Page 16 of Shadows of Stardust

“So… what? Stalking is just a hobby of yours?”

The guard shakes his head and rolls his shoulders, smile widening like all of this is some big fucking joke.

“I can’t say it is, no.”

My molars grind together with the epithets and accusations I barely keep myself from hurling at him.

It’s what he wants. I’m sure it’s what he wants.

Me losing my cool would be a confirmation of whatever the hell made him fix his attention on me in the first place. Whatever suspicions he’s harboring would be all the more justified by me flipping out on him.

“Fine.” I shrug, trying to play every bit as casual and cool as he is. “Well, then, have a good night.”

Turning on my heel, I continue down the beach toward the safety of my bungalow. I desperately need some distance and a locked door between me and this guard and the hovercams… which are strangely all gone at the moment.

They’ve been swarming like insects since the moment I got off the cruiser, and the still of the night air without their incessant humming sends a pulse of warning through me.

“I’m Zandrel, by the way,” the guard says, keeping right on my heels, still sounding so damn casual.

I don’t reply, the silence and the darkness and the beat of my heart in my ears making it impossible to come up with any way to get this asshole off my back.

“I’m a part of the show’s security team,” Zandrel goes on. “Which means I’m responsible for seeing to the safety of the cast and crew, and for ensuring all the rules contestants agreed to as a part of their participation are upheld. Specifically, those concerning Mate Match’s security measures and the perimeterof the production zone, which contestants are strictly prohibited from—”

“Great.” I round on him, and he’s there, right there, black eyes widening a fraction before he stops walking and assumes the same posture he had before.

God damn it, he’s big. Tall, broad, muscled. Probably fast, too, with the way his fitted trousers do nothing to hide the powerfully corded muscles in his legs.

And I’m a pilot, not trained in combat.

Nevermind the fact that I’m not here to get into any physical altercations or do anything but break the fuck out of the production zone, there’s no chance in hell I could ever outrun or out-fight this male.

“I’m sure your job preventing drunken brawls or whatever is fascinating,” I drawl, doing my damndest not to let him see the way the sand feels like it’s shifting under my feet, opening up the chasm of dread that’s been living in the back of my mind for more than half a year, threatening to swallow me whole.

Something about the words must strike a nerve, because Zandrel’s eyes narrow, all that swirling silver rippling, agitated.

It trips me up for a second, watching those galaxies form and reform, completely at a loss for how to read his reaction, but unwillingly mesmerized by the strange sight of it, nonetheless.

“Itisfascinating,” he says quietly. “Especially when I’m monitoring one particular contestant who seems to have a preoccupation with the show’s crew and defenses.”

He didn’t miss it, then. The study I was making of the production right after I got off the ship, or the brief examination I made of the perimeter fence when I was walking with Rhevar.

Those same alarm bells start ringing again. A flashing red light signalingdanger, bad, run.

I force a laugh. “Sounds like you’ve got an overactive imagination.”

“Do I?”

He holds his ground. I hold mine.

A few meters away, waves break against the shore. Overhead, the night sky is a tapestry of stars, two luminous moons casting their white light over the whole beach.

A beautiful place. A beautiful night.

Maybe in another life I’d actually get to enjoy it.

“Look, I don’t know what exactly it is you think you’re—”

“Don’t you?” He tilts his head. “Tell me why you’re really here, Roslyn.”

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