Moonlight Mist: A Limited Edition Collection of Fantasy & Paranormal)

by Nicole Morgan

  Vienna grinned at Kyra as if reading her thoughts. “Different strokes for different folks.”

  That didn’t really answer her question, but she supposed it had been rude to pry. She hardly knew these two women; Ivy was so friendly, it was easy to forget they’d only just met. Kyra felt like she had known her for years.

  The server delivered their beverages, and they set off down the street, admiring the various items in the stalls as they sipped their drinks. They stopped at a produce vendor, and Kyra looked over the wares, trying to memorize the name of every fruit and vegetable. If only she had the credits to buy some; she itched to get her fingers on them and see what she could make of them.

  She turned to leave and bumped into a man standing beside her. Startled, she stepped back. Somehow, she managed to bump into someone else. Her arm jerked in surprise, sending her hot beverage into the face of the first man. He yelped in pain and stumbled sideways. He crashed into the produce stand, upending the contents. Vegetables flew through the air and rained down on the shoppers’ heads. Everyone began shouting at once.

  Kyra covered her face with both hands and peeped at the carnage. Ivy and Vienna were looking at her in stunned horror. The vendor was shouting obscenities at the man who had crashed into the stand, who, in turn, pointed at Kyra and yelled in red-faced anger, “It was her! Arrest her!”

  The man and the vendor both took a step toward Kyra. She backed away, her heart pounding in her chest. Oh dear God…

  She backed into something big and hard. She whirled around. Derrick stared down at her with an annoyed scowl.

  “Maybe you should go back to the Mercy before you blow something up,” he said.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the vendor and the man she’d scalded. They weren’t just going to let her leave.

  “We got this,” Vienna said, wryly, shaking off her surprise. “It was an accident. We’ll smooth it over.”

  Kyra wanted to cry from a combination of embarrassment and gratitude. She shot Ivy and Vienna a grateful look, and then fled for the ship, her face burning with humiliation. She heard Derrick huff with exasperation; the sound haunted her all the way back.

  Chapter Four

  Derek sniffed hungrily as he came through the mess hall doorway. “What’s that smell?” The crew and a few of the passengers were assembled around the communal dining table, which was crowded with bowls, cutlery, a platter of biscuits, and a large pot from which curls of steam escaped. To his surprise, even Hunter was there; the man rarely mingled with the crew and never the passengers. Apparently, the mouth-watering smell wafting through the ship had attracted everyone’s attention.

  Derrick sniffed again as the delicious earthy, meaty aroma tickled his nose.

  “Kyra cooked,” said Ivy, lighting up like a docking beacon.

  “Oh, her.” Catastrophe lady.

  “She’s the only other woman on board between the age of seventeen and forty besides Ivy and me,” said Vienna. “I’d have thought you’d be on her like fleas on a dog.”

  “What, that?” Derrick said, scoffing as he stepped fully into the room. He’d almost forgotten about her in the three days since they’d left New Guyana—she’d been steering well clear of him since she’d destroyed that vendor stall in the market. He dredged up a picture of the mousy little woman. Woman? Hell, girl more like it. She couldn’t be older than twenty. “Hardly. I like my women more… robust.” The girl was so tiny he’d probably crush her.

  A couple of the roughnecks sniggered.

  Vienna wrinkled her nose. “You’re a pig.”

  “Just honest.”

  He moved closer to the table as he eyed the steaming bowls of food with distrust. Vienna’s dislike of him was hardly a secret, which was fine because the feeling was mutual. Vienna thought she was better than him because she’d been born on a Second World while he was a space cast off. He’d been born on a transport heading for an outer settlement. At the end of the three-year journey, they’d arrived to find the settlement had collapsed. They’d had to turn right around and head back home. By the time they’d arrived there, he’d turned six and was old enough to apprentice out. His parents debarked while he stayed on the ship, and that was the last time he’d ever seen them. Occasionally, he spared a thought as to whether the decision to leave him behind had been difficult. But only occasionally. Life was hard out here, and people did the best they could to get by. Whether their decision had been purely mercenary—they would have been paid for turning him over to the trades—or an idealistic hope for a better life for their son, either way, they’d wanted better than they had. There was no shame in that.

  Vienna, on the other hand, had been born on a stable colony. She’d ended up out here in space same as him, but somehow, in her mind, the fact she’d been born on rock made her a step above him.

  Hunter ladled some of the food into a bowl and held it out to Derrick. With a toe he unclamped the empty chair beside him and pushed it toward Derrick.

  “What is it?” Derek asked suspiciously, ignoring both the chair and the bowl.

  “Some kind of casserole” said Hunter said shortly.

  “From scratch!” Ivy added.

  Derrick wrinkled his nose and growled in disgust. “An experiment then. I’m no guinea pig. I’ll pass.” His stomach rumbled its dissent. He remembered the cookies she’d made. Those had been good. He’d meant to make those last but had ended up eating them all the same day.

  Vienna stood up, leaned across the table, and grabbed the bowl from Hunter. “Good,” she said shortly. “More for the rest of us.”

  Derrick’s disdain turned to surprise as he caught another whiff of the mouth-watering smell. He frowned at Harlan and Ivy, both of whom were enthusiastically chowing down. Harlan was smacking his lips loudly and appreciatively. They seemed to think it was alright.

  “Yeah, well, knowing the cook, she probably accidentally added axle grease to it or dropped it on the floor.” He lowered himself into the offered chair and looked around the circle of faces. Cookies were one thing but making an entire meal was something else entirely. Though, she had salvaged Ivy’s failed attempts at a chicken dinner a few days back.

  “Probably,” Vienna agreed placidly.

  “If it’s so good, then how come she ain’t here, eatin’ it herself?”

  “She said she was tired and was going back to her quarters,” Ivy said. “But I think she got sick of Harlan asking her to marry him.” She smirked at Harlan who grinned unashamedly.

  Derrick looked around the table again. The two roughnecks were hunkered over their bowls, their noses practically in them, as they greedily shoveled in mouthfuls. That was hardly a recommendation, though. The poor bastards had been afield, stationed on a stripped down Long-Haul, moving machinery and equipment to the settlement on New Grenadine. They’d been living on nothing be Re-Con for the last thirty-six months. Hell, even a four-year old protein bar would taste good to them about now.

  He watched as Vienna dug her spoon into her heaping bowl and then sighed in appreciation as the first bite hit her taste buds.

  “Is it good?” Derrick asked, unable to keep the interest out of his voice.

  “Naw,” said Harlan. “You don’t want this… it’s terrible.”

  “Yeah?” said Derrick. If it was so terrible why was the old coot shoveling it into his face so fast?

  “Oh, yeah,” said Ivy, scooping spoonful after spoonful into her mouth so fast she barely stopped to chew. “It’s terrible. Trust us. You don’t want any of this.”

  “The biscuits ain’t much to speak of, either,” said Hunter placidly.

  “Biscuits?” Derrick asked, perking up.

  “Cheesy biscuits,” Harlan said, smacking his lips.

  One of the roughnecks made a choking noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

  “Give me some of that,” Derrick said as he realized they were putting him on. He reached across the table for the pot. It was awfully light. He tilted it and looked
inside. “Hey!” he cried. “You bastards didn’t leave any!”

  “You snooze, you lose,” said Vienna without a hint of remorse. She took another heaping spoonful from her nearly overflowing bowl and shot Derrick a smug smile over the top of it.

  “Sons of bitches,” Derrick muttered as he pushed himself up and out of the chair. The table erupted into laughter.

  “Come back, come back,” said Ivy, laughing. She pulled an empty bowl toward herself and then dumped part of her portion into it. Vienna shook her head at him, her expression a cross between exasperation and indulgence as she, too, ladled some of her food into the bowl. Harlan and Hunter followed suit.

  Hesitantly, not quite sure they were in earnest, he sat back down. Ivy pushed the bowl in front of him, still grinning ear to ear and then pushed a spoon toward him as well.

  He picked up the spoon, stuck it in the thick, meaty concoction, and pulled out a spoonful. He paused to sniff at it before taking a tentative taste. The explosion of flavors—rich, spicy, and savory hit him all at once. He bit back an unmanly sound of appreciation and dug in. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he’d taken a bite, and now he felt like he was starving. The woman might be a walking catastrophe, but damn, she could cook, that was for sure.

  “You owe me ten credits,” Ivy said to Vienna. “Pay up!”

  Harlan cackled in glee. “That weren’t even hardly a fair bet.”

  Derrick looked back and forth between the two women, confused.

  Hunter’s mouth turned up in a hint of a smile. “Vienna bet you wouldn’t swallow your pride enough to even try it.”

  Ivy gave him a smug smile. “I knew you’d give in with some convincin’”

  “Convincing? Nobody convinced me of nothin.”

  “Uh huh. Sure.” Ivy was still grinning as she took another big bite.

  A loud thump sounded behind Kyra. She jumped, sloshing some of the sauce she was stirring, and turned. Derrick had brought her second crate of produce from the cargo hold and dropped it on the counter. He stared at her for a moment with that inscrutable look she’d seen him give her many times over the last few days. Her palms grew damp. There was something about his dark, brooding gaze that made her insides quiver.

  When he continued to stare, though, she grew nervous. New Tortuga had come and gone without major mishap, and they were halfway to New Nevis. She’d made half a dozen “experimental” meals for the passengers and crew in the nearly two weeks she’d been on board that had all been well-received. She had been starting to feel that maybe, just maybe, things were finally going to be okay.

  “Thank you?” she said, trying to guess what he might be waiting for. She gripped the spoon harder and focused on moving it in a slow, smooth circle around the pan as the sauce thickened. The already small kitchen felt even smaller suddenly, even though a long length of counter separated her from Derrick. He filled the space, making it feel cramped.

  He snorted, but one side of his mouth curled up. His expression softened, which set her insides quivering even worse. He turned away, and she thought he meant to leave. Instead, he went to the storage locker and grabbed a protein bar. He turned back around and leaned against the cabinet as he unwrapped his snack, watching her with a contemplative look.

  More and more frequently, he’d taken to hanging around the kitchen. She didn’t believe it was because he was eager for her company. He’d barely said two words to her in the time she’d been on board. She didn’t take it personally; he hardly said two words to anyone. However, she’d noticed that despite his gruff demeanor, he was quick to lend a hand whenever anyone needed it. Several times, she or someone else would be wrestling with something heavy as he walked by, and without a word, he’d move or loosen or shift whatever it was and then keep walking without waiting for a word of thanks. And she hadn’t asked him to bring the crate; instead, she’d remarked to Ivy within earshot of him that her produce from the first box was running low and here he was, bringing the crate without her asking for it.

  She swallowed hard and tried to ignore him, focusing instead on the food she was preparing. But ignoring that big, muscular frame and intense scrutiny was impossible. Her hand trembled, and she sloshed some of the sauce on to the counter and the floor. She cursed under her breath. Quickly, she glanced at him to see if he’d heard her muttered expletive. One side of his mouth lifted in amusement. She blushed.

  He didn’t seem to be planning to leave any time soon. In fact, he seemed like he was perfectly content to just stand there watching her until the end of time. She had no idea what he was thinking. Was he angry? Annoyed? Bored?

  She kept her eyes on the pots in front of her; she didn’t want to look up and see annoyance or disgust on his face. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why she cared what he thought, but she did. Every time she did something embarrassing in front of him, she wanted to sink into a hole and never come out. Why couldn’t she be effortlessly cool and confident like Vienna? That would be the type of woman Derrick would like.

  Stop it! she told herself fiercely. She wasn’t interested in him, anyway. She was on her way to a new life, on a new planet. She didn’t need a big, surly distraction like Derrick.

  “What are you making?” he asked.

  Startled by the question, she jumped and bumped into the cutting board, knocking it to the floor.

  “Uh…. it’s roast chicken.” Since the last one had ended up in a stew after Ivy burned it, she’d thought an actual roasted chicken would be a nice change.

  She peeked at him from the corner of her eye. He was still just leaning against the cabinet, slowly chewing bite after bite of the protein bar, watching her with what seemed more like interest than judgment. Sweet Jesus, the man even chewed with slow, deliberate intensity. Briefly, she wondered what it would be like to have that intensity fueled by desire and focused on her. She squirmed at the thought as heat flashed through her, and she quickly squelched the thought before he read it on her face.

  “Something’s burning,” he said as a black smoke began to curl from one of the pots on the stove.

  “Crap!” She’d been so lost in reverie, she’d stopped paying attention. She grabbed the pan and shoved it off the burner. She must have pushed too hard, because the pan went sliding off the cooktop and crashed to the floor, spraying chunks of sauce and vegetables everywhere. Derrick jumped out of the way as a portion of it splattered to the floor in front of him, nearly coating his shoes.

  She locked eyes with him and stared in horror. He snorted and shook his head. He side-stepped the mess and headed out of the kitchen without another word.

  She wanted to sink through the floor and float away to deepest, darkest space. She dropped to her hands and knees to clean up the spill, sighing heavily. At least she hadn’t burned him with the sauce or beaned him on the head with the flying pot. That was a small mercy.

  She sighed as she mopped up the mess. She only had to stay out of his way for three more weeks and then she’d be off the Mercy and on to her new life. After that, she’d never see Derrick—and his critical, green-eyed glare—again.

  That thought sent a pang through her.

  She tried to shoo away the feeling away. A man like Derrick—he lived in space. He was too independent for life on a planet. The skills that made him valuable out here were useless on a First World like New Dominica. Settled worlds like New Dominica didn’t need roughnecks and general laborers; they needed skilled labor and service workers. There was no place for a man like him where she was going—and there was no place for someone like her on the frontier. Even if he were interested in her, there wasn’t much hope of them finding a place where they both fit.

  She shook her head at herself, impatient with her own nonsense. What was she even talking about? They’d only exchanged a half dozen words during the time she’d been on board, and those were mostly him swearing because she’d set off some kind of awful chain reaction of calamity, and here she was trying to map out a long-term future for t
hem. Most likely he only kept hanging around the kitchen to keep an eye on her so she couldn’t break anything.

  He doesn’t want you, she told herself fiercely.

  She forced herself to focus on finishing the task at hand; however, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop remembering Derrick’s piercing green eyes gazing down at her—or the resulting warmth that spread through her at the memory.

  Chapter Five

  Derrick yanked hard on the tie down holding a shipping crate in place. Slingshot leaving New Nevis had been rough—the idiot cannoneers had dropped the charges off-center, which had sent the Mercy spinning as it had catapulted into space. Harlan, Vienna, and Ivy had pulled them out of the spin with a steady hand on the wheel and a few expertly timed bursts of thrust.

  They’d been damn lucky to only come out with some shaken up cargo. However, now, they had a new problem: it was going to take them longer to accelerate to cruising speed—not only would they be delayed reaching New Hispaniola, but they’d be a target for the raiders on this leg of the journey. If they had come out of slingshot properly, they’d be moving too fast to be caught. But they’d still be accelerating as they reached the raiders’ territory, which increased the likelihood the bastards might catch them.

  The knot in the tangled tie-down came loose and the up-ended crate caught in it tumbled free. Derrick righted the crate and shoved it aside. Then he reached for the haphazard stack of crates behind it, teasing them apart one by one to restack them properly.

  Metal banged on metal behind him, and he turned to look. Kyra stood beside a mop bucket she’d set down on the deck. She swiped a hand across her brow and sagged a bit, as if fatigued.

  He was surprised to see her; as of late, he always seemed to be entering a room just as she was exiting. It was an awfully small ship to avoid running into someone unless it was on purpose. He suspected she was avoiding him, though he couldn’t imagine what he had done to put her off. He’d even taken to hanging around the kitchen, trying to make conversation, but she was even more tight-lipped than Hunter. He’d noticed, though, she had no problem talking at length with Vienna, Ivy, and even Harlan. It was just him she didn’t seem to like.