Chapter 2 Silent Night, Violent Night #2
Either way, I’ll be close enough to protect her when the real hunters make their move.
“Captain,” Raith’s voice cuts through my growing doubt. The kid’s barely old enough to vote, let alone run with pirates, but he’s got good instincts. “What if she’s telling the truth? What if these really are just courier packages?”
I turn on him with enough predatory focus to make him step back. “You think Nova Jaxson—the woman who helped me plan the Meridian Station heist, who could crack any security system in the galaxy—you think she’s suddenly developed a conscience?”
“People change,” Kex says quietly, and there’s something in his voice that makes my tail still. “Two years is a long time, Captain.”
“Not that long.” But the doubt is there now, worming its way through my certainty like acid through hull plating.
The Christmas music shifts to something with sleigh bells and children’s laughter, and suddenly I’m drowning in memory.
Five years ago. The first time I saw her.
I’d been docked at Havana Station, a lawless rock in the Outer Rim where questions weren’t asked and credits talked louder than conscience. The Shadowhawk had taken damage in a skirmish with corporate security, and I’d needed supplies that couldn’t be traced back to me.
I’d been in my quarters, reviewing tactical data for our next raid, when the ship’s proximity alarms had gone silent. Not shut down—silenced. The kind of professional work that suggested someone very good at what they did.
I’d found her in my cargo bay, dressed in black synth-leather that hugged every curve, her dark hair pulled back in a practical braid.
She’d been studying the weapon lockers with the focused intensity of an expert, her fingers dancing over the security panel like she was playing a musical instrument.
“Most people who try to rob me end up spacing themselves to avoid what comes next,” I’d said, stepping out of the shadows with my plasma rifle trained on her back.
She’d gone still, but she hadn’t dropped the device in her hands. “Most people probably don’t need the credits as badly as I do.”
When she’d turned to face me, I’d felt something shift in my chest. Green eyes, bright with intelligence and utterly fearless despite the weapon pointed at her heart. She’d been young—maybe twenty-five—but there’d been an edge to her that spoke of hard experience.
“What’s your name, little thief?”
“Does it matter?” Her chin had lifted in that defiant gesture I’d come to love. “You’re going to kill me anyway.”
“That depends on how interesting you make the next few minutes.”
She’d smiled then, sharp and dangerous. “Your security system has seventeen vulnerabilities. I’ve already exploited twelve of them. Want to know about the other five?”
I should have killed her. Should have spaced her like I’d threatened. Instead, I’d found myself lowering my weapon, fascinated by the sheer audacity of the woman who’d not only broken into my ship but was now offering to improve my defenses.
“You’re either very brave or very stupid,” I’d told her.
“I prefer ‘strategically desperate.’” She’d held up the device she’d been using—a custom code-breaker that looked like it had been built from scavenged parts.
“I can crack any system in the galaxy, fly anything with engines, and I know the location of three corporate treasure ships that are practically begging to be robbed.”
“And in exchange?”
“Partnership. Fifty-fifty split, equal say in targets, and enough credits to get me off this rock and into a ship of my own.”
I’d stared at her for a long moment, this slip of a woman who’d just proposed one of the most audacious business arrangements in pirate history. “Partners don’t try to rob each other.”
“Partners don’t leave each other defenseless either.” She’d gestured to the weapon lockers. “I was testing your security. You failed. Lucky for you, I know how to fix it.”
That had been the beginning. Three years of partnership that had evolved into something deeper, more dangerous than either of us had expected. She’d been my equal in every way that mattered—brilliant, fearless, and utterly ruthless when the situation called for it.
So where was that woman now?
I examine the beacon more closely—custom work, elegant and nearly undetectable.
The kind of professional modification that takes skill, patience, and intimate knowledge of magnetic coupling systems. She’d built this herself, probably during one of those long, lonely nights when she was supposed to be going straight.
Part of her missed this life. Missed me.
The beacon’s frequency is encrypted, but I recognize the pattern. It’s the same code we used to use for our private communications during raids—a rhythm that mimicked a Felaxian heartbeat in sleep. She could have chosen any frequency, but she picked ours.
My claws trace the beacon’s surface with careful precision. I could disable the tracker. Should disable it, if I want operational security.
Instead, I modify it.
The adjustment takes three minutes of careful rewiring—long enough for me to imagine Nova hunched over her console, watching my location with those green eyes narrowed in concentration.
Is her pulse racing? Does she remember what it felt like when we used to hunt as a pack, moving through space like twin shadows?
When I finish, the beacon transmits normally. Except now it’s broadcasting on two frequencies—hers, and mine. She can track me, but I can track her tracking me. Every time she checks my location, I’ll know exactly where she is.
“Two can play predator and prey, sweetheart,” I murmur to the empty air. “But you forgot the most important rule.”
In the end, there’s only one apex predator.
Six hours. I’d given her six hours to get power back and realize the futility of running from me. But as my sensors track her progress through the hyperspace lanes, something doesn’t feel right. Her ship’s moving too smoothly, too fast for something that should still be limping from my sabotage.
“Kex.” My voice cuts through the bridge’s ambient noise. “Pull up the Wandering Star’s engine specifications from our boarding scan.”
The data populates my screen, and I study the readouts with growing appreciation—and something that might be arousal.
Not only had she repaired my sabotage—she’d improved it.
Rerouted power flow, optimized the plasma conduits, even upgraded the jump capacitors.
Her ship was now faster and more maneuverable than it had been before I’d touched it.
“Magnificent,” I breathe, my tail coiling with predatory satisfaction. The Nova I’d fallen in love with had always been brilliant with engines, but this was beyond her old skill level. Two years of legitimate work had honed her abilities into something extraordinary.
She wasn’t just running from me. She was getting creative.
The tracking data shows her current position—pushing hard toward Meridian Station, exactly where I’d predicted she’d need to refuel.
But her improved engines gave her options I hadn’t accounted for.
She could make the jump to any of three systems from there, and with her enhanced speed, I’d lose her if I chose wrong.
The present crashes back as my comm unit chimes with an incoming message. I check the display—it’s from my network of informants, the web of contacts that had helped me track Nova across half the galaxy.
“Target spotted at Meridian Station. Docking Bay 7. Fuel reserves critical—she won’t be leaving anytime soon.”
Perfect. But the engine improvements mean she’s been busy during those six hours I gave her. She’s not just repairing and refueling—she’s upgrading. Planning. Thinking three moves ahead like she always did.
I turn to Kex, who’s been watching me with the patient expression of someone who’s seen his captain wrestle with demons before. “Change of course. Meridian Station, full burn.”
“Captain,” Kex’s voice holds a warning. “Meridian’s neutral territory. Station security won’t appreciate a firefight.”
“There won’t be a firefight.” I can feel my pupils dilating with anticipation, another alien trait I can’t suppress. “Nova’s too smart to risk civilian casualties. She’ll come quietly.”
She’ll have to.
My hands move over the navigation controls with practiced efficiency, inputting the hyperspace coordinates that will take us to Meridian. The Shadowhawk responds like the predator she is, engines purring with barely contained power as we leap into the void between stars.
Time to take the choice away from her.
The approach to Meridian Station gives me time to think, to plan. The station is a rough-hewn asteroid hollowed out and converted into a refueling depot, the kind of place where credits talk and questions are discouraged. Perfect for a confrontation that needs to stay off official records.
More importantly, it’s a maze. Narrow corridors, multiple levels, cargo containers stacked like building blocks. The kind of environment where a Felaxian’s enhanced senses and natural agility become significant advantages.
She’ll be expecting a direct confrontation. The old Nova would have prepared for me to swagger through the main docking bay like I owned the place.
But the new Ober has learned patience. Has learned to savor the hunt.
I can picture her ship in the docking bay now, those engine improvements humming with barely contained power despite her fuel situation.
She’d be pushing her systems hard, trying to make up time after our encounter and complete her deliveries before I could interfere again.
It was exactly the kind of calculated risk the old Nova would take—dangerous, but with enough margin for error to make it work.
Unless someone who knew her patterns was waiting.
The Christmas music shifts again—something about silver bells and city sidewalks. It should be comforting, but all it does is remind me of what I’ve lost. What I’m fighting to reclaim.
“Dropping out of hyperspace in thirty seconds,” Kex announces.
I stand, my tail coiling with anticipation. Two years of hunting, two years of wondering if she was really dead, two years of aching for a woman who’d chosen to disappear rather than stay with me.
Time to get some answers.
Meridian Station’s docking bay sprawls before us like a metal maze, perfect for a hunt.
The Wandering Star sits in the center like a wounded bird, but even from here I can see the signs of her work—new exhaust configurations, enhanced cooling systems, subtle modifications that speak to six hours of focused engineering brilliance.
She’s here. She’s been busy. And I’m about to teach her exactly why disappearing from Ober Kraine was the worst mistake of her life.
But as I watch her ship through the viewport, something twists in my chest that has nothing to do with predatory satisfaction.
She’s alone out there. Running from something—or someone—dangerous enough to make her accept impossibly high-paying jobs.
Pushing her ship past safe limits because she’s desperate to complete whatever mission she’s on.
The woman I loved used to have backup. Used to have a partner who’d die before letting harm come to her. Used to have me.
Now she’s flying solo through territories that would eat her alive if they knew who she really was.
The reformed corporate courier act might fool customs inspectors, but pirates like Frex Korvain?
Information brokers with long memories and longer grudges?
They’d see through her disguise in heartbeats.
She needs protection. Even if she doesn’t want it. Even if she hates me for providing it.
Especially then.
My pupils dilate in anticipation as I step toward the airlock, every enhanced sense already cataloging the environment. The docking bay reeks of fuel and desperation—exactly the kind of place where dangerous people settle dangerous business.
I move through the shadows between cargo containers, my enhanced senses picking up traces of her scent on the recycled air. Jasmine and starlight and that indefinable something that screams home to every predatory instinct I possess.
She emerges from her ship, and like always, the sight of her hits me like a plasma bolt to the chest. Two years, and she’s still the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
Her dark hair is shorter now, more practical than seductive, but she moves with that same liquid grace that used to make my blood sing.
Different, but not diminished. Changed, but still fundamentally Nova.
Still mine.
My tail coils with anticipation, and for a moment I allow myself to imagine how this could go.
She could run to me instead of from me. Could let me wrap her in my arms and my warmth and my protection.
Could trust me to keep her safe while she completes whatever mission has her willing to risk everything.
We could be partners again. In every sense of the word.
But first, I need to prove to her that running from me isn’t just futile—it’s the most dangerous thing she could possibly do. Because while she’s been learning to go straight, I’ve been learning to hunt.
And I’ve gotten very, very good at it.
Time to reclaim what belongs to me.