Delivery (Star Line Express Romance Book 3) Read online

  Delivery

  star line express

  romance #3

  Alessia Bowman

  Copyright © 2018 by Alessia Bowman

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in book reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  cover art by Rebecacovers | fiverr.com

  ISBN-13: 978-1-949059-07-6 (ebook)

  Eclipse Ink, Bronx, NY

  Delivery is a work of fiction. References to historical events or real people or places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual anything or anyone is entirely coincidental.

  Visit my website: https://www.alessiabowman.com/

  Star Line Express Romances

  #1 Stowaway

  #2 Shore Leave

  #3 Delivery

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 29

  Author’s Note

  For every cosmic coincidence I share with Don

  Chapter 1

  Joston

  Yeah, sure, the Marinax is an Orquen-class stator. And has the best damned engineer if not in the entire Seven Galaxies then definitely in this sector. And a swell bunch of crew members.

  But a few months ago when I impulsively signed on here, I had no idea just how fucking boring life on an intergalactic cargo transport could be.

  Would be.

  Is.

  Back then, flying high—which is one of my favorite ways to fly—off the rescue out at Kaera Birtak’s burning-down mountain retreat, it seemed like being on the crew of the Star Line Express freighter Marinax was the obvious next step in my life. In my adventure.

  Although I never really thought of this as an advancement since anything short of having my own Orquen-class stator or maybe a Phoetrum, even though I can’t say I love that design, wouldn’t be an advancement.

  Hell, I never thought this would be a demotion, which is what it’s starting to feel like. Half the time I’m stuck in the engine room with my fellow Chorynean Aymee Desryx, who’s so frighteningly brilliant it’d take me fifteen millennia to catch up, and the other not quite half of the time I’m doing chores I’d rather not know existed.

  It’s only these moments, like right now, while I’m floating outside the ship, making repairs, that I feel a bit like my old self, the one who loved flying, who craved speed, who was the best damned aircar pilot on Choryn. Or anywhere. The fastest. The most daring.

  Hardly anything daring about wearing a pressure suit while bopping about the outside of the Marinax and tightening up this and that, but it’s a helluva lot better than being cooped up inside.

  Than never being allowed near the helm, which is where I belong. And which is where Captain Zavl’yn definitely does not trust me. Just because I flew that aircar into the fire? Hell, that should be a reason to let me man the helm. Not ban me from it.

  Fearless. That’s me in one word.

  Or maybe Zav’s just testing me. I can’t be sure. Nik keeps telling me not to worry. Some advice from a guy who’s worried about 300 percent of time, what with his wife—and my boss—Aymee about to deliver their baby.

  To make matters worse, I can’t even socialize tonight. They’re showing that despicable vid The Treachery of Joston Parst once again. The crew members, with the exception of me and Aymee, just love Parst. Even Lasson Birtak, who’s been doing business all over the galaxy while hitching a ride on the Marinax with his life mate, Chlo Nightbird, seems to have developed a taste for this piece of so-called entertainment.

  Entertainment? Trash is more like it.

  Why can’t they show Helmsman’s Mate instead?

  Aymee and I have had this discussion hundreds of times. Like me, she loves Helmsman, and also like me, she’s just pining for the day when Salana and Captain Harlan will finally get together. Because the sexual tension between them is positively infuriating . . . and absolutely the most potent aphrodisiac I’ve ever encountered outside of one-on-one contact.

  Which leads me to another reason why I made a terrible mistake signing on the Marinax: sex. Even though I’m pretty sure there are other unmatched crew members going at it with each other—and here I won’t name names—I can’t bring myself to that point. I’d have to see whoever it was again tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. And the night after that. They’d never go away. And I couldn’t escape. There’s nowhere to escape to.

  No. Can’t do it.

  Back on Choryn I had no such problems. I was the go-to male for a host of about-to-be-matched females. You know how it is—your match is set, you’re primed, your needs are in high gear, but your meeting at Café First isn’t for another day or another week or another few months. It can be frustrating.

  Or so I’ve been told. And understand from firsthand experience. Not my own, of course, since I was never matched.

  I always explain that it was a glitch in the lottery system, a system that no longer exists now that the creep Warali’s schemes and scams have been exposed. Lasson told me she’s in prison. He’s pals with her ex, Rhasov.

  But, no, there was no glitch in the lottery system. I just didn’t want to participate. So I didn’t. There are ways around it, ways that don’t include bribery and scams. You just have to know how to fiddle with things. Which I do.

  Because, really, just about the last thing on Choryn I wanted was to be tied to a female for even an entire day, much less for the rest of our lives. Based on a fucking lottery. Or, frankly, on anything at all.

  Much more fun to play around with the females who were waiting for their first meetings. A very willing, very excited, very free group. Not that I ever engaged in group shenanigans. I prefer my females one at a time. And then immediately mated to someone else, relieving me of any responsibility.

  I tighten a few more connections, run my gloved hands over the gleaming shell of the Marinax, sigh in unabated sexual frustration, and spring a leak in my pressure suit.

  Fuck!

  Niya

  Chlo will be here soon. She commed me a few days ago. Her new ship, the Marinax, has a stop on Engra. Some kind of delivery.

  She won’t be able to come off the ship—she’s in exile—but I’ll go to her.

  It’ll be a relief to see her after all these years. She’s the only other being in the Seven Galaxies who knows the truth about my beautiful Aeryen. He’s just old enough now to know that something is different about him, but I keep assuring him that everything is all right. It has to be all right.

  I hate having to shave the hair off his wrists. It appeared just a few months ago. It’s quite beautiful and soft. It sort of floats. But no Engra has such a thing on their body and, unlike Aeryen’s vestigial tail, which can be hi
dden, his wrists cannot be.

  I need to talk with Chlo about this new development but I can’t dare say anything on the comm. We’re both very careful.

  Chlo mated with a Chorynean, which seems very unlike her, but the Chorynean she mated is Lasson Birtak, who’s one of the wealthiest beings in the Seven Galaxies. Perhaps that had something to do with it, although Chlo isn’t that type. She wouldn’t care about his wealth. She would care only about him. So he must be wonderful.

  What must it be like to be mated with someone wonderful? With someone, period? I used to dream of my future match, but since Aeryen, it’s become impossible.

  I don’t regret my decision, though. I would never regret it.

  Although it wasn’t exactly a decision. It was more of an impulse. I saw the baby and had to have him. To protect him. To take care of him. It felt like destiny or fate or whatever else they talk about in entertainment stories. I knew I was the right one to take care of him. And he knew it too. He reached out for me just as I reached out for him.

  Yet sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I hadn’t taken him in. If he’d been born without the vestigial tail. Or if his parents hadn’t rejected him.

  Would I be mated now? Would Var have become interested in me? He used to sit in the seat across from mine, a fellow flight controller. He wasn’t handsome or charming, but he was dependable and kind. We had lunch together once, then he was promoted and moved.

  Sometimes I think about him, or I think about someone like him, someone who would be dependable and kind. Who would love me and I would love him. Who would love Aeryen. And understand. And we’d be able to give Aeryen siblings.

  But these are insane thoughts. There is no one like this. There’s no one I could trust with the knowledge of Aeryen’s vestigial tail and the gorgeous hairs that are now sprouting from his wrists. With the knowledge that he isn’t even mine, even though he is mine. And I’m his. We make a great family. An extraordinary family. A necessary family. A family based in love.

  Would Var have become interested in me? Would he have been someone I could trust with the secrets that could destroy my beloved child?

  If these secrets would destroy me, I wouldn’t mind. Let me be destroyed. But not Aeryen. He has his whole life to live. And I’ll do anything and everything to make sure that he does.

  Including doing the unthinkable, which is what I’ve been unable to stop thinking about ever since I found out that Chlo and the Marinax will be here. Soon.

  I’m ready.

  Chapter 2

  Joston

  I run my arm across the faceplate, which is treated with a chemical that should create a temporary seal in the suit. How temporary is anyone’s guess. I just have to hope that the one leak’s all I’ve got.

  This is what you get for not paying attention. I can just hear what Zav will say to me when I get back inside.

  Then put me at the helm, I’ll say. I’ll have no problem paying attention there.

  That is the truth times ten. Give me a job I can sink my soul into and I’ll pay closer attention than anyone else ever did or would. Or could.

  But I doubt Zav’ll believe me. As long as he doesn’t make some lame joke about Joston Parst, the stereotypical Chorynean son of a bitch from that lousy vid, I won’t mind too much.

  Why the hell I had to be named Joston I don’t know. It’s not like it was a popular name at the time. It wasn’t. It sure as hell isn’t now. You’d sooner name your child Beelzebub than call him Joston.

  Although there is one scene in Parst where you just can’t help but love the guy. The scene where he rescues the she-bear from the trap. Everyone applauds, even though by then Parst’s an anathema. I guess the producers thought he shouldn’t be totally unredeemable.

  Lynar to the helm.

  I must be imagining this.

  I get to the airlock and let myself in. Maybe Zaen, who’s in charge of the uniforms, will be able to patch up my pressure suit without anyone knowing. I’ll bribe her. Isn’t that what a good Chorynean does?

  Lynar to the helm.

  I’m not imagining this. I’m being summoned.

  While I run to the helm, I shed my suit and comm Aymee to tell her I finished everything outside.

  Joston, they’re finally going to let you fly this baby, I tell myself. Remain impassive, I tell myself even though my body’s about to fly all by itself. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. That I’ve waited months for. That will finally make my decision to work on the Marinax look good to me.

  “Lynar reporting,” I say when I get to the helm, where only Captain Zavl’yn and First Officer Niklas Arca are stationed at the moment. The joint is empty. Meal break, I think.

  Nik’s shaking his head, and Zav looks like he’s about to tell me that along with my other unwanted duties I’m being put in charge of all the future screenings of The Treachery of Joston Parst. Or about to be beheaded. Or both.

  I’d rather assume the best—that I’m needed here to fly this fabulous ship. I smile in anticipation.

  “Sir,” I say to the captain. “I knew one day you’d need me to fly the Marinax. Thank you for this opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

  Nik tries to suppress a laugh but doesn’t succeed.

  “You’ll only be needed to fly this ship under a set of circumstances I’d rather not contemplate,” Zav says. “Put your dreams back in their box and listen up, Lynar.”

  “Yes, sir,” I say, sounding much less disappointed than I actually am. Serves me right for winding myself up into an impossible hope.

  Damn me for leaving Choryn. The aircar races are this month and I’d like nothing better than to be there. And so what if the lottery’s finished? There are still plenty of females who’re out for the same kind of fun I am. And I’d never have to spend more than a few hours with any of them.

  “Nik has convinced me that you’re suited to be in charge of the deliveries on Engra,” Zav says, smiling now himself. The grim look was a ruse. I stop holding my breath.

  “Yes, sir,” I say with some enthusiasm. “Yes, sir.” I stand up straighter than my usual straight-up standing. “Does that mean I’ll get a transport raft?”

  I hear those things can go fast. If necessary. When necessary. And they’re very maneuverable if you have that kind of finesse. Which I do. My hands start tingling. This is almost as good as sex. Almost.

  “I’m afraid it does mean that,” Zav says, “and if you violate even one single protocol, I’ll throw you in that cell where Nik and Aymee created their about-to-be-born kid, except you’ll be by yourself. Forever.”

  “What the hell?” Nik says. “How do you know about that, Zav?”

  Both the captain and first officer have forgotten about me. I’ve forgotten about them as well, since I’m having wonderful fantasies about getting my hands on the controls of a transport raft.

  Speed. Excitement. Power. The boredom is instantly destroyed by anticipation.

  “Don’t you dare say a word to Aymee,” Nik says to Zav. “She’ll kill me. She’ll think I told you.”

  “How do you know she didn’t tell me?”

  “Aymee told you?” Nik says.

  “Dismissed,” Zav says to me, and I run down to the engine room, leaving the two sparring officers behind. My thrill level builds by the second.

  I’m a pilot. It’s what I was born to do. Yet I haven’t done one second of piloting since I joined this bunch of cargo transporters and Joston Parst aficionados. Tomorrow, though, when we get to Engra, I’m going to be a pilot again. Finally.

  Wait’ll I tell Aymee what Nik and Zav are arguing about. That should be fun too.

  But not as much fun as breaking every fucking protocol I can think of tomorrow. Because there’s no point in being in charge of a transport raft if I can’t push her to her limits. Zav knows that about me. Which is, I’m sure, why he’s put me in charge.

  Niya

  “Engra ground to Marinax transport three,” I say.
>
  They’re finally here. I’ll finally have someone I can really talk to. Someone I can air out my concerns with.

  I’m just sorry that Chlo can’t come over to my place. Like the old days. But there are several warnings out about her, including the one blinking across my screen right now. It’s known that she’s on the Marinax, and she’s forbidden to set foot on Engra. Even if she is the life mate of the powerful Lasson Birtak, who Chlo told me is scheduled to have some meetings here.

  “Marinax transport three,” says an overly calm, somewhat gravelly male voice with a typical Chorynean accent, making the voice sound even sexier than it already does.

  “Landing module eighteen,” I say. “Prepare for dock.”

  “Prepared,” says the sexy voice. “And ready for some thrills.”

  Of course, this voice is not talking directly to me even if I imagine that he would be. Like many of the transport pilots I’ve known, he’s probably just hyped up about some shore leave.

  But as I look out the window at the incoming raft, I see that this pilot is not talking about that kind of thrill. This guy is doing some sort of crazy acrobatic maneuver involving loops and the kind of speed that I’ve never seen from a little ship like the one he’s piloting.

  Everyone in the room, including me, is standing up now, staring out the window.

  Mesmerized.

  Silent.

  Watching.

  Gasping.

  Me too. None of us in the control room have ever seen a pilot do such interesting things with so little space, and so quickly, so deftly, with such a small craft—and especially with such a small craft that’s about to land right in front of us.

  The transport raft does one last fabulous loop, dips from side to side, then lands about an inch away from the control room.

  “Marinax transport three,” says the very happy-sounding male voice. “Sorry I missed the dock.”

  By now everyone in the control room, including me, is cheering for this pilot’s amazing feats, and as he emerges from the transport raft, I gasp a little, because I’ve never seen such a great-looking male.