Page 3 of Alien Spare (Cosmic Mates #9)

Kill me now. Karma rode the speed-rise with the prince.

The breakdown. The lack of lodging. The storm. Stuck with the last man on the entire planet she’d wish to be with. What did I do to deserve this?

It’s only for a night. It’s not like I’ll be stuck with him forever.

She tried to put a positive spin on the situation.

At least it would be physically more comfortable, anyway.

She’d have a sofa in a quiet area in which to bunk down instead of the hard floor in the crowded, noisy hotel lobby.

The storm had stranded a lot of travelers, who’d been forced to seek shelter wherever they could find it.

She’d been shocked at how many people had crowded into the lobby since she’d first entered the bar.

“Thank you,” she said grudgingly, conscious of the prince’s shadow—his bodyguard.

“You’re welcome,” Falkor bit out.

They exited on the topmost floor. Falkor’s suite was at the end of the hall. The bodyguard went inside first to check it out, while they waited outside.

“Can someone really break in?” she asked. Rooms were secured by identity scanners—she knew from her stay in other hotels.

“Possible? Yes. Highly unlikely? Also, yes.”

Moments later, they got an “all clear,” and they entered, leaving the guard to stand post in the hall. “Good night, Your Highness, Ms. Kennedy.”

“He doesn’t have to stay there all night, does he?” she asked after the door closed.

“That’s his job,” Falkor replied.

“When will he sleep?”

“He’ll be relieved by another in the morning. It’s no different than palace security. Do you think all the guards go to bed every night?”

“Are you in danger?” The people seemed content, the planet peaceful.

“In large, public venues like the convention, it’s better to be safe than sorry. Why? Are you afraid you’ll be caught in the crossfire?

“Don’t be an ass! Just because I don’t like you doesn’t mean I wish you dead.”

“The way you’re glowering at me suggests otherwise.”

“You are such a jerk!” Why did he have to be so disagreeable?

She turned away to take in the suite. The massive room contained two huge sofas, either of which would be quite comfy.

He had a bar, a desk area, and a “mini” holographic theater platform.

Uncovered floor-to-ceiling windows ran the length of the room.

Outside, thunderbolts lit up the sky like a nightclub under a strobe light.

“You can have this bedroom over here.” He marched to one of two side-by-side doors.

“I get my own room?”

“You may as well. I have two of them.”

He remained outside while she checked out her room. The bed was huge, and she had her own bath. She was relieved to see a full set of toiletries—and a robe hanging on a hook. I can wear that. Stupidly, she’d left her luggage in the disabled hovercar.

There was no window—a good thing. She’d never be able to sleep with the light show outside.

She rejoined the prince in the sitting area.

“Thank you,” she said, a little ashamed of her earlier churlishness.

He had more than ample space, so she wouldn’t inconvenience him too much, but given their ongoing animosity, it had been courteous of him to extend the offer.

She doubted she would have been as gracious if the situation had been reversed.

She considered herself to be a nice person, but he inspired the worst in her. I should try to be nicer.

A jagged bolt of blinding light streaked across the sky, followed by a crash of thunder so loud, she jumped. “Does the window open? Can we go outside?” The furniture on the balcony seemed to indicate they could.

He pushed a button, the wall of windows slid open, and she stepped into crackling air smelling like burning electronics.

She could almost feel her hair frizz. She gripped the rail and raised her face.

Brilliant white light spread like a spiderweb across the night.

Then a thunderbolt streaked out of a darkened cloud to split the sky in half.

“This is like a fireworks show or a laser light show,” she commented.

“The Gods of Kaldor are tempestuous,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“According to our theology, lightning occurs when the gods fight. Our deities are a male-female pair. When they clash, thunderbolts result.”

“They must be having a hellacious fight,” she joked. “It’s an entertaining myth.”

He shrugged.

“You don’t really believe two deities sparring in the sky cause lightning, do you? Lightning results from a buildup of static electricity.”

“Why can’t I believe in both?”

“Because only one is true.”

“Says the adherent of all things mystical. Who believes the movement of the planets can predict the future.”

Was he mocking her? So much for him being Mr. Nice Guy. I should have known we couldn’t have a civil conversation.

She flounced inside. Not everything real could be seen, heard, or touched.

She didn’t totally buy into tarot cards, the runes, and tea leaves, but it couldn’t hurt to hedge your bets, could it?

They’d been right many times. Wrong sometimes, too, but readings were open to interpretation.

The answer wasn’t set in stone. Although, runes were stone.

He would be unfamiliar with Earth tools of prognostication—so he must have been talking with someone. The servants? She’d given a couple a tarot reading. They’d been curious, if skeptical.

Her pragmatic, had-to-see-it-to-believe-it twin gave no credence to tarot or runes or astrology, but she’d never openly mocked her. They agreed to disagree.

Not so, the smirking prince. Of course, she’d kind of dissed his beliefs. She shouldn’t have done that. But he started it. Why does he have to be so mean to me?

Tears pricked her eyes, and she blinked them away before he noticed. This disagreement shouldn’t upset her. Compared to their other quarrels, it hardly amounted to a ripple.

Falkor closed the window.

Keeping her voice steady, she announced, “I’m going to bed!” She stomped away and let the bedroom door close behind her.

* * * *

Hekkel. He’d caught a glimpse of tears before she stormed away. They’d been sparring again—as usual—but this time, he’d somehow overstepped. He didn’t like feeling like he’d hurt her.

He didn’t believe two supernatural beings who lived in the sky shot lightning bolts at each other. He’d been trying to find a safe topic of conversation. Apparently, even the weather was a hot-button topic.

He didn’t understand how a card or the movement of celestial bodies could predict the future.

According to Kismet, tarot and astrology were entertaining games—okay to have fun with, but one shouldn’t put any stock in the predicted outcomes.

But Karma believed it, and that made him curious. Could there be something to it?

A flash of light lit up the night. The thunderstorm seemed an apt metaphor. He and Karma were not unlike the mythological Gods of Kaldor.

He approached her door; it didn’t open, so that meant she’d secured it. He rapped on the panel. “Karma? Can you hear me?”

No answer. He pressed his ear to the door. He didn’t hear rustling or other movement.

“I’m sorry if I said something I shouldn’t. If I hurt your feelings.” He waited to see if she’d open the door. “Good night. I’ll, uh, see you in the morning.” He retreated to his own room.

* * * *

Karma stood in the shower, letting the spray wash away the tears. She knew people considered her a little kooky. It hadn’t bothered her before. If someone couldn’t accept her weirdness and all, then screw him.

Was she too weird to be loved? Was that why she’d never found a man willing to commit? Why she got dumped all the time?

After drying off, she wrapped herself in the voluminous robe and crawled into bed.