Page 16 of Alien Healer’s Mate

“Guests are afforded the right to communicate with kin or legal representatives in the event of separation or distress,” the computer replied, and she wanted to kick its digital ass.

Instead, she just nodded. “Exactly. I’ve been separated from my kin, and I’m distressed about it. I meet both criteria. You can’t slap a right on the table and then yank it back like some rigged game. That’s bad faith.”

Pursing her lips, she tapped them with a forefinger as if she was thinking. “You know, that probably violates a whole bunch of Latharian honor codes. Do you want to explain to a war-commander why you blocked a message to his new mate? Because I wouldn’t.”

The computer was silent for a long moment. Then it made a sound like a sigh. “State your message.”

“Ha!” Bouncing on her toes, she composed the words in her head. Harper was on her honeymoon, and the last thing she needed was to look up from her alien sex vacation and see her cousin’s drama glaring at her from a comm screen.

Delilah plastered on her brightest voice, the one that charmed bartenders and sympathetic landlords. “Hey cuz. I’m awake, obviously, or I wouldn’t be talking to you. I’m fine, I’m on a spaceship, but don’t worry. I’ve not been kidnapped, just… on a road trip with the hot alien doctor. You have fun with your big scary alien husband. Do honeymoon stuff. Drink whatever passes for champagne up here. Don’t think about me. Love you, mean it. Don’t feel guilty. I know you do. Bye.”

“Message recorded and queued for transmission.”

“See? How easy was that?” She grinned at the panel, her reflection warped in the dark metal. “Now. Open sesame.”

“Request not recognized.”

She sighed. “Open the door, please.”

“Request denied.”

She groaned, dropping her head back against the wall so hard it thunked. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Only crew members are authorized⁠—“

“Yeah, yeah, crew designation, security protocols, I’ve heard the greatest hits already.” She rolled her shoulders and pushed off the wall, squaring up to the panel like it was a bouncer who’d ID’d her at thirty. “But why?”

“Authorization protocols require crew designation for access to ship functions.”

“For this door?” She gestured at the blank metal. “It’s a bedroom. I’m the only one inside it. What exactly am I going to steal? The mattress? The exciting wall paint? I promise you, I am not a threat to ship security.”

“Request not recognized.”

She gritted her teeth. “Okay. Why do crew get to leave and guests don’t?”

“Crew have unrestricted access.”

“And guests have freedom of movement, remember?”

“Only to non-secure areas.”

She let a hint of a smile quirk her lips. “Okay… non-secure areas. This is a bedroom. Is it secure?”

There was a pause. “…Negative.”

“Sooooo…” Folding her arms, she let the logic hang in the air. “If I’m a guest, and guests can move freely, and this is not a secure area… but why is the door locked from the outside? That’s a fire hazard. What if there’s an emergency? I’d be trapped. A dead guest. Which is veeeeeery bad press for the Latharian Mate Program.”

The light on the panel turned green, and with a soft hiss, the door slid open. “Access granted.”

“Yes!” She fist-pumped the air, then caught her reflection in the dark glass of the porthole. Her hair was a wreck, dark roots glaring against the honey-blonde, and the borrowed sweater hung off her like a sack. She looked like a disaster, but right now, she didn’t care.

“Who’s the best? I’m the best. And Kellat V’Raav is a handsome asshole who locks sick people in rooms. Mental note: annoy him about it later. Extensively. Maybe hide his toothbrush. Hey, do Lathar even use toothbrushes? Whatever. I’ll find something.”

She peeked out into the corridor. The hallway stretched in both directions, all dark metal panels and red lights that made the whole place look like a location in a heavy metal music video.

Her gaze darted left, then right, and she slipped out of her room. Somewhere ahead, heavy boots thudded against the deck, accompanied by the rough rumble of male voices.

Flattening herself against the bulkhead, her heart kicked hard against her ribs as three big lathar passed the junction up ahead. One had a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, raw and angry, while another carried a big gun that looked like it could punch through a tank.