Page 48 of Naughty List Delivery
“I can handle it,” I tell him boldly.
His smile is pure predator. “We’ll see about that.”
He proves his point thoroughly over the next hour, taking me to heights I’d forgotten existed. By the time we’re finally spent and tangled together on the narrow medical table, the medical bay’s recycling system has worked overtime to clear the air of our combined scents. We’re both marked—my throat and thighs showing the careful press of his fangs, his shoulders bearing the evidence of my nails.
“Well,” I say eventually, my voice hoarse from crying out his name. “I think that was a very thorough examination.”
He laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where my head rests. “The most thorough medical procedure of my career. Though I think we might need a few follow-up appointments.”
“Many follow-ups,” I agree, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Just to be sure everything is working properly.”
“Absolutely,” he murmurs, his tail wrapping around my waist possessively. “Can’t be too careful with these things.”
“Merry Christmas, my mate,” he whispers against my hair, the word settling into my bones like a promise.
“Merry Christmas, Ober,” I whisper back, finally understanding that some Christmas miracles are worth waiting three years for.
Some medical procedures, after all, really do require very personal attention. And this particular patient has finally received exactly the treatment he needed.
14
New Beginnings
Ober
ThreedaysafterChristmas,I wake up to the smell of real coffee brewing in the Shadowhawk’s galley and the sound of Noomi humming something that might be a Terran holiday song. My enhanced healing has me back to full strength, though the medical team insisted on keeping us docked to Mother’s ship for “observation.”
What they’re really observing is whether Noomi and I can manage to leave the medical bay for more than an hour without finding creative new uses for the examination table.
We cannot.
The answer is definitively, enthusiastically cannot.
But this morning feels different. There’s tension in the air that has nothing to do with the delicious ache in my muscles from our latest “follow-up appointment.” Noomi’s humming has an edge to it, and she’s making coffee instead of the tea she prefers, which means she’s nervous about something.
I find her in the galley, hair still mussed from sleep, wearing one of my shirts that hits her mid-thigh and nothing else. The sight of her in my clothes, marked with my scent, sends a surge of possessive satisfaction through my Felaxian hindbrain that will never get old.
“Morning, mate,” I murmur, wrapping my arms around her waist from behind and nuzzling the spot on her neck where my bite mark is finally fading to silver. She shivers against me, and I catch the spike in her scent that means she’s remembering exactly how she got that mark.
“Careful,” she warns, but she’s leaning back against my chest. “We have actual news to discuss today, and if you start that, we’ll never get through it.”
“What kind of news?” I ask, though I keep my mouth exactly where it is. Her pulse point is right there, and the temptation to add a fresh mark is overwhelming.
“The kind that requires coffee and serious conversation,” she says, turning in my arms to face me. Her expression is carefully neutral, which immediately puts me on high alert. “Kex has been fielding communications all morning.”
Before I can ask what kind of communications, Kex himself appears in the galley doorway, looking like he’s been awake for hours. Probably has been—the man runs on three hours of sleep and sheer stubborn determination.
“Captain,” he says, nodding to me before his gaze slides to Noomi with the kind of respectful acknowledgment that tells me the crew has fully accepted her as mine. “You’ll want to hear this.”
We settle around the small galley table, Noomi pouring coffee while Kex pulls up his data pad. The domestic normalcy of it hits me unexpectedly—sharing morning coffee with my mate while my first officer briefs us on ship business. It feels like something I could get used to. Something I want to get used to.
“First, the good news,” Kex begins. “Vex and Krax have been apprehended. STI caught up with them at a fuel depot two systems over. Apparently they were trying to fence the Christmas delivery cargo they’d already stolen.”
Relief floods through me. With Vex and Krax in custody, the immediate threat to Noomi is gone. She can breathe easier, work without looking over her shoulder, build the life she wants without the shadow of revenge hanging over both of us.
“They’re both looking at serious time,” Kex continues. “Conspiracy, kidnapping, theft of protected cargo, assault on STI personnel. Luzrak estimates minimum fifteen years, possibly life if they can prove the pattern of previous attacks.”
“And the bad news?” Noomi asks, because she’s learned to read Kex’s expressions almost as well as I have.
