Navigating the Widowmaker was like reconnecting with an old friend. It reminded Kobrah a lot of his first real ship, which he’d inherited from an uncle who used to run security for cargo between the Gaia Federation headquarters and the Milky Way.

He’d sold it in order to purchase the Gypsy Moth. But he missed it. Missed the days when he used to surf the galaxies with only one or two people as crew.

When he’d met Dara, they’d done a few trips on the Yellow Spacemachine, him mocking it for its color, her retaliating by giving him head until he recanted. Those moments alone, just the two of them…much as it pained to admit, were some of the best times of his life. He’d never felt so close to someone. Truly believed in love.

Believed in a lie.

With the memories of the fun they used to have assailing him, it proved hard to remember the perfidy. He wanted to hate her, and yet she’d smile a certain way, speak in that soft and confident tone of hers, and his cock would harden.

How to distance himself? Such as now, with the pair of them sitting side by side in the ship’s bridge, prepping for takeoff.

Over the communication system, Damon harangued him still. “What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving with her? She’s a bloody traitor!”

“I am fully aware of what she is. And quiet on the language.”

“The entire ship is in FOZ and ZL mode.” The Z standing for zipped and the L for lips. Created by Kobrah for times they had to be in super stealth mode. Not a single person was supposed to speak aloud, and if they did, a sound shield took shape around them, so no one could hear.

“I assumed you had us private, but you seem to forget, I have a young passenger.” Look at him, being conscious his daughter listened to every word being spoken. It didn’t take a glance over his shoulder to know that wise gaze of hers missed nothing and would judge him on his actions.

Ugh. Already being a father changed his whole way of thinking. Worse, he didn’t hate it.

“You’re killing me here, Captain. You can’t expect me to streak and leave you out here alone.”

“That’s exactly what I expect. It’s the best chance we all have.” The Moth would lead off the citadel, who would need time to realize they’d followed the wrong craft. Kobrah figured they’d get wise to the trick after the second or third streak, but by then, too late. The Widowmaker and its passengers would be long gone.

“What if things get feisty?” Damon asked. A polite way of phrasing, what if it came down to a fight?

“You’ll handle it.” Kobrah knew better than to hamstring his second-in-command by giving him restrictive orders. Let the man judge for himself. Damon would make the right decision.

“You know my wife might plan a coup if you take too long to come back.”

Damon’s wife, Michonne, was the daughter of a high-powered galactic crime lord. Only natural she’d want to see her husband advance. “If I’m gone long enough for that to happen, then I deserve to lose the Moth. But don’t worry.” Kobrah’s voice deepened. “I’ll be back.” No matter where the Moth flew, he’d find her.

“I’m counting on it.” The channel shut, the bubble around him dropped, and Dara cast him curious glances as he guided the ship out of the hangar.

“Well?”

“Well what?” It must have driven her nuts to know he’d spoken but she’d not heard a word of what was said.

“What did Damon say?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine. Be that way. I don’t care.” She stood. “Since you’ve got this, I’m going to get Karo settled.”

Good. The distraction known as his wife left, and Kobrah concentrated on the controls and screen before him. He’d maneuvered the small ship to sit right behind the hangar door. The Widowmaker was a sleek vessel. Three cabins—a large one for the owner, then two smaller guest ones—a cargo hold, and a common area. Those from Earth called them galactic yachts. Luxury travel that also happened to be armed to the teeth. But Kobrah had one extra thing installed.

A cloaking device. He could hide in plain sight. So long as he didn’t use his engines for more than gentle propulsion.

In order for his plan to work, he needed a little help. First of all, the cameras on the Moth went offline. Once they realized the drones had infiltrated, every single one was shut off to hide their movements.

But that wasn’t all they did. Earlier they’d sent out remote-controlled robots to do repairs. Those machines were now being called back in. The hangar alarm went off, and people evacuated the space. The pressurization commenced, and the large hangar doors opened. By then, he was already cloaked and ready to go. The moment he had clearance, he eased out, dropping immediately under the ship, thus avoiding the returning robots.

The moment he was under the Moth, he cut the engines and let himself drift. There was enough interference from the big ship that he didn’t worry. Even if the Rhomanii had eyes on them, they’d see nothing.

The bots boarded the Moth. Once the last one was stowed, the ship battened down its hatches—an old nautical term he’d always liked to describe them prepping for a streak.

The Moth began to glide away from the Widowmaker, the displacement of its size causing Kobrah’s own craft to drift. Perfect.

The gap between them widened, widened some more, and he spotted no blips on his scans.

He watched as the Moth streaked. It never failed to amaze him, the rainbow stream of lights gone in a blink. His expression turned grim as a citadel suddenly appeared.

“The fuckers were cloaked.” He’d not known the giant orbs were capable of such a feat. He kept watching the citadel, fingers itching to touch the controls and send them speeding out of there. Yet if he did, he was certain to be noticed. He could only pray to whatever spirit might listen that they escaped the attention of the Rhomanii.

The citadel kept moving away from them, past the point of the Moth’s last location, a bit farther still then…

It blinked out of sight, the energy signature indicating they’d jumped, and he couldn’t help but whoop. “Fucking aye!”

The plan had worked, which meant going to the next step. Warping their carcasses out of that star system before the Rhomanii realized they followed the wrong ship.

His vessel was only equipped with a warp drive. Still pretty freaking fast compared to many out there, but not like a streak drive. If the citadel did retrace their steps and managed to find a trail, they’d catch up. So he had to employ every wily tactic he knew.

He scrambled their exhaust as much as he could. Had all communication channels shut down, not emitting any signals, nor receiving any that would pinpoint their location.

During all his maneuvering, not once did Dara come check on him.

Which was for the best. The two of them alone in a room they’d fucked in too many times to count probably wouldn’t help his obsession issue.

An obsession that urged him to check the cameras for her. What was she doing? Did she plot? Get naked? Masturbate in the shower…

His hand was on the controls before he realized it. Snatching it away from the video feeds, he cursed.

Idiot. What have I done? Now he was stuck with her on a small ship for who the fuck knew how long. He was screwed. So screwed. But the good news? The fucking he was about to endure would be naked. Because they would have sex.

It was just a matter of when.

Don’t be so eager. He hated Dara. Sleeping with her was tantamount to forgiving. He couldn’t do that. He had to try. He had to stay away from the temptation. He wasted as much time as he could arguing with himself and muddying their escape before rubbing a hand over gritty, tired eyes.

He’d done everything he could think of to get them away from danger and in the direction Dara thought might offer safety.

Best get some rest while things remained quiet. The detection system would warn him if they had company.

He made his way to the captain’s quarters, the door swishing open at his approach. Darkness cloaked the space.

“Lights.”

“Dark,” hissed a voice.

In the brief moment of illumination, he managed a glimpse of his bed. The occupied bed. Then he was blind as everything shut off. He blinked and stood there long enough a hand shoved him in the chest back out into the dim hall.

The door swished shut behind Dara, who, in the sparse lighting of the corridor, showed herself tousled, her features soft with sleep.

“You idiot. Are you trying to wake her up?”

“Who?” he asked with a frown.

“Who do you think?” Dara rolled her eyes.

“Sprout is in my bed? Why?”

“It’s where she fell asleep after the story I read her.”

“And you chose my bed to read to her in?”

Dara shrugged. “Last time I was on this ship, the bed belonged to me.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Some days it feels like yesterday. I miss it.”

The words hurt him, especially since her expression softened. “Miss what? The lying?” The bitterness hung between them. “If you’ve stolen my bed, then where am I supposed to sleep?”

“Anywhere you like.”

“Leaving you alone to do whatever you want.” Would she betray him again? Perhaps shove him out an airlock.

She read his thoughts. “I am not going to do anything to jeopardize us.”

“Says you. I believed the old Dara, and that turned out to be a lie.”

“Not all of it was a lie.”

“And I don’t believe you.” But he wanted to. Wanted to think he wasn’t that stupid, that when he thrust into her and they stared into each other’s eyes, that she meant her claim, “I love you.”

“The thing I did only happened later. Everything else was real.”

“And what happened? What happened to make you think it was okay to participate in an ambush that hurt and killed people? People you fucking knew.”

Her lips turned down. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“What was supposed to happen then? You gave out the secret coordinates for that meeting to assassins.” She’d known how precarious the peace talks were. How tenuous the ceasefire they’d brokered. “What did you expect? That they’d bring confetti and flowers?” he barked.

“Doesn’t matter what I thought or believed. I was lied to and paid the price.”

“Was it worth the cost?” he snapped. He knew it wasn’t. People had died that day. Good people like Abrams’ wife. Dara’s fault. She’d stomped on the bond he thought existed between them. There were no riches big enough to justify that.

“If you are asking if I would do it again, then the answer is yes,” she yelled, her features twisted, angry, and yet she cried. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks. Her lips trembled, and she tried to hide it, biting it, turning away from him. Her arm lifted and as he moved close, he saw her wipe at her wet face.

“Dammit, Dara.” Don’t cry. She’d only ever cried once in the entire time he knew her. Sobbed after getting a message about some family member being in trouble. She’d left for a few days to handle it.

Then weeks later… He eyed her, the slumping shoulders, the gauntness of her frame. She hadn’t exactly gotten a life free of repercussion. Someone punished her now. Oddly, despite his hatred, he didn’t feel good about it.

“You’re right. I did betray you. You and everyone on the Moth. I didn’t have a choice. But I’ll do it again if it means saving Karo. You’re better off dropping us somewhere and going your own way.”

Did she really think he’d be able to dump her and move on? What about the Gypsy Moth?

What of it? He’d left it in capable hands. Right now, Dara and Karolyne needed him more.

Hate her for what she’d done, he couldn’t help but still care for her. He enveloped her in his arms, a sense of rightness filling him. He rubbed the back of her head, smoothing her hair, giving her a chest to sob against.

He couldn’t have said how long they stood there, him comforting her, but eventually she did move, tilting her face, showing her tear-stained cheeks.

His lips pressed against the softness of her damp skin, tasting the salt of her tears, licking it from her lips.

Then they were kissing, not the frantic and violent passion of before, but a slow exploration. A sensual slide and glide of flesh on flesh. Their breathing quickened, hot exhalations with no beginning or end.

This reaction explained part of why he’d never moved on. No one else inspired him to lose control. To want to lose control.

Having her in his arms eased a tension in him he’d not realized existed until it was gone.

She murmured his name, “Koby.” Sighed against his mouth. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”

Missed seemed too small a word. He couldn’t get enough of her. Their lips fused along with their breaths. He stroked what he could reach, feeling the thinness of her arms, the fine lines of her back, the indent at her waist.

His hands had just cupped her ass when a little voice said, “Why are you grabbing Mommy’s bum?”

Because it was mighty fine. But being a man of eloquent verbiage faced with a curious child, he blustered, “Just checking it for Lhgro leeches.” A space species that were actually born of arachnids, found a host to feed from, and then hatched into twelve-legged furry beasts. Cute little buggers, but they tended to clog the waste lines, which caused maintenance issues.

Two sets of eyes blinked at his stupid reply.

He was outnumbered.

Out of his element.

Only one thing left to do.

He fled. Fled to a room without Dara’s scent. A bed where he slept alone.

But his dreams…they were full of her.

---

She walked into the tavern as if she owned it. She certainly owned the attention of all the males present.

Kobrah wasn’t immune. Not overly tall, enough to fit under his chin, the blonde-haired woman—nicely dressed in white Xarnithian leathers—bore a holster with a single pistol on her hip.

She wore her hair in braids crisscrossed all over her head, the thick ropes of them bound in loops and coils. It enhanced the fine features of her face. Her bright blue eyes traversed the whole room, scanning briefly over him—and he meant brief—checking out the Kulan warrior for longer.

The swagger of her hips as she strode to the bar bespoke confidence, and yet there appeared to be a wary energy about her. She never overtly turned to look behind her, but something in her posture screamed she was aware.

Kobrah took a swig of his drink. He’d left his first mate in charge for the night. They’d docked at the space station for a three EC-day layover. The crew needed to relax and unwind somewhere different for a bit.

The first mate insisted the captain needed to take a break, too.

The woman took a seat at the bar, leaving two stools between them. “A vanilla spritzer, please.”

He snickered. Who came to a bar to order the most non-alcoholic drink ever?

“Is there a problem?” he heard her ask.

A moment later someone tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced over to see the spritzer woman standing beside him.

“I said, is there a problem?”

Turning, he leaned against the bartop. “Isn’t a man allowed to laugh?”

“You were laughing at me.”

“And if I was?” he said with a challenging arch of his brow.

“Then admit it. I like a man with a sense of humor.”

Not the answer he expected. His suspicion roused. “What’s the deal, honey?” An old term of endearment, not often heard outside Gaia Federation territory. Yet, he liked it, and it suited her. Her hair shone golden like real honey.

“Deal?” she queried right back.

“Why are you talking to me?”

Her lips quirked. “Because you’re human and cute.”

“Human yes, but we both know I ain’t cute.” Rugged. Handsome. Cute, though? That was for pets.

“I’d say I’m a better judge of good looks than you are.”

“And I still say you’re playing me.”

“Suspicious guy.”

“It’s what keeps me alive. I’m Kobrah.” He extended his hand, and she took it, her skin soft against his. A tingle ran through him, and he heard her gasp.

“Dara.”

“Tell me what you want, Dara.”

A coy smile curved her lips. “You are not easily fooled. Very well, I admit I came looking for a certain captain. The commander of the Gypsy Moth.”

“Let me guess, you want to come work for me?” Which meant she’d be off-limits. He didn’t fuck the crew. Too much paperwork involved to ensure there were no liability charges later.

She shook her head. “I don’t need to work. I can pay.”

A paying client? Still off-limits. “I’m expected elsewhere.”

“What if I said I’m going in your direction?”

“I’d say what a coincidence.” Except, was it? His dream self frowned at the stray thought. A new thought he’d never had before. How far back did her perfidy reach?

“How do you feel about bar fights?” she asked, grabbing the vanilla spritzer and taking a long sip.

“I tend to avoid them. So don’t expect me to get involved in your shenanigans.”

“Who says it’s my problem?” She leaned close. “There’s a fellow behind me with a pistol aimed your way. I’m the only thing blocking his shot.”

Kobrah peered past her and noticed the cloaked figure. The red spot aiming…

He grabbed the woman and shoved her down, raised his own pistol, and fired. Problem solved. Except the gelatinous alien he killed had friends. Another gun lasered, slicing through the crowd quite literally. Then the bar went into weapon lockout mode, which meant a specialized pulse that killed the electronics on every weapon that used them.

Which led to people pulling daggers.

Always have a backup weapon. Kobrah had a knife in hand and was weaving through the crowd, his hand laced around the woman’s. The crowd went nuts.

Fists flew. Tentacles slapped. Something pinched his ass.

He didn’t have to do too much slicing to get out. Most of the beings in his path took one look at him and moved out of the way.

They exited the main door of the bar onto a metal-grated street. The noise didn’t improve out here with the amount of people milling around and the various other establishments providing brisk trade.

Kobrah pulled her along with him until they found a quieter side street. He paused there with her, checking for pursuit.

When he was satisfied they’d escaped, he glanced more closely at the woman.

Light freckles across the bridge of her gently sloped nose. Straight white teeth.

“How did you know that guy was aiming for me?”

“Because he asked where you were when he walked in. It’s how I knew where to find you at the bar, Captain Kobrah Jameson.”

“My friends call me Koby.”

“I didn’t know we were friends.” Her words and lips teased.

“You did tell me about an assassin.”

“Which requires a reward, I think.” She stepped closer. “I’ll take my payment now.”

Before he could ask what she meant, she showed him, standing on tiptoe, curling her fingers around his nape, her lips rising, a hairsbreadth from his.

His eyes closed, every nerve ending went on alert. His cock hardened. He waited for the brush of her lips.

Instead he got a soft whisper. “I’ll take your cabin for the next leg of your trip.”

What?

There was no kiss that day. Or the next. Dara made him work for it. But eventually, before the next port, they were at least sharing his bed.

A bed that he burned two years later.