Star Survivor (The Sectors SF Romance Series Book 6)

by Veronica Scott

  Copyright 2016 by Jean D. Walker

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, places, characters and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Cover Art by Fiona Jayde

  DEDICATION

  To my daughters Valerie and Elizabeth, my brother David and my best friend Daniel

  To Michael R for all his encouragement and love of the Sectors!

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Julie C and the E-book Formatting Fairies!

  STAR SURVIVOR

  By

  Veronica Scott

  CHAPTER ONE

  She’d known it was a mistake to agree to venture out of her cabin, much less to go to the casino, but her companions had been begging her to join them on this final night of the cruise. A woman couldn’t concentrate on business all the time, could she? Not even to avoid unpleasant realities. A migraine nagged above her eye, threatening to become full blown, and the loud thumping music in the casino aggravated the pain. Twilka Zabour paused at the entrance to the private, high stakes gaming area and froze.

  Oh, yes, a major flashback was inevitable now. Not just because the lights and the music and the crowd were reminding her so forcibly of the last night on board the Nebula Dream, but because of the man standing in the center of a largely female, laughing group of passengers. He stood with his back to her, thank the lords, and all she could see were his broad shoulders and that glossy, unbound mane of hair, but the high roller running the table was a D’nvannae Brother.

  Khevan.

  The memories were a physical pain in her gut as the room spun around her.

  “Drink. I need a drink,” she said, grabbing at the glasses balanced on the tray of a passing server. She didn’t care what they were, nor was she displeased to find the goblets contained two completely different feelgoods. Even as the waiter exclaimed in annoyance and her own companions exchanged astonished glances, she shoved the now empty glasses at the man, snatched a third from his tray, swirls of orange and green froth, and sauntered forward. Twilka headed to the table with a casualness she in no way felt, her nerves taut as a bowstring, her pulse pounding. The migraine took hold with a vengeance now, fueled by tension and the feelgoods. At least she’d worn a killer dress.

  “Twenty thousand on the red,” she said, having seen his bet and choosing the opposite. “I’ll spin.” Sipping the abominable, too sweet concoction, she leaned over to spin the retro wheel, giving the room a full view of her cleavage, accented with perfume dust and temporary diamond-studded tattoos.

  There was a growing silence around the table. She didn’t think the onlookers knew who he was—had been—to her. She was famous, her face appearing everywhere as the embodiment of her brand, but he was just a D’nvannae. In reality, Khevan could never be dismissed as “just” anything, could he? Her companions had caught up to her, Lissa and Jord standing at her side, slightly behind. Tossing her hair, she raised her glass as the croupier proclaimed her win. “Again.” She leaned over and licked Jord’s ear, caressing the outline with her tongue as sensuously as she could manage in her highly fraught state of mind. She’d taken him by surprise, but he played along, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her close, turning so her hip curved into his crotch, spilling the drink a bit as he nuzzled her neck.

  “The lady wins again,” said the dealer.

  “Your lucky night,” Khevan said, inclining his head to her slightly.

  Lords, his voice was as deep and sensuous as ever. Twilka grabbed the table rail with her free hand. Did he know who she was? Of course he did, but the bastard was pretending not to recognize her. “Available for contract, I see.”

  “Technically true, but traveling to an outlying temple for a required ritual,” he said. His handsome, tattooed face gave nothing away. “There would have to be an emergency for me to take a contract tonight.”

  “Did you want to let the bet ride?” asked the croupier.

  “No,” she said abruptly. “I don’t tempt fate too far any more. Cash me out.” Sick of the game, barely able to see for the lightning flashes in her field of vision caused by the migraine, she abandoned her drink and took Jord’s arm. “I think we’ve wasted enough time here, don’t you?” Beaming at Lissa, she added, “Let’s go to the cabin and start the party again.”

  She stumbled ever so slightly as she spun around. Jord kept her upright and they walked away. “What the seven hells were you doing?” he asked in a low voice. “Did you know that guy?”

  “It was him, wasn’t it?” High pitched and excited, Lissa’s tone betrayed her fascination. “Your D’nvannae?”

  “Not mine, never mine,” she said, biting her lip as too much of the truth slipped out. Fearing he was watching her, dreading that he wasn’t, she kept walking until she’d put enough distance between herself and the high stakes area not to be seen. Then she stopped abruptly, pulling her arm away from Jord’s grip. “Listen, I don’t want to ruin your evening. You’ve both worked hard this trip. I’m going to my cabin, but I want you to stay and enjoy the last night of the cruise.” She fumbled for the credit chip. “Take this; win or lose, I don’t care, but have fun. See you in the morning.”

  “Are you sure, boss?” Jord took the chip.

  “I’m positive.” She straightened her spine and made a shooing motion. “Go, have fun. You know we’ll be working 24/7 once we reach the planet tomorrow.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lissa hesitated. “You’re pale.”

  “I knew I needed more makeup.” She forced herself to laugh.

  Jord pretended to bite the edge of the credit chip. “Pure gold. Come on, Liss, the boss wants us to party, and I, for one, am ready.”

  Her personal assistant chewed her lip, a dubious expression on her face, but allowed herself to be drawn away. Twilka gave them an airy wave and walked out of the casino. She forced herself to go a few feet down the corridor and then had to lean on the wall with one hand, as the combined feelgoods and the migraine threatened to topple her. Rubbing her stomach with her free hand, she took a deep breath.

  “Do you need help, Miss Zabour?”

  The person intruding on her privacy was the ship’s security guy; what was his name? Red?

  “No, I’m fine, had to catch my breath for a moment,” she lied with practiced ease.

  He stepped away to grab a chair from the café close by and returned to guide her into it. “Sickbay is on this level if you’re unwell. I’m sure Dr. Shane…”

  “I said, I’m fine. A bit dizzy is all, nothing to concern you. Headache. I have meds in my cabin.”

  “I’ll be happy to escort Miss Zabour to her cabin.”

  She closed her eyes to keep from crying. His voice was exactly the same as it’d been all those years ago, deep, rich with promise. Why had he followed her? She couldn’t let him see her weak. Exerting her last ounce of willpower, Twilka rose and managed not to throw up. “I don’t require assistance from either of you.” She walked off.

  Passing the passenger gravlift with a shudder, she paused at the top of the sweeping retro staircase to center her balance.

  “Still not a fan of modern antigrav, I see.”

  She felt his breath on her neck and the bulk of his presence right behind her. �
�Some things never change. Other things you can’t count on at all, can you?” Twilka began the descent, moving carefully. Her damn shoes were pieces of art, but not practical. Ironic if she broke her neck now, here. “I don’t need your help—you can go delight your admirers.”

  Her ankle twisted and only his iron grip on her arm kept her from tumbling the rest of the way to the next deck and fulfilling her own prophecy. “You used to be able to handle your feelgoods,” he said, as he escorted her down the stairs. “Time to cut back maybe?”

  “What the fuck do you care?” At the bottom, she wrenched her arm free, knowing he allowed her to go. No one could break a D’nvannae’s hold unless he permitted it. “I’ll say this one more time, I don’t need your help and I don’t want you near me.” She moved as fast as she could toward her cabin, wanting this encounter with her past to be over.

  But he stayed with her, adjusting his stride to hers. “We should take this quirk of fate bringing us together and talk.”

  “Is that what you think this is, fate? I call it a nightmare and we have nothing to talk about. You left me. Went running back to your flaming bitch Lady…” She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. She was not doing this with him. She’d never give him another chance to destroy her.

  “Twilka, it wasn’t as simple as it appeared when we first escaped the Nebula Dream. Please.”

  “No.” She saw people staring and realized she must have shouted. She’d arrived at her cabin and she had no intention of permitting him inside. She faced him, noting his restored full face tattoo, the scarlet tariqna curling over his high cheekbones and strong brow, proclaiming his rank in the service of the Red Lady. “First the bitch tries to kill you—tries to incinerate me—and then she welcomes you with open arms? How much did you crawl? What did she make you do?” She held up one hand as he parted his lips to answer her. “Forget I asked. I don’t really give a damn about the details of how you got reinstated. Did you know I waited for a week? Not that you cared.” The rush of anger-fueled adrenaline was better than any feelgood high. She abandoned any attempt at self-control. All right, let’s have this out here and now, and staring bystanders be damned. “You didn’t even have the courtesy to say goodbye. To send a message. Nothing. After all we’d shared, after the promises we made to each other. Finally, the White Lady’s monks came to tell me I should leave, threw me out of her monastery, oh, so politely, escorted me to my father’s ship, and sent me home. I guess I wasn’t anything more than a Brotherhood groupie to you. A Socialite novelty fuck.”

  “You were always more to me, much more.”

  He touched her cheek and she averted her face to keep herself from falling into his arms. Another reason not to allow him into her cabin. “Apparently not. Now, leave me alone or I’ll complain to ship’s security. Even a D’nvannae can be thrown in the brig for a few hours.” She heard the portal to her cabin slide open and took a step toward the open door. He was silent. She risked one final glance at him and saw him standing there, face a blank mask to hide whatever he was thinking. She almost wavered, but then she scooted inside the cabin, door sliding shut to cut off her view of him.

  With a scream of frustration, she threw her expensive purse across the room, tore off her shoes and hurled them at the far bulkhead, then staggered barefoot into the bedroom, falling onto the bed weeping, whether in grief or anger or both, she couldn’t say. “Ship, I need headclear and migraine med, now.” She got the request out in between gasping sobs.

  Efficiently, the AI delivered the requested injects to the bedside stand. Not looking, Twilka gave herself first one, then the other, and curled up in a ball, heedless of her expensive dress.

  “Do you require the doctor’s attention?” the ship asked.

  “I’m fine.” Rolling onto her back, she relaxed as the meds kicked in, erasing the feelgoods’ poison and the violent effects of the migraine. “Is he gone?”

  “The D’nvannae Brother has re-entered the casino on Level A.”

  Good. Because if he’d still been out there, she might have given in to the temptation to talk to him. And conversation would have led to…other things. “Nothing further is required, Ship.”

  “Have a good evening, Passenger Zabour.” The AI ganglion turned itself off with a click.

  Rising to shed the ruined dress and go wash her face, Twilka reflected wearily on the irony of meeting him again here, on a cruise ship. I used to dream of finding him, of making him tell me what happened, trying to change his mind, and now I don’t care. Absolutely no use rehashing the past. Not the good moments or the crushing ones. Too painful. “I guess I grew up a lot in the last few years, despite myself,” she said out loud. Pulling on a silky black nightgown, she removed the rest of her skillfully applied makeup and combed her hair into submission.

  Because she wanted to share her unsettled emotions with someone and there was a severely limited subset of people who understood the full story, she sent a quick vidmessage to her friend Mara Jameson. You’ll never guess who I ran into tonight—the Brother himself, as cryptic as ever. Hugs. Mara would get it, would fill in all the subtext of confusion and other emotions battering Twilka. Mara excelled at reading between the lines.

  Climbing onto the bed again, she gathered all the pillows and reclined against them. Extending her palms, cupped, she closed her eyes for a moment, visualizing the White Lady’s peaceful garden on Temple Home, as she often did nowadays to center herself when she needed a calm respite from her hectic life. When she reopened them, a pale white tariqna coiled in the air above her hands, wings spread as if ready for flight. Tiny, maybe only three inches high, the creature seemed so real, so alive, yet didn’t move or make a sound. Baleful glowing blue eyes stared into hers.

  She clapped her hands to make it disappear and laid back. It had been years since she’d let herself summon the apparition, a remnant of her experiences toward the end of their nightmare escape from the dying Nebula Dream. With awe, the White Lady’s priests said it was a rare sign of her special favor, but couldn’t explain what it was good for or why Twilka now possessed the ability to summon the tiny beast.

  Some kind of pretty but useless parlor trick. A souvenir, a consolation prize.

  She hurled an inoffensive pillow at the bulkhead before closing her eyes. She and Khevan had been promised a meeting with the White Lady herself, but then he’d been lured into seeing his Red Lady one final time and never returned.

  Hot tears started again and Twilka rolled onto her side, burrowing into the remaining pillows. I’m never going to be over this, not if I live to be three hundred. People think we survived the wreck when so many others died, and we should be grateful and never complain, never look back. They have no idea how the trauma lingers. It was a mistake to agree to travel on this ship without going into cryo sleep like I usually do for these business trips. Heart aching, she felt herself slipping into sleep and prayed she wouldn’t have the nightmares tonight.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Khevan accepted his red and black leather bag from the Nebula Zephyr steward, tipped the man a credit, and left the shuttle. He’d been braced to encounter Twilka again this morning, half hoping, half dreading another chance to talk to her, but she and her party weren’t aboard the little ship. Maybe this planet wasn’t her final destination. He walked through the passenger arrival area of the busy spaceport and cleared the bureaucracy easily, since D’nvannae weren’t subject to most regulations, per the treaty between the Sectors and the Red Lady.

  Two lay brothers were waiting for him, easy to spot in their scarlet robes. One took his bag as the other welcomed him to the planet. “We’re honored to have you here to conduct training and give the blessing at the ritual next week,” the man said deferentially. “The flitter is this way.”

  Not feeling honored, Khevan walked with them in the direction indicated. He had no idea why his orders had been changed to send him here. He enjoyed teaching the younger brothers specialized martial arts classes, but what was so urgent he h
ad to be pulled off his assignment with the big Grunmark archaeological dig at a promising Ancient Observer site, he had no idea. There’d been vague language in the orders about assessing the chief brother at this planet’s temple, but a cursory check into the records told him this outpost was audited not long ago, top to bottom. The installation made credits above the required minimum, it had plenty of new recruits, and appeared to be totally dedicated to the will of the Red Lady. All was in order.

  But no one questioned the Lady’s whims, least of all him. Not anymore. He’d learned his lesson. Hadn’t he?

  At least he’d seen Twilka, even if it had taken the entire voyage to manage a few moments alone with her. Unsatisfactory moments. He unclenched his fists and ran through a brief mental exercise to clear his head before anyone noticed the tension in his frame. What had he expected, after all? And what if she had been welcoming, willing to forgive? He, of all men, knew what disaster lay in that direction. No, the outcome was vastly better this way than the fulfillment of any forlorn hopes he might have harbored for five years.

  Seeking to divert his thoughts as they flew over the city to reach the temple, which occupied a massive plateau on the outskirts, he asked, “Where’s the White Lady’s temple located?” There was no mistaking the dramatic façade of his own Lady’s edifice, which would be visible from virtually anywhere in the city. Flamboyance was one of the Red Lady’s cherished hallmarks.

  The pilot gave him a surprised glance, but answered readily enough. “Beside the river, in a garden complex.”

  Interesting. Usually the two complexes were close together, as if to give a person a chance to decide easily between them. Or as if to allow one sister to keep an eye on the other’s plots and machinations. Of course, he had no business with the White Lady. He wondered if Twilka had ever talked to her, after he was reabsorbed into the fold of the Red Lady’s adherents.