Page 11 of Naughty List Delivery
He spins with reflexes that are still inhuman-fast, claws extending automatically before recognition kicks in. For a heartbeat we stare at each other across three feet of charged air, predator and prey having switched positions so smoothly it gives me whiplash.
His pupils dilate as he takes in my position—above him, between him and the exit, controlling the high ground and the tactical advantage. The way his nostrils flare tells me he’s cataloging my scent for stress indicators, arousal markers, the chemical signatures that betray emotional states.
What he finds makes his tail do that little flick that means he’s impressed despite himself.
“Clever girl,” he purrs, and the sound goes through me like an electric current. “Though I have to ask—are you ambushing me, or presenting yourself for collection?”
The words hit like a physical touch, dragging me back to heated arguments that ended with my back against bulkheads and his mouth claiming mine like he was starving. The way he’d growl “present yourself” when he wanted me to surrender, and the way I’d make him work for every concession until we were both desperate and wild.
“I’m making a point,” I manage, keeping my voice level despite the way my pulse spikes. “Your tracking beacon is feeding you false data. I’ve been here for hours.”
“Have you?” His smile could cut diamonds. “Then you know I upgraded your little gift. Two-way communication is so much more efficient than guessing games.”
Heat floods my cheeks—fury and something dangerously close to arousal. “You bastard. You’ve been tracking me tracking you.”
“For six hours.” He takes a step closer, testing whether I’ll retreat. When I hold my ground, something shifts in his expression—approval mixed with that dangerous hunger I remember too well. “Watching you check my position every few minutes. Wondering if you were hunting or just... missing me.”
The accusation hits because there’s truth in it. Every time I’d pulled up his location, part of me had been relieved to see the signal. Proof he was still out there, still close enough to matter, still occupying the same universe even if we were separated by bad choices and broken trust.
“I was keeping tabs on the thief who stole Christmas from three families,” I snap. “Which brings me to my question—how did you know about this job?”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe calculation. “What do you mean?”
“I mean this isn’t a coincidence.” I cross my arms, settling into interrogation mode. “Mother’s routes are classified. OOPS Christmas deliveries don’t randomly attract the attention of pirate captains. So either you’re monitoring our communications—which would be a declaration of war against a postal service—or someone fed you information about my specific run.”
His tail goes still, which means I’ve hit something important. “You think this was a setup.”
“I don’t think, I know. Three information broker ships filed flight plans to intercept OOPS Christmas routes. One of them belongs to Krax Korvain, who specializes in selling data about people who are supposed to be dead.”
The change in Ober’s demeanor is instant and devastating. The predatory amusement vanishes, replaced by the cold calculation that made him the most feared captain in three sectors. “Krax is hunting you?”
“Someone hired him to confirm I’m breathing. Used Mother’s Christmas run as bait to flush me out of hiding.” I step closer, closing the distance between us until I can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes. “The question is: are you working with them, or did you just walk into the same trap?”
“You think I’d sell you to Krax Korvain?” His voice drops to that dangerous register that means someone’s about to learn why crossing him is a fatal mistake.
“I think you’ve been hunting me for two years, and this is the first time you’ve gotten close enough to touch.” The words come out more heated than I intended, proximity and adrenaline making me reckless. “So forgive me if I question the timing.”
“The timing,” he says, voice rough with something that might be hurt, “is because someone sent me intelligence about a courier running Christmas presents through pirate territory.Said courier matched the description of a woman who’s supposed to be dead.”
“Who sent you the intelligence?”
“Anonymous tip. Premium credits, detailed route information, and a note that said ‘she’s exactly what you’ve been looking for.’” His eyes narrow. “Someone wanted me to find you.”
The pieces click into place with sickening clarity. Someone fed Ober my route, knowing he’d intercept me. Probably hoped he’d capture me, make me disappear again before Krax could confirm I’m alive. Except they underestimated Ober’s possessive streak—he doesn’t want me dead, he wants me back.
“We’re both being played,” I breathe.
“By someone who knows us well enough to predict our responses.” He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his scent—alien spice and engine oil and something that used to be my favorite addiction. “The question is: what do we do about it?”
“First, you give me back my Christmas packages. Those families are counting on—”
“What packages?” His expression shifts to genuine confusion. “Nova, I examined those containers. They’re sealed with quantum locks I can’t break without destroying the contents.”
Ice runs down my spine. “You haven’t opened them?”
“I was waiting to confront you about what you’re really smuggling.” His tail does that little flick that means he’s reassessing everything. “You mean they actually contain Christmas presents?”
Before I can answer, before I can explain that some people actually keep their promises to innocent families, before I can process the implications of someone setting us both up—
