Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Less than stellar. Critics pan Rebel’s sophomore effort.

-Interstellar Music News

WinterLights flickered overhead, humming to life and casting a pallor over the room. Deep shadows created unnavigable pools in the corners. He understood what it was to have memories weigh down a home, smother the life from it until everyone who lived there turned into ghosts.

This place was haunted. He completely understood why Marigold needed to leave it behind for a new beginning elsewhere. Had he not run away from his own haunted home to wander the stars with his kit?

“Thanks for walking me, but you don’t have to stay,” Marigold said, slinging down a bag in an empty chair.

“I will stay,” he said, crossing the threshold. Docked at Olympus Station, he had time while the ship underwent maintenance. As the work would take a full day, he rented a hotel room. Without thinking, he also rented a room for Marigold until she said that she planned to stay in her own apartment. Zero immediately took off for the station’s bookshop and no doubt would arrive at the hotel with a stack of new books.

His offer to walk Marigold to her domicile had been more than good manners. He was curious about her home, about her.

“Okay. Would you like, umm, tea or coffee?” she asked. “All I have is powdered milk for creamer. I emptied all the perishables from the cooling unit before my trip, but take a look. Help yourself.”

“You said you needed to pack clothes. I can assist,” he said. What was he doing?

He sniffed the air, catching the bright floral scent of her soap and that lotion she slathered on her skin.

There. Two males. He growled possessively. Two males? Who dared to enter his mate’s domicile?

Stop. Stop this. She wasn’t his mate.

“That’s kind but I need to do more than pack a suitcase. My charming ex-fiancé didn’t pay rent for months and I have to be out by the end of the month.” She filled an electric kettle with water. While it boiled, she pulled down two mugs from a shelf and a box of tea. The packaging featured rainbows, oddly shaped lumps that he reasoned were fruit, and inaccurate representations of stars.

He had no idea what flavor the tea could be, but he knew he would hate it. “That is a kit’s tea,” he said.

“You don’t like Starlight Rainbow Raspberry? No, that’s impossible. It’s too good not to like,” she said, as if perfectly content to ignore his concerns.

He scanned the domicile. It was long and narrow. A long credenza built-in with shelves and drawers ran the length of the cabin. There was space for a chair and a work surface. Practical but appealing. On the opposite wall was a pale gray sofa in a plaid print that suggested the colors lacked harmony and a matching chair, arranged on a swirling pale and darker gray rug. He found it difficult to believe that someone paid good credit for that eyesore and arranged it exactly so with pillows and soft lap blankets. A wilted plant sat on a table near a lamp.

The entire space was lushly decorated with that same level of taste. It coordinated in a riot of color and texture. As much as it did not appeal to him, clearly someone took pride in crafting the environment.

A closed door waited at the very far end of the domicile, which had to be the sleeping chamber.

He fought the urge to investigate that room. Instead, he breathed deeply, taking in the scent of the rooms. He detected dust, cleaning agents, the staleness of an aging filtration system, but no other male. At least not in the common area. Perhaps in the sleeping chamber, in the bed they shared…

Flexing his hand, he ignored the burn of his claws. It did not matter if the scent of Marigold’s false mate still clung to their bed. She was not his. He made an offer, and she declined. Who her bed smelled of was not his concern.

He needed to deviate his thoughts from this topic.

“You have too many possessions to pack in a single day, and my ship cannot accommodate your furnishing,” he said. There. That was an adequate change in conversational direction.

“You mean you’re not going to help me move my sofa?” She poured hot water over the teabags. A mildly pleasant fruity aroma filled the air. He decided that he would try the ridiculous raspberry—whatever those were—tea, but he would not enjoy it. She added a spoonful of the powdered milk and sugar, then handed him a mug.

Cautiously, he sipped. “It is not unpleasant.”

“A rousing review,” she said, a smile on her face.

“You are always doing that,” he said.

“Doing what?”

“Smiling. I do not trust it.”

An inelegant bark of mirth escaped her. The pure, unfiltered delight of it somehow wrapped itself around his heart and squeezed. Rebel had been refined, too refined to laugh, except at the expense of others. He had the impression that Marigold laughed at herself more than anything else.

“This is wrong,” he announced, before pulling her down into his lap. She wiggled and squirmed, laughing even as she demanded to be released. “No. Remain still.”

She stilled, her back pressed to his chest. Her head leaned back, exposing the delicate column of her throat, yielding. Her dark hair tickled his nose. He enjoyed this, the way her tailless bottom fit against him.

Then she elbowed him in the gut, springing out of his lap. Calmly, she sat in her own chair and stirred a spoonful of sweetener into her tea. “I find you very attractive, Winter, but—”

He dreaded the rest of her statement, so he finished it for her. “But no?”

“I need time.”

Not a rejection. Not what he wanted to hear, but not an outright rejection.

“How much time?” He calculated the four weeks to Corra. It was hardly anytime at all, yet she had snuck past his defenses in a handful of days.

She waved a hand. “It’s not something I can quantify. When I feel more in control of my life. When I’m not worried about bills.”

“Bills?” His ears perked. The family fortune came with so many strings and complications that he almost resented his wealth, but maybe he could use it to help.

“There are always bills to be paid. The furniture will be sold. My mother and brother will put everything else in storage.” She drained her cup, then headed to the sleeping chamber. “I’m going to pack a bag for our trip and bring anything I can’t live without.”

He eyed the wilting plant. “Bring this one,” he said. It was not correct to neglect a living being, even a plant.

“Sure.” She disappeared through the doorway to the sleeping chamber. A moment later, she returned. “Is there a dress code on your ship? Not to be rude, but you seem like the kind of guy who makes the staff wear uniforms.”

He snorted. “There is no uniform. Wear what you prefer.” He considered the flimsy, floaty dress she wore on the sail boat and how the sea spray made it cling to her figure. “Within reason,” he added.

She disappeared back into the room. Only the sounds of the circulating air filled the room. He rinsed and washed the mugs, dried them, and placed them back in the cabinets. Curious, he opened the other cupboard doors. If she caught him investigating, he would claim he searched for a snack.

Four plates. Four glasses. Four bowls. A complete set.

The next cabinet held a variety of dry goods, mostly human food. None of it looked appetizing.

He found an additional box of the rainbow berry tea and placed it on the counter. No sense in wasting a perfectly tolerable tea. He had the distant idea that he should be restocking his ship. Corra waited at the end of a four-week journey. They required fuel, sustenance, and the other basic necessities. He should use his time effectively and order those items to be delivered and they could depart as quickly as possible. Instead, he opened boxes of tea with ridiculous names and sniffed.

The front door opened. A human male walked in, carrying a paper bag in one hand and holding a bottle of wine in the other. He strode in without announcing his presence, like he belonged here.

“Who are you?” the male had the nerve to ask.

This had to be the false mate. He had an enviable amount of nerve to return with wine, like nothing had happened, like he had not walked away from a worthy female. The male probably imagined that he could beg forgiveness, and Marigold would, because she had a kind heart, even if it was shortsighted. Then she would no longer need or want her fresh start and his ship would be empty.

Again.

His kit considered the female a friend, and his kit had distressingly few friends. If he returned to the ship without the female, not only would he need to find a new pilot, his kit would accuse him of driving away the female, as he had done the others.

Yes, he could not disappoint Zero. It had nothing to do with a desire to keep the female close to him. Nothing.

Winter tackled the male.

MarigoldJoseph was screaming. Not good.

She ran out of the bedroom to find Winter and Joseph tumbling on the floor. No. Winter growled and slashed with his claws fully extended. Joseph blocked and squirmed. He pushed Winter off, barely scrambled to his feet, then the Tal male pounced, pinning him back to the ground.

“What are you doing! Stop!”

They ignored her.

Correction, Winter ignored her. Joseph yelled, “Do something! He’s going to claw my eyes out!”

“You do not deserve eyes,” Winter snarled.

Mari grabbed the nearest thing on the counter and brought it down on Winter’s back. Hard.

The bottle of olive oil bounced. The force failed to grab Winter’s attention. She frowned at the resin container, wishing it were glass and that she could swing it hard enough to shatter.

Mari unscrewed the cap and dumped the contents onto the writhing tangle of Winter and Joseph.

That got their attention. Winter leaped off Joseph and stood before her, shirt and hair covered in aromatic oil. Rosemary. Lemon. He removed his shirt and tried to wipe up the mess, which only made him spread the oil over his chest and arms.

He glistened and smelled delicious.

“I paid good money for that. It came from Earth,” she snapped.

“Then why did you dump it on me?”

“Because you were going to kill my stupid brother!”

“Your—” His tail slinked down to his side.

“Winter, my brother, Joseph. Joe, this is Winter Cayne. I’m flying his ship to Corra.”

“Apologies. I mistook him for your false mate,” Winter said.

“False mate?” Joseph said. He used a dish towel to mop up the oil on him, but he had about as much success as Winter.

“Sweet celestial bodies, Joe is my brother. Tomas is the guy—” Her voice gave out, because Winter tackled a stranger, thinking he was the man who hurt her. She should have been appalled at the barbaric behavior, not grinning from ear to ear. He shouldn’t have done it, and she shouldn’t have liked it. More disturbing, she failed to muster even a little concern about what she should and shouldn’t be feeling.

“Yes,” Winter said, answering a question she didn’t know how to ask.

“I’m fine, by the way. Bruised and covered in grease,” Joseph said, pushing himself into the conversation.

“Rosemary and lemon infused olive oil,” she said.

“Oh, that’s much better. If Mr. Growly Claws will move his ass, I’ll wash up at the sink.”

Winter stepped to the side, letting Joseph scrub off the oil in the sink, and Mari totally didn’t admire the way the light glistened on his arms, because she wouldn’t objectify her boss like that. Don’t be gross.

“How about you wash up in the cleansing room? You can clean your clothes, too. It’s through the bedroom,” she said to Winter, not watching his tail as he stalked away. Satisfied that she wasn’t a complete creeper, she turned to her brother. “What are you doing here?”

Joseph used way too much soap on his hands. “In case you missed it, I came to help you pack. I have a few days between runs.”

“That’s… nice.” She noticed the paper bag and bottle of wine on the ground. At least that hadn’t broken. Hooray for shatterproof glass. “You brought dinner.”

“The wine is ruined.” He picked up the bottle and sighed.

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s skunked. All the particles and junk that settle at the bottle are all mixed up now. It’ll taste foul.”

He was such a snob. She took the bottle from him and placed it in a nearly empty cooling unit. “It’s fine. It just needs to chill for a bit.”

“So that’s the guy?”

“That’s my boss. Mom told you?” She peeked in the bag, stomach instantly growling at the aroma. Joseph brought fried chicken and sides from her favorite place.

“That you’re running away with a rich Tal bastard, yeah.”

His tone brought out the stubborn sister in her. “If you mean, that I took a short-term contract to pilot a private ship, then yeah, I’m running away.”

“You have a job.”

“Yeah, shuttling our mother and tourists from one spiritually enlightening location to another.”

“It’s a good job.”

“You don’t want to chauffer Mom around. That’s what this is,” she said. Joseph normally did cargo runs and deliveries in their smaller ship. That type of work wasn’t glitzy enough for Valerian, but it provided a reliable income.

He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s not it, Mari. That guy… he was going to claw out my eyes.”

“He thought you were Tomas.”

“And you’re okay with that? He just attacked. Even if it had been Tomas, that’s so not cool. He’s dangerous.”

She wanted to deny it, and she certainly didn’t want to dwell on the feeling of satisfaction she got thinking that Winter was willing to gut Tomas to defend her. It was old fashioned, unenlightened, and absolutely perfect.

Instead, she said, “Look, I know he’s a jerk, but he’s a jerk who pays well. Now help me set the table so we can eat.”

Joseph unpacked the food containers while she set out cutlery and napkins. For a few choice moments of silence, she thought Joseph had let the subject go. Apparently not. He started, “Mom said—”

“Nothing good,” she interrupted. “He and Mom were like oil and water. Don’t believe the nasty things she says.”

“Mari, can you even picture our mother saying something nasty about anyone?”

True. When she discovered her last business partner had been embezzling funds for years, Valerian gave them a hug and guided them through a meditation to cleanse their aura. The woman did not have a vindictive bone in her body. Or a head for business.

“What did she say, exactly?” Mari asked.

He waved a hand, countering her question with one of his own. “Do you know who he is? Who he was married to?”

“Yes.” She snooped on the network and read old articles.

“He killed his wife!”

Mari made a shushing noise. Winter was in the shower, but the walls weren’t soundproof. “There was an accident. That’s hardly murder.”

“Right, and a man who just pounces on a stranger is totally rational and in control of his temper. He’d never snap and hurt someone.”

She grabbed the plates and slammed the cabinet door shut. “You don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t. I can understand that after Tomas, you need to scratch an itch, but this guy is bad news, Mari.”

“It’s not that,” she said, blushing. She didn’t need to listen to her brother talking about scratching itches. “There’s a kid.”

“Oh, Marigold, are you running away to play house with this asshole?” he asked with pity in his voice.

“No! No,” she restated, forcing herself to calmly sit at the table. Dinner looked good and smelled better. Her stomach growled, and she debated how rude it would be to start eating before Winter returned.

Rude, she decided.

“He has a son, Zero. The kid is really smart and lonely, I think. They move around all the time. He doesn't have any friends his own age. Whatever problems Winter has, he’s a good father.”

The pitying look intensified. “Oh, Sunshower Marigold Fields.”

Not good. Using the full name, or close to it, meant Joseph thought she was the saddest sack in the stars.

“I know what you’re thinking. I’m not projecting,” she hurriedly said. Zero was not her. After all, she had Joseph, as annoying as he could be. Zero had no one. He needed a friend. So did his father.

“It’s four weeks to Corra, then I’m on the next ship back,” she said.

He made noises that were at once judgmental and indecisive.

“I need to do something different, at least for a little while. Tomas is everywhere in here.”

“I don’t trust him, and how long does it take to shower? The food’s getting cold.”

“Like you’re such a great judge of character. Remember that antiques dealer who was smuggling—”

“Fine! Point proven.” He grabbed a piece of chicken from the carton and took a bite. Speaking with his mouth full, “But you’re calling every day. If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to Corra and digging you out of your shallow grave. And if he murders you, I’m gonna be so pissed, like you don’t even know.”

“Ah, a brother’s protective love,” she said with a smile.