Cyborg Fever. Grace Goodwin

       Coalition Academy Instructor Kira Dahl, The Colony, Base 3, The Fighting Pit

      “I see the way you’re panting after him. I don’t blame you; that Atlan is so damned hot.” Hearing the words come out in my friend’s cute German accent almost made me burst into laughter. Years of discipline saved me.

      I turned and glared at Melody, gave her my infamous instructor narrowed-eyes look. Actually, it was my Don’t-Fuck-With-Me cop face, but she didn’t know that. It had worked pretty well on the streets of Toronto, but Melody was a friend, and apparently, unaffected by my hard-won glare.

      She glanced from the Atlan Warlord, who was about to fight in the pit, to me, giving me that all-too familiar sweet and innocent look. “What? Don’t tell me I’m wrong. You’re eyeing him like an all-you-can-eat dessert buffet back home.”

      I turned back to the scene before us, pursing my lips and hoping my cheeks weren’t turning bright red. While I refused to admit it, my Earth friend—and senior cadet—was right. The Atlan was one fine male specimen. Tall, dark and handsome wasn’t enough to do him justice. He had to be close to seven feet tall with a physique that made me think he ate Crossfitters back home for breakfast. But since he was standing—shirt off, I might add—in a fighting pit, he had the hard edges, the cut muscles, of a male who’d survived ruthless action. Battle. Devastation. He was scarred, and those scars made me hot. So freaking hot. I wanted to trace every single one of them with my tongue.

      He had cyborg parts like the rest of them on The Colony—both of his arms were covered in the shining silver of circuitry and muscle implants. He had a thick scar on the back of his neck, but I had no idea if that was from the Hive or something that had happened in battle. After almost a year of bringing recruits to The Colony