The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Cordova Ranch — 1874

Captain Adams had whirled to face the noise: a rushing sound followed by trails of fire and pale smoke streaking upward from the distant ridge line. “Military rockets?” He breathed, though they were nothing like the ungainly Congreves he’d seen used during the war. These projectiles flew fast and straight as arrows, slamming into the underside of the disc with concussive force. The craft lurched violently, its surface rippling like disturbed water before stabilizing... but not before the Nordics still on the ground began dematerializing in bursts of orange light.

All except the three the cats had touched.

Ssstha’rel snarled, her tail lashing as she crouched protectively over her immobilized prey. ”Ours! Now!” These remaining Nordics flickered erratically, their forms destabilizing as if caught between dimensions. Rachel spotted the devices: small, beetle-like objects clamped to their clothing, emitting a faint hum that made her teeth ache.

Kaywaykla staggered to his feet, blood streaking his ocher paint as he pointed northwest. Rachel followed his gaze, just in time to see another volley of rockets streak skyward, these fired from a cluster of boulders where impossibly familiar figures waited. While, the ridge line itself was streaked by a drifting cloud of yellow dust.

The disc shuddered again, its edges blurring as it attempted to ascend. A deep, resonant tone pulsed through the air, vibrating the sand beneath their feet. Rachel’s vision doubled: for one dizzying moment she saw both timelines superimposed: 1874 cavalrymen and Apaches gaping upward alongside her 21st-century self and deputies. Then, with a sound like tearing silk, the disc winked out of existence, leaving only a sulfurous aftertaste and three immobilized Nordics.

The Cordova Ranch — Today.

Señor Cordova pressed his forehead against the ranch house’s warped window frame, the glass was cool despite the roaring ‘flames’ that hadn’t touched the adobe walls in thirty minutes of impossible ‘burning’. His knuckles whitened around the empty whiskey bottle as he watched a blue-coated soldier who was half transparent, like a daguerreotype, fading to mist, swing his saber at a seven-foot-tall blonde woman whose clothing shimmered like quicksilver under moonlight. The blade ed through her torso at first, then struck with a meaty thunk as she suddenly became solid.

“Madre de Dios...” He whispered, breath fogging the glass.

Señora Cordova materialized beside him holding two steaming mugs, her floral apron undisturbed by the flames licking the ceiling beams overhead. “What are those fireworks, mi corazón?” She asked calmly, as if it was a fiesta she was discussing.

She followed his gaze out the window and froze. One of the feline creatures, smaller than a mountain lion but moving with the same lethal grace, had just raked its claws across a blonde demoness’s face, leaving four glowing orange welts. “Are those... gatos grandes fighting with the sheriff?”

“Si, Si! But They’re not cats.” Cordova accepted the coffee with trembling hands, the heat against his palms the only proof this wasn’t pure madness. “The Apaches and soldados, they stopped killing each other when those... things came from the black balloon.” He gestured weakly at the floating disc whose underside pulsed with veins of violet light. “The gringa sheriff, she fights like a vaquero possessed, si?”

Outside, Rachel Detwhiler’s spectral form swung a cavalry carbine like a club, the stock connecting with a Nordic’s jaw in a spray of luminescent fluid and white teeth. The alien staggered, only to be tackled by Ssstha’rel in a whirlwind of gold-striped fur.

Señora Cordova crossed herself. “Angels fighting demons?”

“No.” Cordova’s coffee sloshed as another explosion rocked the landscape, this one from the ridge where very solid figures fired rockets with flaming tails but no smoke. “The sheriff told the Captain that the tall gringa women are enemies from...” He swallowed hard, “...from the future. I know, I heard her.”

More of the demoniacal women appeared in the midst of orange star bursts and Cordova’s mug shattered on the floorboards. The liquid unaffected by the ghost flames licking around the room..

“Who is on the ridge shooting fireworks?” Maria Cordova asked, her voice bemused as she tried to keep up with what was happening.

“They are Army or Air Force, I do not know which,” Señor Cordova said quietly, “they only arrived a minute or so ago but those are not fireworks they are sending up at the,,,” He ran out of words as more projectiles impacted the strange black craft.

Outside, the battle reached its crescendo. Deputy Binning, or his ghost dressed in a blue uniform, grappled with a Nordic whose pistol emitted beams that set the desert sand ablaze without burning plants. The Apache medicine man chanted as he slammed a war club into her chest. Was he a medicine man from the past or was he that thoughtful Deputy Kaywaykla who always made sure that they were alright?

Suddenly the fighting ceased as the unearthly women vanished in a myriad of sparkling orange lights.

Then the disc convulsed. A sound like a thousand church bells cracking echoed across the valley as it rose and wobbled away to the south, rising into the sky before winking out of existence, the only demon women remaining being the three lying immobilized on the ground who the cats were standing over.

Outside there was only Silence. While inside the flames faded and then were gone.

Cordova exhaled shakily. The ranch house stood whole, unburnt. The only evidence of the battle were the blue-clad soldiers and the Apache warriors who were milling around outside where they were beginning to take care of their wounded. Then slowly the Apaches and the soldiers began to fade and soon they too were there no more.

Relieved, Señora Cordova fainted gracefully into her husband’s arms.

The Cordova Ranch — 1874

Shank Adams blinked hard as the desert heat warped reality before him. A cavalry trooper, barely old enough to shave, was pressing his canteen against the lips of an Apache warrior whose chest bore horrific burns. The warrior drank greedily, his dark eyes locking onto the boy’s with something akin to comradeship. Nearby, the Apache medicine man, Kaywaykla, Rachel had called him, sprinkled crushed herbs into Trooper Morgan’s gunshot wound. The bleeding stopped instantly as the flesh pulling together quickly.

“Son of a bitch,” Adams breathed. He turned to Binning, whose kepi was still missing. “What in hell has just happened, Ed?”

Binning grinned, rubbing the bridge of his. “I don’t envy you trying to write this one up, Shank.” His voice carried that odd duality again, part the cavalry lieutenant he knew, part someone else.

Then the doubling began.

Kaywaykla stood beside himself, one version in ochre-painted deerskin, the other, younger, similarly clad but with a deputy’s badge pinned to his deer skin shirt. The two Binings mirrored each other perfectly, right down to the sardonic quirk of their lips, though the other one was dressed in khaki and wore a Stetson instead of a kepi. Rachel flickered like a candle flame, her spectral form stabilizing just long enough to wink at Adams before dissolving into the desert air for a final time. The cats vanished last, their tails dissolving like smoke. For some reason the khaki stetson had fallen to the ground at Lieutenant Binning’s feet.

Kaywaykla. the original, turned to Adams. A fresh scar crossed his temple that hadn’t been there moments before. “Well, yellow legs,” he said dryly, “together we’ve won a great victory no one can ever sing about.” He tapped his forehead. “I’ve seen things here... The war is over.”

Adams exhaled sharply. The truth of it settled into his bones. He extended his hand. Kaywaykla clasped it without hesitation, his grip calloused but warm. Around them, troopers and warriors were already moving apart, not in hostility, but with the weary relief of men who’d survived something incomprehensible together and were getting ready to head for home. They weren’t yet friends but they were no longer enemies.

The Captain turned to his Lieutenant. “How about you, Ed?” Adams asked. “Did you see things too?”

The lieutenant’s grin turned wolfish. “You bet I did. Wagons that move without horses!”

Adams barked a laugh. “That’s impossible.”

“Why?” Binning countered. “Trains do, don’t they?”

The captain shook his head, chuckling. Around them, the desert was quiet, too quiet. No insects, no wind. Just the fading ozone scent of whatever had happened here. He noticed Binning’s bare head. “Where’s your kepi, Ed?”

Binning, who was now holding the stetson touched his hair ruefully. “I think that other me has it.” He said and then plonked the stetson on his head.

A gunshot cracked in the distance, real, mundane, human. Both officers tensed. Adams sighed. Back to patrolling...

The Cordova Ranch — Present Day

Rachel came too with her face pressed into dust in front of the Cordova ranch house, Ssstha’rel’s claws pricking her shoulder. The sheriff rolled onto her back, squinting against the midday sun. Three Nordics lay immobilized nearby, their silver garments glitching like faulty holograms.

Rachel’s radio crackled, Wendy’s voice frayed with static. ”Sheriff; NORAD’s on the phone, they’re tracking another bogie heading your way. ETA six minutes.”

Ssstha’rel’s ears flattened. ”My sship, Ra-chel” She hissed.

Rachel spat dust. “Say what?”

The alien’s tail lashed. ”It was hiding behind your moon... It wass no match for the Nor-dicss. But now they are gone it iss time for us to go home...”

Kaywaykla groaned, his eyes fluttering open. When he spoke, his voice held that same layered quality Adams had heard. “They’re also coming for the marked ones.”

Rachel’s looked at the restrained Nordics and nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.

The radio hissed with static before Wendy’s voice cut through. ”Sheriff? NORAD’s tracking debris, the outgoing ship just exploded high in the atmosphere out over the Pacific.”

Rachel’s gaze snapped toward the ridge where figures in desert camo moved with military precision, packing equipment into Humvees. One silhouette stood apart from the rest, blond hair barely contained under a combat cap. “Atkinson,” Rachel growled, rolling her shoulders as she rose from the dust.

Lieutenant-Colonel Atkinson approached with the casual arrogance of someone who’d just won a chess match, her boots kicking up little puffs of alkali dust as she walked. “Afternoon, Sheriff.” Her smile did nothing to soften her hard expression “You look like you’ve been through hell.”

Rachel thumbed sweat from her eyebrow, leaving a streak of alien ichor across her forehead. “Yeah. You could say that.” Behind her, Ssstha’rel’s tail lashed against the ground like a metronome counting down to violence.

Two more Humvees rolled to a stop near the ranch house, but neither woman glanced their way. Atkinson gestured lazily toward the twitching Nordics. “I’ll be taking them... The cats too.”

Rachel’s hand hovered near her holster. “Like hell you...”

Four rifles snapped up, red dots dancing across Rachel’s chest. Atkinson’s smile sharpened. “Looks like you’re outgunned, Sheriff.”

The metallic click of a hammer being cocked froze the scene. Atkinson’s pupils dilated as cold steel pressed against her temple. Kaywaykla’s voice came low and deadly. “Your call, Colonel.“

The newcomers fanned out: MP insignia stark on their sleeves. Staff-Sergeant Driscoll stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Atkinson. “Lieutenant-Colonel Kimberly Atkinson? You’re under arrest, ma’am.”

Atkinson’s composure cracked. “On what charge?”

Driscoll didn’t blink. “Conspiracy. Aiding and abetting the enemies of the United States of America. mutiny, miss use of Air Force assets, to whit a dozen Stinger missiles, and firing on a friendly alien star ship.”

One of the MPs, a wiry corporal with a Brooklyn accent, muttered, “That last one’s gotta be a new one.”

“Friendly?” Both Atkinson and the Sheriff demanded in unison, their voices sharp with disbelief.

Atkinson’s face twisted in exasperation. “Sergeant, they’re slavers!” Her hand twitched toward her sidearm.

Driscoll’s jaw tightened, but his rifle remained leveled. “Not my call to make, Ma’am. Please come with me.”

Atkinson planted her boots wider. “On whose authority?”

“Lieutenant-General Lyman’s orders, Ma’am, faxed through to the Sheriff’s Office in Wide-Awake.” Driscoll’s tone brooked no argument.

Rachel exchanged a glance with Kaywaykla. Both stepped back in silent agreement, the Apache deputy holstering his pistol with deliberate slowness. They had been between the two groups of Air Force personnel, rifles ready, fingers hovering near triggers, neither law enforcement officer wanted to be caught in the crossfire, should one develop.

Kneeling beside the captive Nordics, Rachel watched Ssstha’rel press a clawed paw against the tallest blonde’s throat. The feline’s whiskers twitched. ”Rowl,” she hissed, tail lashing. “It was blonde soft-meat that destroyed Nordicss ship...” Her golden eyes flicked meaningfully toward Atkinson. “What iss it you monkiess ssay? ‘We owe her’?”

Rachel stiffened. One of the Nordics, her silver bodysuit glitching at the edges, lifted its head. The face was eerily familiar: high cheekbones, porcelain skin, the same individual who had mimicked Mari-belle in the jail cell.

“Son of a bitch.” Rachel muttered as the realization hit like a fist. The Air Force hadn’t just lost these creatures, they’d been releasing them.

Ssstha’rel’s ears flattened as she caught Rachel’s expression. ”Sssee now?” Then her voice dropped to a whisper only the sheriff could hear. “Your sky-warriorss play both ssidess.”

A little way away, Atkinson’s arrest was proceeding with military efficiency. The colonel’s protests died as Driscoll snapped cuffs around her wrists. “You’re making a mistake,” she spat. “Those things...”

“Best save it for the inquiry, Ma’am, only thing I can do is advise you to get a good lawyer.” Driscoll jerked his chin toward the Humvee. Two MPs flanked Atkinson, their rifles discouraging further argument.

Rachel’s fingers itched for her revolver. She forced herself to breathe. “Waya,” she murmured, “get Nolan and Gomez on the radio. Tell them to lock down the station. No one in or out without my say-so.”

Kaywaykla nodded, already reaching for his radio.

“We owe her the ba-ttle...” Ssstha’rel hissed, her tail twitching toward Atkinson’s rigid back as the MPs escorted her towards their Humvees. Rachel exhaled through her nose, watching the colonel’s blonde head dip in defeat before the door was opened for her. In an odd way, she sympathized, Atkinson had realized the truth too late, but she’d acted. She’d destroyed the Nordic ship. Burned bridges Rachel hadn’t even known existed.

“Can you ssave her, Ra-chel Sher-iff?” The cat’s claws flexed, etching glyphs in the dust.

Rachel glanced at Kaywaykla and Binning, their faces unreadable beneath the sun, then at the dozen armed Air Force personnel now fanning out to secure the Nordics. “Sorry,” Rachel muttered, adjusting her Stetson. “It’s ‘way above my jurisdiction. This is an Air Force matter, and I’ve got a feeling they’re gonna lock her up and throw away the key.” She spat to the side. “Ain’t nothin’ I can do.”

Ssstha’rel’s ears flattened. She leaned in, her breath hot against Rachel’s ear. ”I can get her off your planet.”

The sheriff stiffened. The feline’s pupils were slitted, her whiskers trembling with intent. Behind them, the Humvee’s engine growled to life.

“Talk fast,” Rachel growled.

The Cordovas’ living room smelled of lemon polish and phantom smoke. Señor Luis Cordova kept one arthritic hand pressed against the windowpane, his breath fogging the glass as he squinted into the settling dust outside. The ghosts from the past, the blue-coated cavalry had vanished like morning mist. The Apaches had disappeared too, all except Deputy Kaywaykla, his long hair stirring in the unnatural stillness as he crouched beside one of the twitching captives. And he was with the Sheriff and her little group some way away.

“Looks like it’s all over,” Luis murmured.

Behind him, his wife, Maria, knelt beside her beloved Bechstein piano, her lace handkerchief dabbing futilely at the deep claw marks scoring the polished ebony. “Dios mío, those creatures ruined the finish.” She muttered, more concerned with feline vandalism than extraterrestrial warfare.

Outside, the scene shifted again, Air Force personnel moved with crisp efficiency, securing equipment while MPs hustled their blonde prisoner toward a waiting Humvee. The officer, a woman, Luis noted, stiffened as the MPs yanked open the door. Then the purple lights came.

Not gunfire. Not explosions. Just... pinpricks. A thousand flickering motes of lilac and mauve dancing around the officer’s body like fireflies in a jar. Luis’s knuckles whitened against the windowsill as the woman’s outline blurred, her form dissolving into a radiant violet halo. One moment she was there, boots scraping the dirt as she resisted her captors. The next...

“Santa María!” Luis crossed himself violently. “She has gone!”

Maria didn’t look up from her polishing. “Back to town probably.”

“No!” Luis wheezed, pointing a shaking finger. “Gone! Vanished!”

Outside, chaos erupted. Air Force soldiers sprinted in conflicting directions, radios squawking. The same eerie lights now shimmered around Sheriff Detwhiler’s group: Rachel, Kaywaykla, Binning, the cats, everyone; their silhouettes wavering like heat mirages. Luis watched the sheriff turn toward the ranch house, her mouth forming words he couldn’t hear. Her Stetson tilted at that familiar angle just before the dancing violet lights swallowed her whole.

Three heartbeats. Then nothing.

The air smelled like ozone and warm copper. Rachel blinked, the gravity was lower than Earth’s and made it feel as if her boots were lifting slightly from the floor, not quite floating, but close enough to make her stomach lurch. The chamber stretched around them, its curved walls pulsing with veins of bioluminescent gold, like sunlight through honeycomb. Not the scout ship she had been on a few days earlier but something much bigger... Something that felt older and almost organic.

Kaywaykla crouched near one wall, fingers tracing symbols on a that Rachel didn’t recognize. His lips moved silently, but his shoulders were loose almost as if he was amused... Almost!

Binning wasn’t faring as well. The deputy clutched his stomach, his face greener than the sagebrush back home. “Jesus,” he wheezed, “I think my spleen’s in my throat.”

Atkinson stood rigid near the center of the room, her jaw working like she was chewing glass. The MPs’ cuffs still circled her wrists, though no one seemed concerned about restraining her for now. Her glare could’ve melted steel.

Ssstha’rel flicked an ear toward Rachel. ”Wel-come aboard my ship, she would be called Sssovereign in your language.” she purred, tail curling around the sheriff’s thigh. “We are ssafe now.“

Three Nordics lay supine nearby, their once silver suits now a dull-dirty grey. One, the Mari-belle mimic, hissed as a fourth feline, smaller and greyer than the others, peeled off her bracelet with surgical precision. She was their doctor, or so Rachel assumed.

The cat-doctor’s claws retracted as she palpated the Nordic’s abdomen, eliciting a choked gasp. ”They disslike… examination,” Ssstha’rel murmured, amused, “but they will learn to crave our touch.”

Rachel swallowed. The doctor’s paws wandered lower.

“Christ,” Binning muttered, looking away.

A chime echoed through the chamber. One of the unfamiliar felines, this one with obsidian-black fur and a cybernetic eyepiece padded toward Atkinson, holding a disc that glowed faintly violet. The colonel recoiled.

“Ah,” Ssstha’rel crooned, “she hass found it.”

Rachel’s hand twitched toward her revolver. “Found what?”

The black-furred alien pressed the disc to Atkinson’s sternum. The colonel convulsed, a strangled cry tearing from her lips as something beneath her combats shifted. The fabric bulged, then split and something oozed out: not blood, but something with tendrils that resembled quicksilver.

Kaywaykla was beside Rachel in two strides. “Tracker.” He growled.

The disc pulsed and Atkinson’s knees buckled as the silver mass detached, hovering like a jellyfish before the black-furred alien sealed it into a crystalline vial.

“Now she is clean.” Ssstha’rel announced, smugly.

Atkinson gasped, her forehead slick with sweat. “What the hell was that?”

The doctor abandoned her Nordic patient long enough to lick Atkinson’s temple. ”Nord-dic sspy,” she said matter-of-factly. “Growss in sssoft meat. Makes you ssee… what they want and think what they want. It was control-ling her mind, but herss is like yourss... Very sstrong!

“When sshe began to quesstion her own character wass able to re-assert itsself. Nor-dicss are arr-o-gant... They underess-timated you monkiess!” She hissed happily.

Rachel’s skin crawled. The implications settled like stones in her gut. How many others were infected? How many reports, how many others had been compromised?

Ssstha’rel’s tail-tip brushed Rachel’s wrist. ”You undersstand now, yess? Why ssoft-meat sky-warrior lied?”

Atkinson gasped. Her eyes, when they met Rachel’s, held something raw and terrifying. Not anger. Not anymore.

Something potentially more dangerous: Realization.

“I take it we’re going to be beamed down?” Rachel asked dryly, running a thumb along the unfamiliar seam of her holster. The leather felt wrong, older, like the ship’s honeycomb walls.

Ssstha’rel erupted into a cackling laugh that made Atkinson flinch, the sound was like a barn cat caught in a combine. “Oh yesss.” She wheezed, wiping golden tears from her whiskers. ”After last time’ss... complicationss? But not until your ssky-warriorss sscatter back to their ssteel nestss.” Her tail flicked toward a pulsing amber where Earth rotated lazily, Arizona was swarmed by tiny red dots that Rachel assumed were military aircraft.

Binning groaned from his fetal position near a gelatinous wall protrusion. “Christ, tell me we ain’t in orbit.”

“But you are!” The tabby-alien Tssi’kha chirped, poking his boot with a claw. “Bad meat reactss poorly to sspace.”

A night-black feline dabbed at the screen with a paw, almost as if it was swatting a fly. “Your ssilly ssky-warriorss have fired a missile at uss.” She warbled. “But do not be afraid... It iss no threat!”

Rachel ignored them all and studied Atkinson instead. The colonel’s nails dug into her own thighs hard enough to hurt.

Ssstha’rel noticed too. She stretched luxuriously before slinking toward the trembling officer, her voice dropping to a velvet purr. ”You are ssafe now, ssoft-meat. The Nor-dic leash iss... chewed through.”

Atkinson’s head snapped up. “What about me?” The demand, her voice cracked, uncertain.

Silence pooled. Even the doctor paused her invasive examination of the twitching Nordic.

Rachel tensed as Sssta’rel’s claws slid out, not in threat, but consideration. The feline traced the colonel’s cheek with a single extended claw, not breaking skin. ”You are... damaged goodss,” she murmured, “but perhapss ssalvageable.”

Kaywaykla materialized beside them, his moccasins silent even on the organic flooring. “She’s marked.” He said simply, tapping his temple.

The cats exchanged glances. Rachel recognized that look, it was the same as the one on deputies faces when sizing up a bar fight before charging in.

Ssstha’rel’s ear twitched. ”Your mind hass... hollow pl. The Nor-dicss filled them with liess.” She leaned closer, her muzzle brushing Atkinson’s hair. “But hollow things can be filled and repurpossed.”

A chime echoed through the chamber. The obsidian-furred alien with the eyepiece chirped something that made Ssstha’rel’s tail puff.

“Ah.” She straightened. “Your ssky-warriorss grow bored.”

On the amber , the red dots dwindled as aircraft peeled away from Wide-Awake airspace. Rachel exhaled through her nose. “Time to go home.”

“Not quite.” Sssta’rel muttered. “You need ssomething to protect you from Nordic tech.”

Atkinson’s eyebrows knitted together. “What about me ? Have you got something that will protectme from my own people?”

The feline’s ears twitched. Behind her, Tssi’kha made a noise like a boiling kettle, claws kneading the floor.

“Hide you from them, no! I am ssorry.” Ssstha’rel’s pupils dilated as she stepped closer to Atkinson, tail swaying like a metronome. Then her whiskers twitched: an expression almost resembling a smile. “But you could come home with me!”

Binning choked on air. Kaywaykla merely arched an eyebrow, fingers still tracing the ship’s alien glyphs almost as if he could read them.

Atkinson was close to panic as her jaw worked. “What would I do?”

“Be loved and cared for...” The cat-woman purred, her tail sticking straight up with just the tip curling coyly. She leaned in, close enough that her whiskers brushed Atkinson’s cheek. ”You very pretty hu-man fe-male. I like you...”

The colonel recoiled, her boot heels scraping the organic flooring. “Christ Almighty...”

Tssi’kha suddenly hissed, her fur standing on end as she spun toward the chamber’s far wall. The obsidian-furred alien with the eyepiece yowled a warning, her claws unsheathing with audible snicks against the floor.

Ssstha’rel’s ears flattened. ”Too late.” She then hissed at the tabby. “Sshe iss mine!”

Atkinson slumped onto the stool like a puppet with cut strings, her shoulders curving inward as if folding herself smaller could delay the inevitable decision. The feline-proportioned furniture creaked under her weight, its slemder legs protesting against her weight.

Ssstha’rel’s tail curled around the colonel’s ankle, possessive, comforting.

“If I go back I’ll get nine-hundred and ninety-nine years in a Federal pen for treason.” Atkinson moaned. “Or I become...”

Atkinson’s eyelids fluttered shut as Ssstha’rel’s paw traced the contour of her cheekbone with surgical precision, the velvet pads leaving faint golden smears of pheromone-rich oil.

“Nine-hundred and ninety-nine years with no chance of parole.” The colonel murmured, her breath catching when feline claws lightly scraped behind her ear in that spot humans never knew they needed scratched. “Versus...”

“Mor-ning ssun on your fur,” Ssthha’rel purred directly into Atkinson’s ear, making the woman shiver. “Warm laps whenever you wish. No more... lies.” Her tongue flicked out to catch a bead of sweat trailing down the colonel’s neck. “No more orderss. No more deceit. Only love...”

The grey-furred alien, introduced earlier as Dr. Kssa’ta, appeared with a steaming mug clutched in her short triple-ted fingers. Atkinson’s nostrils flared at the rich aroma before her eyes snapped open. “That’s...”

“Colombian, medium roasst,” Kssa’ta chirped, tail kinking proudly. “We trade for it with the Rigelans. They adore Terran stimulants.” Her golden eye glinted as she monitored Atkinson’s trembling hands accepting the mug. “No narcoticss added. Unless you requessst?”

Binning snorted coffee out of his nose across the chamber, then Rachel caught Kaywaykla’s eye roll from where he monitored the proceedings, The sheriff mouthed “told you” just as Atkinson took her first sip and froze.

“It’s... perfect.” The colonel’s voice cracked. “Exactly how I take it. Two sugars, splash of cream.”

Ssstha’rel’s tail curled possessively around Atkinson’s thigh. ”Good ownerss know exactly what their petss need.” Her pupils dilated until only a thin ring of golden iris remained. “Would you like to ssee your quar-terss?”

Atkinson’s mug clattered against the stool’s organic surface as the feline’s pheromonal cocktail hit her bloodstream. Rachel recognized the signs from personal experience, shoulders loosening, pupils dilating, that subtle tilt of the hips toward the scent source. The same damn tell she’d displayed when Melanie wore that vanilla perfume last anniversary.

“God help me,” Atkinson whispered, but her fingers were already tangled in Ssstha’rel’s mane, tugging the alien closer.

Kaywaykla cleared his throat. “The tracker removal left gaps.” He tapped his temple again. “She’s suggestible right now. This isn’t—”

“Fair?” Ssstha’rel interrupted, whiskers twitching. “When did hunterss ever care about fair?” Her claws flexed against Atkinson’s pulse point. “She choossess now, or never.”