Page 15 of Stars in Umbra (The Sable Riders #8)

Skies Above Eden

RINA

T he rest of Rina’s day blurred into a relentless grind of diplomacy and exhaustion.

She bounced between tense, back-channel meetings with grim-faced Allorian ministers and military top brass.

Each negotiation grew more defensive and exhausted than the last.

Add to that, uptight back-to-back holo calls with Gaelil Tovarr, the rebel leader who had replaced Vesk Tyran.

Tovarr, young and righteous, wore the ragged grace of a battlefield commander thrust into leadership too soon.

His voice was clipped, his demands clear: recognition of his people’s suffering, freedom for political prisoners, and a guarantee of government accountability.

Rina danced the thin wire between them, offering concessions, holding the line, bending but never breaking.

By the evening’s end, she had something close to a deal.

A shaky agreement for a cessation of hostilities, fragile as spun glass but enough to buy everyone some peace.

She hammered out a draft joint statement calling for a ceasefire, worded with care to keep both sides from losing face.

She transmitted the preliminary version to Kainan, the Allorian regime envoy, and the rebel elders via a secure channel, requesting feedback for release at dawn.

Her hands shook as she sent it off, even as her head split into one of the worst migraines in recent months.

She got them often, but this one took the prize this year.

Darkness edged her vision. Pressure clamped her skull like a vice. Light stabbed behind her eyes.

She pressed her palms to her temples, her body crumpling into the chair in the venue’s co-working space office she was using.

Her stomach growled, her mouth was dry, and her limbs were too weak to trust.

She needed fast-acting painkillers, then food and water to get over the hump, suspecting her sugar levels were depleted.

However, the thought of making it to a pharmacy alone in this state was laughable.

Sheba was off-world on a medical ship tour. Selene was back on Dunia.

As for the other Riders, while she respected them, sure, but didn’t know them well enough to ask for help like this.

She only had one option.

With reluctance, Rina found Mo’s contact details, her thumb hovering over the call button for a beat.

She tapped on it with an inhale.

It connected almost at once.

His face flickered into view on the holo screen, his sculpted jaw shadowed with a late-day stubble.

Behind him, the muted thrum of the conference lobby filled the air, but his focus was all on her.

‘Rina?’ His brow furrowed, his timbre threaded with concern, the moment he caught sight of her.

She managed a faint smile, weak and lopsided. ‘Hi, Mo. Sorry to bother you while you’re working.’

Her utterance was strained, thinner than usual.

His eyes narrowed, scanning her face, taking in the pallor of her skin, the tight lines of pain etched at the corners of her eyes.

His voice softened into a concerned rumble. ‘What’s wrong?’

She exhaled, pressing a shaking palm to her temple. ‘Would you happen to know where I can find a late-night pharmacy near the conference? Within walking distance? I need migraine meds. I can’t make it far, nor take a flyer.’

For a second, silence fell.

When he spoke, his timbre dropped into a deep, rough rasp, curt and unquestioning.

‘I’m clued to your location, Colonel. Don’t move. I’ll be pulling on you in a few.’

The command in his tone left no space for argument.

She blinked, caught off guard by his immediate, no-nonsense response, and the fact that he was aware of her exact position.

Before she had a chance to protest, another wave of pain sliced through her skull.

His line cut.

Leaving her staring at the empty air, heart thudding against her ribs, wondering when exactly she’d become someone Mo would drop everything for.

Minutes later, a terse knock sounded at her office suite door.

She used her code pad on the table to let him in.

He prowled through, in a tailored black suit, an ebony shirt, and boots, lethal as fokk , his expression dark and focused.

‘Let’s roll,’ he rasped.

He helped her pack her things and put on her coat.

With a hand bandaged around her waist, she was guided through the corridor, into an elevator, and outdoors, where a sleek Sable flyer sat.

He assisted her in strapping in and then took the helm, flying them across town through the quiet, late-night sky lanes, the city below alive with distant neon hum.

He didn’t ask questions; he just guided her to the pharmacy, waited while she fumbled through her prescription, and paid.

All without a word.

Just his silent, massive presence behind her, a bulwark of strength and support.

When they returned to Sable HQ and entered the suite assigned to her, she was met with a surprise.

A food warmer rested outside her door, steam fogging the glass lid.

‘It’s from The Osirian’s restaurant,’ he rasped, unlocking the container. ‘Figured you hadn’t eaten, so I ordered something from our menu via my neural link.’

From a smaller cooler beside it, he removed and held up a massive tub of her favorite ice cream.

Her stomach twisted with a sensation that wasn’t pain for the first time all day.

‘You didn’t have to, but wow, sante .’

‘Didn’t ask if I had to.’

She smiled, too tired to fight it. ‘Come in, soldier.’

Inside, she headed to the kitchenette and took her medication, swallowing it down with cold water as Mo put the tub of ice cream in the freezer.

Within minutes, she felt the relief begin to unfurl through her skull.

She collapsed onto the sofa, groaning as she kicked off her heels and stretched her legs across the cushions.

Without a word, he picked up a cozy blanket draped over the chair and settled it over her lap.

Then he turned to the food warmer and plated her a meal of a delightful potato bake, thinly sliced beef, and a salad.

Nothing fancy, just honest, heart-warming fare that was both hot and comforting.

Rina leaned back against the divan, a slow, satisfied sigh escaping her lips as she set her empty bowl on the side table.

‘Gods,’ she breathed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, ‘I feel so much better. Like I’ve been pulled back from the dead by delicious grub and meds. What a miracle combo.’

Mo chuckled, eyeing her stretched out, relaxed at last.

‘How’s the head?’ he asked in a rumbling burr.

‘The migraine has taken a back seat; it’s not trying to crack open my skull now. I’ll take the win. Sante to you.’

He tilted his head, half-smiling. ‘So, how bad was it? Your day?’

She groaned, rolling her eyes as she curled her legs beneath her. ‘Oh, you mean the diplomatic nightmare, the endless holo calls, and the migraine from hell? Or striving to convince two groups of armed lunatics to stop shooting each other before breakfast?’

‘None of the above, but are you doing enough?’ he drawled, amused.

She snorted. ‘ Fokk off. I finally brokered a ceasefire agreement, drafted a statement for the galaxy, and maybe, we’ll get a full twenty-four hours without someone blowing up a valley.’

As the words left her lips, she stilled, guilt flashing through her face.

‘Oh my, how selfish of me.’

She straightened, setting her dessert aside. ‘I pulled you from work, hijacked your night, and I didn’t even ask about you. Tell me, Mo. How was your day?’

He hesitated, looking down at his half-empty bowl of ice cream, a rare flicker of vulnerability crossing his unreadable face.

Then, almost sheepish, he gave her a lopsided smile that sent a jolt through her.

‘Well-.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I got inducted into the Sable Riders today.’

Her eyes widened, jaw dropping in disbelief.

‘You what?’

‘You’re looking at The Sable Group’s Internal Chief of Security.’

He murmured the title, as if it didn’t feel real on his tongue.

She peered at him for a second, then, radiant, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a sudden, impulsive hug.

‘Mo, that’s incredible.’

She kissed his cheek, brushing her warm lips on his skin.

‘Congratulations,’ she whispered as she drew back.

He smiled back, almost shy beneath her gaze.

She realized the rough, dangerous Mo who’d stared down death for years didn’t quite know what to do with kindness.

Rina pulled back, tilting her head, her lengthy hair falling over her shoulder in a wave he followed. ‘Why do you look like you don’t believe it?’

He shrugged. ‘I never thought I’d be part of something like that. The Riders are legends. Not the kind of crew that lets ghosts like me in the front door.’

Her expression softened, warm and unwavering.

‘If they think you’re worthy, then you are,’ she declared, as though it were fact. ‘You deserve it, Mo.’

She jumped up, crossing to the minibar with a decisive stride, rummaging through its contents until she pulled out a bottle of prosecco.

She popped the cork with a quiet fizz, grabbed two glasses, and poured them both a modest serving.

Returning to him, she handed him a glass and raised her own with a grin that lit up the room.

‘To Mo. To happiness, and greatness.’

He clinked his goblet against hers, his smile slow, languid, sensual as fokk .

After a few sips, he headed to the fridge, extracted the vanilla ice cream, and scooped the creamy, cold goodness into bowls.

Handing one to her, he navigated the controls on a holo-screen until it flickered with some ridiculous off-world comedy full of slapstick and terrible one-liners.

For a while, they sat shoulder to shoulder, eating in companionable silence, occasional chuckles breaking the quiet.

The stress of the day melted, and at one point, she glanced sideways at him, warmth curling in her chest.

Mo was sprawled on her sofa like he’d always belonged.

Broad shoulders stretched across the backrest, long legs, thick, robust, muscled, propped up, one ankle crossed over the other.

His dark shirt clung to his frame, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, tattoos peeking beneath the fabric.

For a man built like a weapon, there was a stillness about him that softened the room.

It was a rare kind of quiet, one sans ego, or edginess, just peace.

A sentiment she didn’t know she’d been craving until now.

She tucked her bare feet under her thighs, nestling into the throw rug, and let herself settle for the first time that day.

Most times, her mind ran at ten thousand miles a minute, calculations, contingencies, negotiations waiting in each corner.

Yet when around him, all the noise fell away.

He calmed her chaos without even trying.

He didn’t listen to her with distracted nods like the majority of people did. He was attentive to every word, breath, and shift in her voice.

She liked it.

Mo wasn’t some slick-talking charmer who smiled with his mouth and lied between his teeth.

He didn’t need to be.

He was the kind of genuine article you couldn’t fake if you tried.

Her heart lurched.

‘ Sante again,’ she murmured, looking over at him. ‘For the meds, the food, the ice cream, and for staying with me.’

He gave her another of his lopsided smiles, which curled at the edges of his lips but somehow warmed the whole room.

‘ De nada ,’ he rasped, the sound reverberating in his torso. ‘I was happy to please.’

She placed her head on the backrest of the couch as the knot in her chest eased and sleep pulled at her into its embrace.

MOLAN

Her bowl slipped from her lap, forgotten as her head tipped back against the cushion, her breathing slowing into a deep and unguarded cadence.

Mo reached for the discarded dish and carefully placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

He sat back in his seat, the last of the prosecco cradled in his hands.

His eyes lingered on her as the final frames of the movie flickered in the background.

Skies above Eden , she was beautiful.

Rina Mendi, Colonel of the Peace Corps, Chief Defense Head of the Dunian Forces, and lead strategist of the Pegasi peacekeeping missions.

Right now, she was just a woman burned out by the political maneuvering of a galaxy that never gave her a break.

She was alluring to say the least, he thought.

A warrior who fought like hell all day for ceasefires, then curled up on her sofa and passed out with a bowl of ice cream half-eaten.

Too tired from carrying the burden of a fractious solar system.

Hell, if it didn’t tighten his chest, with a scorching, intense heat, not of pity, but care . A fierce, protective, bone-deep tenderness, for her.

Also respect. Gods, so much esteem for the way she carried the weight of a galaxy on her shoulders without letting it crush her spirit.

But beneath all his regard for her lurked a more savage desire; the rising need to shield her from every damn thing that wore her down.

To put himself between her and the storms life hurled her way.

To be the safe harbor, she finally set her burdens down.

Fokk , the thought of needing to protect her shook him more than any battle he’d ever charged into.

Quietly, he placed his glass on the table and rose, moving to her side, careful not to wake her.

Her features softened in sleep, lines of exhaustion easing from her brow, making her look far too human for the legend she carried.

He bent, arms sliding beneath her, and lifted her with a gentleness that surprised even him.

She didn’t even stir, her head resting against his chest, trusting him without knowing it.

The bedroom was calm and still.

He laid her down with care, straightening the blanket over her frame, his fingers brushing her cheek as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

For a long moment, he stood, eyes on her, hands in his pockets, studying her breath.

How easy it would be to keep standing guard here. Just in case the world decided to come crashing through her door tonight.

But the last thing she needed was an uninvited shadow hovering over her sleep.

He exhaled, turned away, and crossed the room.

The door slid shut after him with a quiet hiss.

Leaving Mo, alone in the darkened hallway, aching, yearning to turn and push back into her room, and slip under her sheets beside her.