Page 32 of Naughty List Delivery
“Touching conversation?” he asks, voice carrying that deceptive musical quality that makes smart people lower their guard.
“My AI was asking about environmental protocols,” Noomi lies smoothly, her courier training taking over. “Standard procedure when transferring between ships.”
“Of course.” Vex’s smile could cut diamonds. “How wonderfully mundane.”
But I catch the way his attention lingers on her, and I know he’s not entirely convinced. We’ll have to be more careful from here on out.
The corridor opens into a spacious hold that’s been converted into something between a throne room and an execution chamber. Vex Korvain stands at the center, his translucent skin shimmering with phosphorescent patterns that pulse in rhythmwith his alien heartbeat. He’s beautiful in the way that predators are beautiful—elegant, deadly, and absolutely without mercy.
“Ober Kraine,” he says, voice carrying genuine pleasure and the promise of violence. “It’s been far too long. And you must be the famous Nova Jaxson, returned from the dead to play Christmas angel.”
“It’s Noomi,” I say firmly, stepping slightly in front of her in a protective gesture that’s pure instinct. “Her name is Noomi.”
Vex’s smile could cut diamonds. “How touching. The predator defending his reformed mate. Tell me, Noomi—was faking your death worth destroying this man’s sanity for two years?”
“It was worth becoming someone better than what we were together,” she replies, and there’s steel in her voice that makes my chest tight with pride. No fear, no apology, just absolute conviction in her choices.
“Better.” Vex tastes the word like wine. “Interesting perspective. Krax has a different opinion about the consequences of your moral evolution.”
A holographic display flickers to life between us, showing surveillance footage of the families in the holding bay. Parents trying to comfort terrified children, elderly couples sharing what might be their last embrace, all of them wearing the clothes they’d put on to travel to Christmas celebrations that never came.
“Forty-seven families,” Vex continues conversationally. “All of them victims of your righteousness three years ago. Their packages were destroyed, their travel plans disrupted, their Christmas joy systematically eliminated. Because you chose to expose Krax’s business practices.”
“His business practices included destroying families,” Noomi snaps, her anger finally bleeding through the careful control. “Separating children from parents for profit.”
“And now he’s simply returning the favor.” Vex’s phosphorescent circulatory system pulses with cold satisfaction. “These families will spend Christmas in that cargo bay, watching their loved ones suffer, knowing that their pain exists because you decided to play hero.”
The words hit like physical blows, designed to break her resolve and make her doubt every choice that led us here. I can smell the spike of guilt in her scent, the way his psychological attack finds its mark.
“That’s enough,” I snarl, letting my predatory nature show as my pupils dilate and my claws extend. “You want to blame someone for Krax’s revenge? Blame me. I’m the one who couldn’t accept that she needed to grow.”
“Oh, I intend to blame you both.” Vex’s smile widens, revealing teeth that are just slightly too sharp. “Extensively. Krax has planned something particularly poetic for your execution. But first, he wants to meet with you personally.”
A section of the bulkhead slides away, revealing a corridor that leads deeper into the ship. Towards whatever fate Krax has planned for us, and hopefully towards the central computer systems we need to access.
“After you,” Vex says with mocking courtesy.
As we walk deeper into the ship, my enhanced senses catalog every detail—guard positions, weapon placements, the location of what appears to be the main computer core. Beside me, Noomi moves with the fluid grace of someone mapping escape routes and tactical advantages even while playing the role of defeated courier.
The memory of her in my arms, trusting and vulnerable and magnificent, gives me strength. Whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. Partners in every sense that matters.
Sixty minutes. We can do anything for sixty minutes.
Even save Christmas, destroy a revenge network, and fall completely in love while surrounded by enemies who want us dead.
The only question is whether our hearts can survive what we’ll have to do to keep our promises.
9
When Christmas Comes to Die
Noomi
Theholdingbaystretchesbefore us like a warehouse of broken dreams, vast enough to house three cargo freighters but now serving as a monument to destroyed Christmas joy. The first thing that hits me isn’t the sight—it’s the smell. Fear-sweat and recycled air, yes, but underneath that, something heartbreakingly familiar: the lingering scent of Christmas cookies someone packed for a journey that became a nightmare.
Three distinct sections spread across the bay, separated by crackling energy barriers that hum with lethal promise. Each barrier projects upward fifteen feet before terminating at reinforced blast shutters—designed to contain explosions, now containing hope. I count forty-seven souls huddled in family clusters, their Christmas clothes now wrinkled and stained with tears and the reality of three days in captivity.
My tactical mind catalogs everything automatically: twelve guards positioned at regular intervals, each carrying military-grade plasma rifles. Emergency air vents twelve feet up the walls, too high to reach without equipment we don’t have. A single main exit flanked by automated weapon emplacements that track movement with mechanical precision. The floor is reinforced durasteel, the walls lined with blast-resistant composite—this wasn’t just a cargo bay, it was designed as a holding facility.
