There was only one way for a single woman to survive on Ark Station Zeta—negotiation. From extra rations and a few more shifts to getting someone more threatening than the worst station rats to walk her to her quarters after her shift.

Baila was an expert at the tenuous balance of flirting and trade. Not that she traded her body, but someone always wanted something, and she had a knack for “procuring” goodies. Unfortunately, her master-level talents decided to take a walk out of an airlock without the benefit of a suit. As evidenced by her boss’ unbending glare.

Ugh.

She stood in the boss’ office at the back of the BFE bar—Bumfuck Egypt—and dug deep for some of those dependable skills.

“There has to be somewhere else you can use me.” Baila softened her tone, eyes wide and lower lip trembling slightly while she pleaded with BFE’s owner. She wasn’t out of the fight yet and she was damned tenacious. He had to let her stick around. Mainly because she hard core needed the money. She wasn’t willing to back down from him—from anyone.

“Look, Baila, like I told you before… it’s not going to work.” He shook his head. “I mean… look at you.” Disgust warred with awe when he scanned her from head to toe. “Our clients expect a certain type of scenery when they come here for a drink. You aren’t cutting it.”

By clients, he meant overworked station jockeys responsible for keeping up exterior maintenance. Though there were some alien races who enjoyed ogling humans, too.

As for scenery… the guys expected hot bods to go along with their watered-down drinks.

She sighed, hating that she could half empathize with the guy. Not that she wanted to, but reality was what it was.

Baila Dar’toren’s dreams and hint of happiness had taken a nosedive… to her middle. In the form of a big ole pregnant belly. A belly so large that anyone would assume the woman had been knocked up for six or seven months. Not Baila’s two months.

When I get my hands on that damned alien…

“Maybe I can just make some changes to the uniform,” she wheedled in a last-ditch attempted at keeping her job. She wasn’t ready to throw in the towel just yet. There had to be another option.

“No.” Her boss shook his head. “The dress code is written in stone. I can’t bend the rules for you.”

She lowered her head, eyes scanning her body, and her lips twisted with a grimace. She’d wiggled her way into the standard BFE uniform before her shift. Her low tank top barely constrained her breasts, and the standard issue shorts rode up her ass and barely clung to what remained of her hips. In between was her giant—purple, and it was that damned alien’s fault—belly.

Apparently, knocked up humans weren’t all that sexy no matter how hard she worked to assure her boss that someone had to be turned on by women in her condition. Otherwise the porn industry wouldn’t bother making those fetish vids, right?

“Look, I’ll still wear a tight top and flash half my boobs. Just let me stay behind the bar and no one will see that I’m pregnant. I’ll wear something slimming.” She could convince him. She couldn’t have had all of her negotiating mojo sucked up by the parasite growing inside her.

Her boss chuckled, a snort escaping as he burst into roaring laughter. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No?” She lifted her eyebrows and smiled widely, hoping he’d see her side.

“Listen, Baila,” another chuckle-snort escaped. “There’s only one species that would want to see a pregnant woman working BFE, and we might get one of those things a month. Keeping you around isn’t a risk I’m willing to take.” He waved his hand and gestured at her middle, his face turning a little green when his eyes landed on her purple skin. “I’m not going to ruin the reputation of BFE because I like you. Our customers are looking for hot women and cold drinks. You no longer qualify as a hot woman.”

Asshole.

Baila sighed and shuffled backward to she could lean against the wall opposite her boss. Exhaustion tugged at her, aching feet and tense back adding a hint of pain to her condition. Then there were her ankles—so swollen she wondered if her skin could actually tear due to the pressure.

Well, she wasn’t giving up yet. Some called her an unrelenting bitch. She preferred determined. Plus, it wasn’t like she enjoyed begging for a position, but she had no choice. She needed the money.

“I…” she licked her lips and scoured her mind for any other convincing arguments. “I won’t be pregnant for much longer.”

Her boss quirked an eyebrow. “Really? I thought medical said they weren’t sure when you’d give birth.”

“Look at me,” she pointed at her round belly, skin rippling as her baby moved. “I have to pop soon!”

“You’re only two months along. Humans gestate for nine months.” Doubt laced his voice, but she swore she felt him softening.

“Just give me a little more time. I swear it’ll be over soon. Just don’t report me as unemployed.”

He stood firm, arms crossed while he cleared his throat. “No.”

“I lose my quarters if I don’t have a job,” Baila reminded him. “I’ve been a model employee for six years, but the moment you register me as fired and I don’t have a new job, I’m out on my ass.”

Years ago, when she’d been hired, she’d fully supported the rule on ASZ. It kept random humans and aliens from living in corridors. They had to get a job or get gone.

Her boss ran his palm down his face, rubbing his scruffy cheek while he released a heavy sigh. “The best I can offer you is to finish off the night and I won’t report you as terminated until the start of your next shift.”

Hope sparked in her chest. If she could show him that business didn’t suffer from her pregnant state, maybe he’d let her stick around. She flashed him a wide smile, excited to get to work.

He pointed at her, beefy finger aimed at her face. “But that’s it. I won’t be swayed from this decision. You hear me?”

“Okay,” she whispered and something inside her snarled because she caved under the weight of his glare.

That didn’t mean she didn’t show a reaction. Heat rose to her cheeks, warming her face while anger bubbled in her blood. Except she fought those sensations, pushing down her rage while she fought for calm. Now wasn’t exactly the time for a tantrum about the unfairness of life.

Baila turned on her heel and left her boss’ office, intent on getting to work. He’d given her a one-day reprieve and she was going to take full advantage of the extra time. She snared an empty bin, intent on gathering empty bottles and glasses left behind by customers. And the tips they left behind. Couldn’t forget those.

She leaned over a small table, snaring the garbage that littered the tabletop. Then she snagged her wet rag to wipe the dirty surface, grabbing the tip the customers left behind. Ugh. One credit. The bill was for two hundred and fifty creds yet they tossed her one?

The tension in her shoulders grew and she delved deep into herself, hunting the soothing calm that seemed just out of reach. It hovered on the horizon, teasing her with the unattainable.

Baila moved to the next table, this one larger, and its width forced her to bend over even more. Which gave her Luvendi customer the opportunity to slide one of his slimy tentacles along her inner thigh. Fucking squid-looking things. Squid-like bodies and snail-like goo made one nasty alien.

“Watch it, asshole!” she snarled as the Luvendi stroked the lower curve of her ass. The slime cooled on her skin and she shivered with disgust. Nausea slid through her blood and she prayed she could keep her body in check until she got to the back.

She whirled and whacked the Luvendi, shoving him away from her with a strong heave. He went toppling backward, sending the crowd into bursts of laughter and hoots. As for the glasses she’d been collecting… those went crashing to the floor. The empty bottles and glasses shattered, sending a shower of sharp, clear slivers through the air.

If only it could have ended there.

If only…

Silence fell, every alien and human in BFE focused on her, their gazes flickering over her body. From her brown hair to her abundant breasts and further south to her stomach. Most of the customers were intrigued by her hair, face, and nose, but she lost them all when they got to “junior.”

Human customers took one look at her purple skin and knew there was something freaky going on with her. Purple wasn’t in a human’s color wheel. As for the aliens… Half of them seemed to realize that Baila wasn’t just pregnant. She was pregnant with a Morean child.

Baila squirmed beneath their intent gazes as a shudder of fear combined with revulsion crept through her veins. She didn’t like being the center of attention, not now, not while her pregnancy left her so vulnerable.

The Luvendi screeched, her language implant only picking up half of his babble. She picked his words apart and the gist was that he had a problem with being touched by a human. Ah. So, grabbing her ass was just fine, but her laying a finger on him was a no-no? Hypocritical, perverted asshole. Except her attacker didn’t stop. He whacked at her again—squishy length striking her belly, more slime on her skin. Another hit her chest, the goop soaking into her thin tank top.

When he moved closer, prepared to hit her once more, a massive alien rushed to Baila’s aid. Oh shit. A Vian now stood between her and the Luvendi. The Luvendi were annoying with their goopy trails and gag-worthy when someone noticed their squid-ish tentacles. The male from Vialea… Over six feet of solid muscle, pure fury, and lizard-like scales. Sexy.

Dear God, the myth about human women getting horny during pregnancy was true. Not that the Vian wasn’t sexy, but she shouldn’t be off in hottie-land during the middle of a fight.

The Vian’s presence didn’t stop the slimy alien. The Luvendi simply continued to reach around her savior, stretching for her again and again. The Vian didn’t allow him to lay a single tentacle on her.

The other patrons leapt to their feet, shouts echoing in BFE as they urged the Luvendi to fight harder. The customers didn’t seem to care that their movements sent more glasses crashing to the ground to cover the bar’s floor.

More damage. More damage her boss would blame on her. Fuck. Her stomach churned, nausea taking up residence while a wave of dizziness swept through her body. Her blood pressure was off, and if she didn’t calm soon, she’d join the bits of glass on the ground.

Her savior swung a fist, swiping at the tentacle-wielding alien. He worked as a shield of sorts for Baila while he attempted to subdue her attacker. He kept Mr. Tentacle’s body occupied, but that did nothing to stop her attacker from making noise.

A noise that crept into Baila’s core and released a wave of horror and fear. The screech rose higher and higher in pitch. The unending wail scraped at her flesh as if he dug nails into her body. It burrowed into her, reaching for her soul, and it felt as if he could shred her body with sound alone.

And it only grew louder, going on and on until it reached a fevered pitch. A wail so sharp it shattered every bit of glass in BFE. White shards and jagged pellets rained down on the customers, striking the patrons and covering the ground in the sharp litter. Liquor and beer soaked the floor, flooding the area and filling the air with the harsh scent.

That wasn’t the end of it, though. Baila’s boss stomped through the crowd, red faced and bubbling with fiery anger—an anger that grew with his every heavy step. The weight of his rage burned her, settling on her shoulders with uncontrolled heat. Did she deserve his fury? She internally sighed. Possibly. Okay, probably. She didn’t have to flip out on a customer. There was nothing that kept her from being polite while she brushed him off.

Except… Except protective instincts she hadn’t known she possessed kicked in. Something inside her didn’t want another’s hands—er, tentacles—near her. So she’d reacted and chaos was the result.

Her boss pointed at her, the red of his anger suffusing his entire body. “Go. Home.” He growled, lip curling. “Now.”

Those three words sealed her fate. It hadn’t been wholly her fault, but her boss—ex-boss—wouldn’t change his mind. He’d been pushed over the edge by the horrendous loss and there was no going back for her.

Baila stood there for a moment, shoulders sagging and back rounding as grief and worry settled over her.

“Baila,” her boss’ voice was slightly less furious. “You’re officially terminated.”

The words whipped at her, burning ragged holes in her mind as if his voice was a physical thing. As if he struck her over and over with a hot iron poker. She flinched and took a step toward the door, forcing her body to move as he demanded.

“Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak to anyone,” he shouted after her, voice rising above the crunch and crack of her booted feet traveling over the glass-littered floor.

Baila’s eyes stung, tears gathering and blurring her vision, but she refused to let them fall. She couldn’t let the patrons see her as weak. They couldn’t see her as easy pickings or she might end up followed by the wrong kind of alien—or human. She shuddered, stories of other women disappearing off ASZ flitting through her mind. Humans were an oddity in space and more than one race thought her kind made the perfect pets.

She straightened her shoulders and continued toward the exit, vision still blurry with those tears, but she kept them in check. She could do this—could find privacy before she fell apart. Except she didn’t get the chance. Not when she stepped out of BFE and slammed into a massive purple alien. He towered over her, his height and wide shoulders making her feel small and delicate despite her massive stomach.

And as those tears slipped from her eyes and created damp trails down her cheeks, she was able to get a good look at the alien who’d blocked her path.

Six feet of purple alien. Long, dark purple hair and eyes so dark they were nearly black. Then there were his lips… a hint darker than his skin, full and soft.

And familiar. So, so familiar.

Zyriq—Captain of Warking’s Blade, Morean male, greatest lover of all time and her baby daddy.