybe I want to.”
Darn you, Nathan for screwing with Meryl’s mind like that.
“Oh, please. I know you better than that.” Robyn topped off her own glass and set the bottle down with a clunk. “Unless you think you’re too old for online dating.”
“I’ll have you know, my dear Robbi, that the Silverstar Agency is a successful and reputable matching company.” Meryl tapped one finger against the stem of her wine glass. “And sixty-three is not too old.”
Kind of her not to point out that fifty-nine wasn’t either. “You’re avoiding the question.”
Her friend pushed out her full lips in a pout and glared at her wine glass. The cricket song from outside seemed to pick up, filling the silence in the warm kitchen.
“Meryl?” Robyn dragged out the l.
“All right, fine. I’ll do this with you.” Meryl reached for her own cell phone. “What could go wrong?”
A few possibilities leaped to Robyn’s tongue, possibilities that might give Meryl reason to back out. Not the least of which was that things might work out so well between her friend and some unknown off-worlder, it’d put an end to Meryl’s revenge-sex cycle. Which wouldn’t be a bad thing, all in all.
“Okay,” Meryl said. “I’m ready.”
That fast? “Did you…you already filled it out, didn’t you?”
Meryl grinned. “I know you better than that, too.”