Page 1 of The Haunted Alien’s Mate

Chapter 1

Cass

I had my hands inside a Verrathi coolant housing that no one had serviced since we were pre-space flight, elbow-deep near unstable plasma that was deciding whether today was the day it went kaboom and my insides became wall paint.

“Talk to me, Cass.” Tambi Volkov’s voice crackled through the comm, muffled by whatever she was chewing.

“Give me a second.” I traced the housing until I found a hairline crack, and pressed my forehead against warm metal, like it might tell me information the scanner wouldn’t. “Hi, gorgeous. I know nobody’s serviced you since the last regime fell, but we’re not doing the whole dying thing today, right? You still got life left in those sexy circuits, same as me.”

The core pulsed sluggishly and settled.

“There we go. Good girl. You’re not being a brat today.”

“You talking to the machines again?” Tambi asked.

“I’m negotiating with her. She’s lived through countless wars and carries the scars. We need to show her the proper respect.”

“Just don’t name the damn plasma core.”

“Too late. Her name’s Bev, and she’s had a hard fucking week.” I pulled my hands free, sealed the housing, and sat back on my heels. “Tell the client Bev’s stable. Also tell him he needs a new regulator by Friday or Bev redecorates the cargo hold with his brains.”

Tambi laughed. “I’ll write that up nice and professional for the tightwad who doesn’t know how to treat his girl right.”

“Don’t be too professional. He’ll pay faster if he’s scared. And he’s paying a lot to keep Bev going.”

By the time I hauled myself out of the client’s engine well and down the ladder, the sun sat low and orange over Eden Shore, that late-September burn that made our repair yard look like it was on fire.

I wiped my hands on a rag and cut through the lot, past our gym where Monica’s kettlebells clanged off the concrete. Next to the gym sat the hull of a Feder ship we hadn’t sold because Doc gave it a spray paint mustache, and none of us had the heart to strip it after naming him Tickle Tache Tony.

Fairy lights zigzagged overhead between the cranes, gold and warm. Our home was a fucking masterpiece of chaos. Just how the crew loved to live.

Spices, roasting meat, and the sweet scent of melted marshmallows rolled out of the Salt and Static before I even hit the door, thick enough to taste. It was a weird combo, but it meant I knew exactly how star-damned amazing dinner would be.

I checked my nails and frowned. The resin that never fully scrubbed out would have Doc bitching at me about hygiene, but it was here to stay. Permanent nail varnish. My mechanic’s marks were like tattoos. A part of my identity.

I let myself into the back of the gastropub, and warmth hit before the door swung shut. Inside was worn, comfy as all hell leather booths, low lighting, and classic rock playing behind the bar. Exactly my vibe.

Tambi already had our regular booth, laptop open, a contract spread across the table, her silver braids pinned up out of the way, and her stare locked on the legalese.

“Don’t sit down,” she said without looking up. “I need you to order at the bar, and Darius has been eye-fucking a hot piece of ass rather than loading up our drinks order.”

“Rude.” I sat down and swiped my hair off my face. “No choice but to sit. I’ve been on my back or my knees most of the day.”

“Lucky bitch.”

I chuckled. “If only it was that kind of fun.”

A guy from the tow crew renting a space in a nearby hangar, Eddie something or other, leaned over the back of our booth, grinning, already glazed-eyed with liquor. “Buy you hot mamas a round?”

Tambi didn’t look up from the laptop. “We already have a round.”

“You girls should join me. Got buddies coming in from out of town. We could party. Cut loose. Whip some butt.”

“Eddie, go bother the ladies on Beale Street. You can pay them to whip you if that’s your kink.” I stared at him until he looked away.

“And we have considerably better things to do with our evening than you,” Tambi muttered.

“Eddie’s not so bad,” I said.