Tail, Dark and Handsome: Celestial Mates

Chapter 2-2

Age had not mellowed Valerian’s natural chaos. Working and living with her mother would be too much. A little Valerian went a long way, but Mari knew that wasn’t the issue.

Her pride.

She didn’t want to slink back to her mother’s house with her tail between her legs, so to speak. Bad enough that everyone knew she fell for a sweet-talking con man. She didn’t want to be the thirty-year-old loser who got evicted from her apartment.

Correction: the thirty-year-old homeless loser.

Fine.

She’d talk with her mother. Soon, no doubt. Valerian had this weird knack for picking up on Mari’s moods. No third eye or sensitivity to auras necessary, just a mom knowing when her kid was upset.

Mari left the bed to fetch her abused tablet, opened the mail program, and flicked through the unread overdue notices and threatening messages. Some of them could be contested. She hadn’t actually married Tomas, so she dodged being legally tied to the crook.

As the bills grew, Mari could only assume that he had opened credit lines at every store and bar in the station. Clothes? Apparently, he bought an entire wardrobe and enough shoes to never wear the same pair twice in a month. Restaurants? Only the finest cuisine. She had loved those meals, the splurging for a special night out. She had no idea she’d be stuck footing the bill.

Day spa to get a facial. Hair salon. Manicure.

Mari paused, wondering if all the grooming was to prep for the wedding or to charm his next victim, presumably Sandria. Regardless, she wouldn’t pay for the man’s vanity.

At the bottom of her inbox, she found a message from Celestial Mate. Congratulations on your nuptials! Please take our six-month survey and tell us about your match!

Those tears she couldn’t find? The dam broke. Her chest tightened as her breath grew shallow with sobbing. Tears blurred her vision and her nose dripped. Blindly reaching for a tissue, she attempted to clean herself up.

Months ago, staring down her thirtieth birthday, Mari nervously entered the Celestial Mates office. She had done some research on dating apps and matchmaking services. Celestial Mates had a stellar reputation and franchise locations literally everywhere in the galaxy.

Celestial Mates wanted a testimonial?

Oh, she had some things to tell them.

The bell chimed, indicating that someone waited at the door. Mari had an idea who.

Nox stood prim and proper in a rich, plum colored tail coat and black suit, complete with a top hat. The vivid color oddly complemented his amber complexion, which seemed quite a feat for the brash fashion choice.

He swept off the hat and gave a half bow. “Oh, good, you received the notice.”

Nox moved to enter her apartment, but Mari blocked the door. No way was she allowing him inside. Bad enough that the place still reeked of Tomas’s cologne, he’d smarm up the last of the breathable air.

An ear twitched. “I am the property owner,” he said.

“I have rights. You can’t enter without twenty-four notice and a good reason.”

“Unless it is an emergency. Do I smell smoke?” He sniffed dramatically.

“This is harassment. You can't make me pay off Tomas’s debt because there’s no legal obligation and now you’re harassing me. I have a lawyer.” A lie, but she played it cool, folding her arms over her chest and leaning against the doorframe like she was totally the kind of person who had a lawyer on call.

“No obligation? Your signature on a promissory note begs to differ.”

“I signed no such thing,” she said without hesitation.

“No?” Nox produced a tablet. A projected image of her signature hovered over the screen.

“Forged,” she said, shoving the tablet away.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps you blindly signed anything your lover pushed at you.”

Mari said nothing, because that was… not completely inaccurate. There had been so many forms, starting with the matchmaking agency that introduced them, to the marriage license, and right down to signing the lease on the apartment.

“Consequence. Who knew they were so vicious?” he tutted, sounding thoroughly amused. “We could come to an arrangement. I can always use a pilot. I have so many packages that require delivery. Work for me and work off the debt.”

“In twenty years? No thank you,” she said quickly. Indentured servitude was a trap, and Nox’s line of work involved smuggling, at best. Not interested.

“Marigold,” Nox purred. “I like you. I’ll give you two weeks to pay up or I put a lien on your property.”

“What property?” She tossed her hands in the air. “I don’t own anything except for some wedding gifts I can’t return. Would you like a new set of pots and pans? Bath towels?”

“I think your share of the family business would suffice.” He grinned, fangs showing.

A chill descended over Mari. “A clunky old tourist shuttle?”

“The ship is easy capital,” he said with a nod, “but a hanger that is owned outright is the true prize. Real estate. No nasty business with leases and rent.”

And having a legitimate business to act as a front for his nefarious activities only sweetened the deal. She connected dots in her mind.

Tomas left her holding the bag and now his selfishness endangered her family. The spiritually enlightened tours her mother offered didn’t draw huge profits, but they worked hard to build up the business. They bought the hanger and a clunker of a shuttle at a bargain rate. Joseph kept the ship flying, Mari flew, and Valerian picked the unique destinations that tourists with credits to burn crave.

“This was never about Tomas. You want to steal the business,” she said. She couldn’t let Vox get his grubby hands on that. Instead of liquidating the assets, he’d use it as a reputable front and slowly twist the family’s hard work into something criminal.

His tail swayed behind him. “Tomas is a man with so many vices. So many weaknesses. Let’s call it a happy accident.”

“For you.”

“Of course. I am a selfish male,” he said, his tone placid and content. “The opportunity was too good to pass by. Two weeks, Marigold.”

Well, f**k.

If she ever saw Tomas again, she planned to shove him out an airlock. Karma be damned.

WinterWinter slammed the tablet down on the table. The traitor jumped. His eyes immediately went to the headline emblazoned on the cracked screen that asked, “Like father, like son?” A blurry photo centered on Zero, speaking to Winter. He recognized the location as the symphony they attended the previous night.

“You can’t fire me. You have no cause. Anyone could have taken that picture.” The male folded his arms across his chest. At least he had enough decency to acknowledge the problem.

“What part of confidentiality confused you?”

“That was on a public street. Someone recognized you.”

“Or someone tipped the media off,” Winter growled.

The male paled. Winter never liked the male, but he needed a research assistant and the male’s qualifications were impeccable. He should have listened to his instinct and kept searching. The male had only been with them a week. Winter quickly scanned through the previous week, searching for any gossip a bitter ex-employee could sell. Other than the monotonous details of everyday life on board the ship, Winter had nothing, but that didn’t mean the male would not fabricate a titillating story.

Winter frowned at the image on the tablet. The shaggy haired male barely resembled his former self. Once, he had been elegantly dressed in bespoke suits and his hair carefully styled to appear disheveled yet stylish. That male had been the public face of his father's company, a carefully groomed image with his mate on his arm. Charismatic and talented, she had been made for public adoration. They presented the image of the perfect power couple, him with his research bolstering the family fortune and her as one of the most famous musicians in the system.

Appearances were shallow things.

He had not been that male in many years. Thinking about it made his tail curl with mortification.

After his mate’s death, his father did his best to bury videos and witness testimony about that night Rebel disappeared. Clearly, Thankful Cayne believed his son had something to hide, and Winter was all too eager to go along with it. He lost his taste for public attention and longed to fade into obscurity. Far too many headlines captioned unflattering photos of himself. He knew how the media tore into a person, exposing nerves until nothing else remained.

He had to think of Zero and protect his kit.

Addicted to pain pills?

Winter’s Cold Fury. Get the inside story about his anger issues.

What Happened to Rebel?

Once, he enjoyed the attention. Now it made him itch with discomfort. He did not care what the media said about him but his kit was off limits. Usually the non-disclosure agreement that all new staff signed was enough to keep Zero out of the gossip.

“It’s just a photo,” the male said. Winter eyed the nervously twitching tail. Did he believe the malicious gossip and expect Winter to fly into a rage?

“A supply transport will arrive in twenty hours. You will leave with them,” Winter said, voice cold enough to freeze the blood in the male’s veins.

The male reared back as if he would protest but then his shoulders slumped, his ears going flat in defeat, then left.

Winter examined the image on the cracked tablet. Blurry either deliberately or from a low-quality camera, the image appeared to have a filter applied to darken Zero’s complexion.

Like father, like son?

Winter knew very well that people questioned how radically different he appeared from his kit, and he knew the rumor. Zero’s pale gray complexion and dark gray stripes supported the rumors that Zero was not his real son.

When they stood side-by-side, Winter could see that his complexion was much darker. An entirely different color palette, he had been told.

“I don’t care,” Zero said, standing in the doorway. Dark hair flopped forward, making him appear particularly vulnerable. He lifted his chin in stubborn resolve. “You’re my real father, biologically or not. DNA is not everything.”

Winter tossed the tablet down. The screen gave a pitiful crack.

Damn Rebel for leaving them such a mess.

“Of course you’re my son,” he said. He flexed his fingers, wanting to pull Zero into a hug, but the adolescent resisted such affections. Instead, he lightly thumped Zero on the nose. “You have the Cayne family nose. It is distinguished.”

Zero rubbed his nose. “Freaking huge, you mean.”

“Monumental.”

“Honking. Big and honking.”

Father and son grinned at each other. Zero’s nose came down from his brow in nearly a straight line, with no dip at all, and seemed a few sizes too large for his face. He’d grow into it. Winter knew from personal experience.

“Every male in the Cayne family has been gifted with intellect, which is balanced by our nose. It keeps us humble,” he said.

Zero snorted but kept his comments to himself. More than anything, Winter wanted to bundle his kit up and hide him away from the rest of the universe, where malicious gossip never reached him. Winter tried his best to protect Zero, but new threats arose every day.

“The assistant was a mistake,” he said.

“As was the pilot. And the other assistant. And the student.”

Winter scratched the base of his ear. He refrained from adding that he had not hired any of the people Zero listed. Chase had sent them. “What are you saying?”

“We started the summer with a team of five. Now it’s just you and me.” Zero’s nose wiggled, almost a sneeze.

“They were unacceptable. Better to have no one than the wrong person.” The fired staff members had all leaked information or committed some transgression. The student, though… Winter caught the student playing music on a device as he took apart the inner workings of a prototype bot. “Perhaps I overreacted with the student,” he admitted.

Zero snorted. “It’s lonely in these hills.”

“I’m protecting your privacy.”

“You’re suffocating me.”

Winter held up a hand in surrender. While he and his kit shared many qualities, they were not the same person. Winter could happily spend years in isolation. Zero wanted friends.

Fuck. He was a selfish male, pretending to be motivated by protecting his kit and not merely avoiding awkward social interaction.

“We do not have to stay confined here. Perhaps we can explore the village,” he conceded.

Initially, the mountainous terrain had been chosen to test Chase’s newest bots. They were designed for reconnaissance in all terrain and weather conditions. Winter rented an isolated farmhouse to use as a base of operations because no matter how state-of-the-art and luxurious Chase made a ship, it was still a ship. Camping long term always ended with foul odors and short tempers. Winter wanted the space— and windows—of an actual building.

The nearby historic temple intrigued Zero, who could wander the ruins while Winter tried his level best to break Chase’s toys. It was the perfect arrangement for Winter but had to be lonely for an amiable kit.

Zero’s entire body perked, and his tail wiggled with excitement. “This is excellent! I want to go to the beach. And sailing! Can we go sailing?”

“As you say.” Work could wait.