Nellie
Voss

I'm not looking for true love on another planet. I'm just looking for a way out before there's nothing left of me to give.

I'm the woman who handles everything—my mother's dementia, my brother's money issues, my sister's emotional breakdowns—and I'm bone-dry empty.

So I walk into an alien matchmaking facility expecting to get on a list for "someday." I'm not expecting a seven-foot, scarred, forest-green orc rounding the corner and dropping to his knees like he just took a blow he wasn't braced for.

Ruhn isn't even in the match pool, but his biology doesn't care. One scent of me and he's shaking. I haven't been touched in years and my body just volunteered as tribute. Neither of us planned this.

I came here to take something for myself for once. I didn't expect him to kneel before I even got his name.

For readers who love: short and spicy fated mates, orc romance, scent bonds that bypass all higher brain function, "who takes care of the caretaker?", snarky first-person heroines, monster size difference (everywhere), he-falls-first-and-harder, claiming bites, a warrior who will ruin you and then make you midnight porridge, and the kind of heat that soaks through the pages.