Page 21 of Naughty List Delivery
“Maybe I like the way you look at me when I do something impossible.” Her hands dance over the controls with the fluid grace that used to make me want to worship every inch of herskin, and I catch the spike of arousal in her scent. “Besides, I trust you.”
Those three words hit like a plasma cannon to the chest. She trusts me. After everything I’ve done, every boundary I’ve crossed, every choice that’s driven her away—she still trusts me to keep her alive when it matters.
“On my mark,” I growl into the comm, coordinating with the Shadowhawk’s targeting systems. “Kex, you take the one on our starboard. We’ll handle the port side with pure piloting.”
“Understood, Captain. Standing by.”
“Three... two... one... mark!”
The Wandering Star rolls inverted and dives toward the approaching ships, using their own formation against them. They expect us to break off, to choose one target and commit. Instead, Noomi threads the needle between them while the Shadowhawk takes out the starboard target with surgical precision, and we use our momentum to ram the port ship’s engine section with our reinforced bow.
“Now that’s what I call threading the needle,” I growl, admiration thick in my voice. “Remind me why I ever let you out of my sight?”
“Because I’m too dangerous to cage,” she purrs back, and the sound goes straight to parts of me that have nothing to do with tactical appreciation. “Besides, you always did like watching me work.”
Both hostile ships die within seconds of each other, one torn apart by plasma fire, the other crippled and drifting. The combat high singing through my veins mingles with something deeper, more primal—the way she moves in battle, deadly and graceful and absolutely magnificent.
“Hostile vessels eliminated,” I announce, satisfaction rumbling through my voice like a purr. “OOPS convoy, you’re clear to resume course.”
“Just like old times,” Noomi murmurs, low enough that only my enhanced hearing catches it. But I do catch it, along with the way her pulse is still elevated from our shared adrenaline rush.
“Captain Kraine, Courier Jaxson—thank you.” Strava’s voice is thick with gratitude and something that might be hero worship. “I don’t know how you moved like that. It was like watching poetry.”
“Deadly poetry,” I correct with dark amusement, catching the way Noomi’s lips curve in response. “We’ve had practice.”
“Three years of practice,” Noomi adds, and there’s something loaded in the way she says it. Something that makes me remember exactly how we used to practice—in combat, in flight, in bed, learning each other’s rhythms until we moved like one organism with two bodies.
“Just doing our job,” she continues, but I catch the way her scent spikes with pride. She’s always loved being good at what she does, and watching her remember exactly how deadly she can be is doing things to my self-control that have nothing to do with tactical appreciation.
“What’s your next stop?” I ask Strava, trying to focus on the mission instead of the way Noomi’s pulse is elevated from our shared combat high.
“Titan’s Drift mining colony. Christmas delivery run for the families there. We lost...” Her voice wavers. “We lost three ships, Captain. Sixty families won’t be getting their packages.”
The words hit like physical blows. Sixty families. Sixty sets of parents who’d scripted and saved to send Christmas love across the void, only to have it destroyed by a madman’s revenge.
“We’ll make sure yours get through,” Noomi promises, and the steel in her voice makes my alien instincts sing with approval. This is my mate, my partner, my—
“Captain Kraine?” Strava’s voice turns curious, almost shy. “Sir, are you the same Ober Kraine who used to run with Nova? The one who hit the Meridian bank convoy three years ago?”
Ice runs through my veins. Even now, even after everything, our old reputation follows us like a ghost.
“That was a long time ago,” I say carefully, watching Noomi’s face for any sign of how she wants to handle this. She’s gone very still, but there’s something in her expression—not shame, but a complex mix of pride and regret.
“Right. Of course. It’s just... you two move together like you’ve done this before. Like you were born to be partners.” There’s something wistful in Strava’s voice, and I realize she’s young enough to romanticize our old life. To see the legend instead of the wreckage we left behind.
“We were partners,” Noomi says quietly, and the way she looks at me when she says it makes my chest tight. “In every sense of the word.”
“Things change,” I add, but my voice comes out rougher than intended because the way she’s looking at me suggests maybe not everything has changed. Maybe some partnerships run deeper than time or distance or even the choices that tear them apart.
But as we escort the surviving convoy toward Titan’s Drift, I can’t help noticing that we’re still moving like partners. Still anticipating each other’s actions, still complementing each other’s strengths. Still fitting together like two pieces of the same weapon.
“You’re staring,” Noomi observes without looking away from her console, but there’s amusement in her voice.
“I’m appreciating,” I correct, letting my gaze trace the elegant line of her neck as she works. “Three years, and you still pilot like you’re making love to the void.”
“Careful, Captain.” Her voice drops to that husky register that used to drive me wild. “Keep talking like that and I might think you’re flirting with me.”
“Maybe I am.” The admission slips out before I can stop it, weighted with two years of wanting and the growing certainty that whatever broke us, it didn’t kill what we were together. “Maybe I never stopped.”
