by Tasha Black
She laughed at him, a hooting sound that trumpeted through the tentacles on her head.
Everyone stared at poor Blond, who scowled and marched out of the bar.
Oz waited a moment, and then followed, trying to stick to the shadows, while keeping the guy in view.
He nearly lost him after a minute, then realized the door to the restroom was swinging slightly.
Oz stepped inside on an outward swing and saw the regulation white Cerulean soldier boots just visible under a stall door.
He stepped as silently as he could into another stall and waited.
Following a Cerulean solider was dangerous business. Being seen to interfere with them in any way was practically a death sentence in some of the outer realms.
That was exactly what Serena was fighting to end.
Blond activated the disposal button and then stepped out to wash his hands. He must have noticed Oz’s boots as soon as he turned around.
“Hey, who’s there?” he called suddenly.
Oz concentrated on the image of the other Cerulean, the one with the digi-specs. He still had one trick up his sleeve - a secret he’d never shared with anyone. Oz’s mother had been a Maltaffian, but his dad had been a shifter - it’s where he inherited his excellent hearing, as well as one other important ability.
Blond’s footsteps approached quickly.
Oz closed his eyes.
The door to the stall flew open.
He opened his eyes to admire his handiwork. He could see himself in the bathroom mirror opposite the stall. He was smaller than his normal stature, and his skin was a brilliant blue.
His digi-specs weren’t quite the right shade of gray, but an idiot like Blond hopefully wouldn’t notice.
“What the frack are you doing here?” the real Cerulean asked.
“Boss man told me to send you after a tray of desserts from the upper deck,” Oz said in his best imitation of Digi-specs’s voice. “Seven-layer promenade tortes - and he likes them crispy.”
“Seriously?” Blond asked.
Oz nodded.
“Frack, that’s just like him,” Blond said, rolling his eyes. “Let me know if I miss anything at the meeting, okay?”
“Sure,” Oz agreed.
Blond headed out of the restroom and took off in the opposite direction of the Viceroy’s Suite.
Oz hoped he would have enough time to get to the meeting and hear what he needed to hear. Seven-layer promenade cakes took a little time to make, even when they weren’t crispy.
He faced the mirror again and closed his eyes.
When he opened them, he was looking at himself as Blond instead of Digi-specs.
It had been a long time since he tried his hand at shifting. His natural Maltaffian form was really quite adequate for all his needs. But every once in a while, being someone else came in handy.
The cheekbones weren’t perfect, but it was the hair that stood out on the guy. He should be able to fool the others as long as he acted in character and didn’t draw unneeded attention to himself.
He headed for the Viceroy’s Suite as fast as he could without drawing attention to himself.
19
Ozmarck
Oz slipped into the Viceroy’s Suite and scanned the room for Feather and Digi-specs.
The Viceroy’s Suite had once actually been used by a viceroy, according to a plaque by the door. Now the somber space with the wood wainscoting could be booked by anyone.
Feather and Digi-specs stood at attention in the back of the room.
Oz jogged over to join them, hoping his stride was typical for Blond.
“Slow down, weirdo, he’s not here yet,” Feather said with a smirk.
“Did she take your number?” Digi-specs asked, sliding his specs up the bridge of his nose.
“Naw,” Oz said, remembering to run a hand through his hair, as he’d seen Blond do.
Feather just laughed.
The whoosh of a door opening to a sensor stopped him mid-laugh.
“I see you idiots are yukking it up in here,” a smooth male voice said.
It was a familiar voice.
But Oz didn’t dare turn to look at its owner. He mimicked the other two Ceruleans and hoped the real Blond was moving slowly with the dessert order, and that the upper-deck kitchens were understaffed.
Sharp footsteps passed him and then the owner of the voice turned around.
It took all Oz had not to gasp in shock.
The “boss man” in charge of terrorizing Serena was her ex-fiancé, Ramm Vox.
The voice was familiar because it was the same one Oz had heard on the hologram earlier, begging Serena to come back.
He must have used a PostHaste to make it here so quickly.
“Isn’t anyone going to ask about my trip?” Ramm asked in a smooth, sarcastic tone.
“How was your trip, sir?” Feather asked.
“It was a fracking PostHaste, how do you think it was?” Ramm spat back. “I’m exhausted boys, and I hope we can end this today, since you clearly couldn’t take care of matters on your own.”
Digi-specs shuffled his feet, so Oz did the same.
“What’s the plan, sir?” Feather asked.
“I left her a holo message when I arrived,” Ramm said. “I’ve asked her to meet me here. If things go as planned, I’ll have three witnesses to a re-engagement pact.”
Feather nodded.
A loud banging on the outer door almost made Oz jump.
Feather strode over importantly. “State your name.”
“Serena Scott,” yelled a very familiar voice.
Oz’s heart leapt in his chest.
The door slid open to reveal his mate.
For the second time in as many minutes, Oz fought the urge to cry out.
She was deeply, wildly pregnant. The baby was practically visible through her belly even though she was swimming in a pair of Oz’s sweats that he’d left in her rooms. A pair of sunglasses rested incongruously on top of her head. She clearly hadn’t put much effort into her appearance.
She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen.
He clenched his fists and fought for control.
“Serena,” Ramm said, both his eyebrows approaching his hairline.
Oz clearly wasn’t the only one surprised by her sudden visit.
“No,” Serena said violently. “You don’t get to talk.”
The whole room went silent. Even the bulbs in the ceiling were afraid to buzz.
“I don’t care about any of it anymore,” she went on. “I don’t care about political alliances, I don’t care about your support, or my career. And I sure as hell don’t care about sharing my life with a man.”
She stalked over to him, eyes blazing, and Ramm shrank away slightly.
“If the universe is ready for my politics, I won’t need your help with them,” she said with quiet conviction. “I have something more important in my life, now. And nothing, I mean nothing, will distract me from it.”
Ramm opened his mouth and closed it again.
Serena turned on her heel and marched out of the room.
There was a moment of silence as the door resealed itself in her wake.
“Why are you smiling, boss man?” Feather asked, breaking the silence.
“Oh, it’s time for a tweak to our plans,” Ramm said quietly with a smug half-smile.
“What kind of tweak?” Feather asked.
“I think it’s time for the gloves to come off,” Ramm said. “We’ve got a murder to plan.”
20
Serena
Serena reached her room again and stormed inside.
It was cool and quiet in the Honeymoon Suite, a slight breeze from the air vents fluttering the gauzy drapes and bed canopy.
But Serena felt like she was burning inside.
The communicator pinged, signaling another call from Ramm.
She ignored it.
Furious at her ex-fiancé, even more furious at Oz, she l
et the hot tears fly from her eyes.
“I still have you,” she told her baby, wrapping an arm around her considerable middle.
The communicator dinged again. Ramm just wouldn’t take a hint.
Serena needed to find something to do to occupy her mind. She figured finding something decent to wear was as good a task as any. Oz’s sweats were the only thing she had that would still fit, and she felt the waistband snug on her belly whenever she moved.
She could get some clothes, and other supplies while she was out.
She pressed the room communicator before it could ping again.
“Wardrobe station. How may I be of assistance,” a cool droid voice answered.
“I need to shop for maternity and baby clothing and blankets,” Serena sniffed.
“Very good,” the droid said. “We’re on the main level, open until twenty-two hundred hours. We accept universal credits, or ship vouchers.”
“I, um, I need to keep a low profile,” Serena said, trying to imagine walking the main corridor in her current get-up. She’d managed to make it down two floors to the Viceroy’s Suite without attracting too much attention, but she’d used the service platform and back hall for that.
“Excellent,” the droid said. “Please make your way to the service platform and I’ll have an employee fetch you in a private cart.”
“Thank you so much,” Serena replied, feeling relieved.
“We’ll have refreshments waiting, madam,” the droid said, glancing at her belly in the holo.
“Thank you,” Serena said.
She signed off and went to the washroom to splash a little cold water on her face.
“We can do this,” she told herself and the baby, trying to ignore the ping of the communicator in the other room. “We just have to take it one step at a time.”
Her reflection had swollen, red-rimmed eyes, but she looked determined and… hopeful.
Serena turned off the water and glanced longingly at the steam from the pond, but the wardrobe station would be waiting. She could take a soak later tonight.
She headed to the door, determined to keep herself busy with positive, productive preparation for the future.
She was just about to exit when the communicator dinged again.
21
Ozmarck
Oz hid in the shadows just outside the Honeymoon Suite.
Instinct had sent him running to her the moment he knew she was in danger.
He knew there would be some confusion when the Cerulean lackey returned with a tray full of unnecessary desserts, but he was pretty sure they were all too stupid to figure out what he’d done.
It didn’t matter. He needed to protect his mate.
But she didn’t want him, didn’t want any man.
She’d been very clear about that.
He could tell she was just barely holding herself together when she’d burst into the Viceroy’s Suite. He couldn’t push her over the edge by throwing himself at her feet to grovel, no matter how much he wanted to.
No, he should stay close, keep watch on her and just make sure she wouldn’t spot him.
If the bond strengthened because of it, she wouldn’t be unhappy.
She wanted his baby.
Even if she didn’t want him.
He held in a shuddering sob and tried to tell himself that she would give him a second chance one day.
The door slid open and she was there.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, but she was still the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
“Hello,” she said, eyeing him with some alarm, but no recognition.
He was still disguised as the Cerulean, thank the gods.
“Boss man wanted me to keep an eye on you,” he improvised.
“Tell the boss man I don’t need a babysitter,” she said. “If I see you on my tail again, I’ll get out my blade. I have a license to carry.”
“Where are you going?” Oz couldn’t help asking.
She looked at him strangely.
“To the wardrobe station,” she said. “I need some clothing. Tell your boss to step off. Seriously, he’s calling my room constantly. It’s borderline harassment. I don’t think he wants to spend the rest of the cruise inside a cell.”
She turned on her heel and strode down the hallway.
He watched her until her small form disappeared around a corner.
Then he headed into her suite.
Wardrobe would take some time.
And their conversation had given him an idea.
22
Ramm
Ramm rubbed his hands together briskly and tried to decide what to do next.
“How may I assist you?” his helper droid asked politely.
“I’m trying to decide whether to have lunch before or after I kill my ex-fiancée,” Ramm replied.
“Your request is at odds with my protocol,” the droid replied.
Blasted droids - built by some idiot cub, lacking a sense of humor.
“Never mind,” Ramm said. “I’m going to make a call. Have my lunch sent up in an hour.”
“Very good sir,” the droid said approvingly.
Ramm watched as it slid toward the foyer to program the room service order.
When it was gone and the door slid shut behind it, Ramm touched his wrist.
A grainy holo image appeared and a tone, indicating his call was going through.
This was Serena’s last chance.
If she didn’t pick up this time and cooperate, he would have no choice but to get creative.
And Ramm hated getting creative.
He had been looking forward to a little luxury on this trip, since he’d had to scramble to get on board. The least she could do was cooperate so he could have it.
He was shocked when the grainy screen slid up into an image of Serena.
“Serena,” he said.
She stared back at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, as if she had been crying.
And who could blame her? She had clearly been hiding her pregnancy from him for months. The holos the other night hadn’t shown half of what was going on with her.
She must have been sweating bullets when he called off the wedding.
He wondered idly if she had been wearing girdles. That could cause a baby to be disfigured.
Fortunately, this baby wasn’t going to be born, so it was a non-issue. He idly wondered if there was some way to dispose of her, but still keep the baby around. A widowed single father would play very well with his constituents. And he could just get a nanny to raise the thing.
He brushed the thoughts aside for the time being.
“What do you want?” Serena asked.
There was something off in the cadence of her voice. He had never heard her sound actually hopeless before. He liked it.
“This line isn’t secure,” he said coolly. “Meet me in the forest, alone. We can discuss whether we can be of any help to one another.”
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Trust me,” he told her. “I want to help. That’s why I came.”
She sighed, a crestfallen expression on her face.
“Fine,” she said at last. “Let’s get this over with.”
Ramm smiled.
He couldn’t have said it better himself.
23
Ramm
Ramm surveyed the forest entry with satisfaction.
His men were stationed all along the trail, but none were visible from the corridor.
To anyone observing, it would simply look as if he were taking a romantic stroll with his fiancée.
He hummed a few bars of Bright Eyes as he took a final trek down the path to the first meadow, where a shallow grave had already been dug, and then turned back toward the entrance.
Everything was going so well.
And why shouldn’t he be humming Terra-40’s national anthem? What he was about to do was extremely patriotic. He was taking out a woman who was a po
litical opponent, which made her an enemy of the people. And a pain in the ass to boot.
And he’d found the only place on the whole damned ship that wasn’t under video surveillance to do it.
Soon Serena Scott would be nothing but fertilizer for the silent trees in this creepy glassed-in forest.
A hastily forged note in her quarters telling everyone that she couldn’t take the pressure anymore, combined with the emergency departure of a PostHaste shuttle, would be the icing on that particular cake.
No one at home would miss her. And no one on the ship would even bother looking for her.
He got to the bridge of the song, where the high notes always brought tears to his eyes, just as he reached the entry point again.
Serena was already standing outside the forest with a determined expression on her face.
He paused for a moment and gazed at her through the glass.
Something was different about her today.
Then he shook his head. The only things really different were her gargantuan belly and her very limited time left alive.
He plastered a lovelorn grin on his face and opened the door.
“Serena, thank you so much for coming,” he sang out. “I really appreciate you giving me a second chance to have a conversation.”
She eyed him suspiciously, but she nodded.
“Let’s walk and talk,” he suggested.
She inclined her head and he reached out to place a hand on her lower back. The expression of horror on her face was enough to make him snatch it back instantly.
“S-sorry,” he stammered. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. The footing on the path isn’t the best for one in your… condition.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she said, shrugging and looking away.
Ramm plastered the smile back on his face and mentally congratulated himself for not winding up married to this unappreciative hag.
The trees closed in around them and there was nothing but the sound of their footsteps crunching in the leaves and his own heartbeat in his ears.
