Page 1 of Space Daddy’s Guide to the Galaxy (Villains in Space #2)

1

MICAH

I was pissed at Ziggy Andromeda.

It was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling. I’d never been truly mad at him before—not when he was refusing to admit he had obvious feelings for me, not even when he’d put me to sleep to fight Astrum Force Command by himself.

Clearly, he needed me as backup then…

But noooo— today, I had to stay behind.

My angry muttering nearly drowned out the echo of my Han Solo boots stomping down the metal gangway of the Lodger 79, but no one was around to hear me anyway.

Since I’ve been underestimated once again.

The worst part was, my Space Daddy was the last person I ever thought would do me dirty like that. Even with Zig being a lone-wolf mercenary before we met, he’d always made it clear no matter what happened—no matter what skinsuit he wore or what roles we had to play—we were partners.

Equals in every way.

Jk, I guess.

Thanks to this swoon-worthy mutual respect, I’d assisted him on every mission since the day I first hitched a ride to Stellaria with his Celestial Cube. Granted, my man had no choice at first, thanks to a little white lie about me exploding if he moved out of range, but still.

What babygirl wants, babygirl gets!

I angrily huffed as I refocused on my self-appointed task of carrying yet another armful of Ziggy’s seemingly endless collection of guns from the weapons room to the kitchen.

Besides keeping me distracted— kind of —from my self-pity spiral, there was a reason for my cleaning frenzy. We’d landed on Marox hours ago for a high-level mission—to rescue a mysterious alien baby so coveted, an anonymous someone was willing to pay big money to steal it from someone else.

Kind of dramatic, if you ask me…

But what do I know?

In my opinion, we had a bigger issue than intergalactic babynapping. The Lodger only had one sleeping pod, and no way in hell was I giving up Tendril Touchy Time for our guest to have somewhere to sleep, no matter how adorable.

During our journey to Marox, I’d pointed out the obvious—that a baby needed a nursery. Ziggy had responded by flinging open the door to the goddamn boiler room and impatiently gesturing inside. In his mind, the warmth from the nine thousand degree equipment would create the perfect cozy cocoon for our tiny, helpless guest.

Space Daddy chose violence.

At the time, I responded by taking several deep breaths, all while reminding myself my alien didn’t possess a nurturing bone in his borrowed body, through no fault of his own.

‘Blame Theo’ is the company motto.

I grumbled under my breath as I dumped my deadly haul on the kitchen table. Even though it pained me, I could begrudgingly acknowledge the Stellarian responsible for Ziggy’s emotional constipation had sufficiently groveled since our last space adventure.

My man’s still the better man, though.

As pissy as I currently felt, I was incredibly proud of Ziggy for accepting this apology. Putting aside hundreds of years of resentment in favor of forgiveness showed immense personal growth on his part, even if other factors might have dropkicked the process.

Like the tropical island forced proximity situation, plus the subtle and not-so-subtle nudges from me and Theo’s stellar collisions, supervillain twins Andre and Gabriel Suarez.

Aaaaand an unexpected kiss between Gabe and I that was resonance-induced and approved of by all parties involved.

Just stellar collision things.

My lips tingled at the memory—followed by my asshole clenching at the memory of Ziggy wrecking me afterward—and before I knew it, my phone was in my hands.

My original hop into the final frontier had been a little… spontaneous, so I hadn’t fully worked out how to stay in touch with family and friends. My return to space was way more planned, so I’d had time to invent a satellite feature for the Lodger that kept us connected to select cell phones back on Earth.

Texting with Gabe would make me feel so much better right now…

I stared at my phone for a good fifteen seconds before sighing and setting it aside. While I was angry at Zig for dismissing my competency, I needed to resolve things directly with him instead of contacting my Earth-bound “boyfriend” for a sweet hit of schmoopy dopamine.

I guess I’ll be an adult about it.

Hmph.

With another sigh, I headed back to the weapons room for the final load. The space was about the size of a freight elevator, which seemed cozy enough for a nursery, the walls lined with what were obviously custom gun racks.

Too bad.

Zig was just going to have to find somewhere else for his excessive, and slightly unnecessary, weapons collection.

He has built-in samurai tendrils, for chrissakes!

Stupid, sexy, razor-sharp tendrils…

I started angrily trudging toward the kitchen again, only for the outdoor motion alarm to suddenly go off. Of course, the security app was on my phone in the opposite direction of the cockpit, so I unceremoniously dumped my latest armful of guns onto the gangway floor and chose to investigate at the source.

It’s probably just Ziggy returning from his solo mission.

Good.

Perfect timing to go sleep in the weapons room.

Once in the cockpit, I peered through the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever set off the alarm. Unfortunately, I couldn’t see past the swaying palm fronds surrounding us, since Zig insisted on landing the Lodger in the middle of the goddamn jungle for added camouflage on top of the cloaking device.

Well, the camo is working both ways right now.

I slumped into the captain’s chair, displaying my best pout while awaiting his inevitable star hop.

Only for Ziggy not to appear.

That’s… weird.

I leaned forward and turned on the night vision scope, frowning when all that accomplished was providing an unobstructed view of the top of the jungle canopy.

Next time, I’ll park the spaceship.

The motion alarm wailed again, and my indignation started to fade.

What if Ziggy’s too injured to star hop?

I actually didn’t know if a Stellarian could be injured enough to inhibit star hopping, but once the thought planted itself in my head, the roots of anxiety began to grow. It didn’t take long for me to envision the love of my life crawling toward the ship, bleeding out while I wasted precious seconds being big mad over getting left behind.

I need to rescue him!!!

Before my brain could catch up to my actions, I was in the landing bay and entering the secret code— rudely, not my birthday— to deploy the ramp.

Wait.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Realizing I’d almost done something incredibly stupid, I activated my shields, covering myself in a transparent, protective layer of my own invention that not even a Stellarian could get through.

Then I deployed the ramp.

Only to find Ziggy waiting for me at the bottom.

Well… that worked out.

His appearance momentarily startled me, despite my relief, because he was inhabiting his most terrifying form yet.

Maroxians were vaguely humanoid, if only because of the bipedal aspect, but that was where the similarities ended. This particular skinsuit was closer to a xenomorph, with its inky-black exoskeleton, sleek aerodynamic head, disconcerting lack of eyes, and an extremely impressive tongue.

Hot.

I wasn’t being sarcastic. Yes, I probably would have pissed myself if faced with one of these predators IRL, but with Ziggy behind the wheel, the grotesque became gorgeous.

Because it’s him.

Wait…

Is that him?

“Z-Zig?” I whispered, the pull I normally felt in his presence nowhere to be found.

That was when I realized the Maroxian at the bottom of the ramp was not only empty-handed, but had made no move to enter the ship. It was simply watching me, its creepily sightless head lowered and its elongated body coiled in a crouch, as if preparing to pounce.

Oh, fuck.

I dove for the keypad, but it was too late. The not- Ziggy nightmare was already bounding up the closing ramp on all fours—its claws gouging the metal as it released an ear-splitting shriek.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Operating on instinct alone, I used my powers to conjure a series of darts before blindly firing. Without waiting to see if they made contact, I threw myself through the door leading back inside the ship.

The Maroxian’s howl implied my aim was accurate. Unfortunately, the hit didn’t slow my opponent in the least as it tackled me before I could fully close the door.

I screamed—more from fear than pain—but managed to lengthen my steel toe spikes beyond my shields to kick the alien off me, power up my supespeed, and start running.

Ya boy needs a weapon!

As impressive as Ziggy thought my superpowers were, I did have my limitations. Yes, I could form basic weapons out of inorganic matter, including earthly guns, but that didn't mean I could match the offensive technology needed to survive out here in space.

The only reason I’d been able to take down Astrum Force’s Head Commander—besides feeding off my grief over Ziggy’s supposed death—was because I’d obsessively studied my man’s tendrils and battle techniques. Unfortunately, after being told I wasn’t setting foot on Marox, I’d stopped all research on its inhabitants out of bratty protest.

Not the smartest move, in hindsight…

In the interest of said hindsight, I quickly extended my high-tech glasses to 360 mode and immediately wished I hadn’t. The Maroxian was close enough that if I hadn’t had my shields up, I would have felt its breath on my neck.

Probably would have smelled it too.

My lungs screamed from exertion as I rounded the corner, but the sight of the weapons I’d discarded on the gangway gave me a second wind. I dove into the mountain of ammunition like it was a pile of autumn leaves, grabbed the first thing I could, and twisted onto my back before pulling the trigger.

The Maroxian yowled in pain, stumbling backward and pausing only long enough to glance down at the fucking harpoon sticking out of its midsection before releasing a bone-chilling growl.

Imma die.

My superhuman strength was fading, making my shields waver alarmingly. Meanwhile, my intergalactic opponent seemed mildly irritated at being majorly disemboweled, clearly more than ready to go twenty more rounds.

Ziggy’s gonna be so pissed if I die…

At the thought of my man, the piece of him permanently lodged inside me pulsed— hard— and my hand moved of its own volition to grab what looked like a goddamn rocket launcher.

Why not go out with a bang?

The Maroxian screeched a battle cry and leaped for my jugular. I fired, releasing a screech of my own as the propulsion tossed me backward into the pile. When death didn’t arrive, I tentatively opened my eyes, but all I could see beyond my visor was a thick coating of green goo dripping down my shields.

Gross.

I swiped the viscous goop away, only to discover the entire gangway section—floor to ceiling—along with every inch of me was covered in what was clearly the remains of my opponent.

So fucking gross.

Blowing out a shaky breath, I slowly stood on even shakier legs, determined to clean up this mess before Ziggy returned. A faint sound had me snapping my attention farther down the gangway, and my shoulders and spirit sank.

Because another Maroxian was waiting for me.