Tail, Dark and Handsome
Synopsis
Mari has terrible taste in men. Her ex-fiance? Left her at the altar and ran off with her money. And now she’s mixed up with the reclusive mega-rich, mega-hot alien, Winter Cayne. That doesn’t sound so bad. Only rumor claims Winter murdered his first wife. Mari can’t reconcile the stories of a possessive, jealous man and the protective single dad that she met on a tropical planet. He wants to bring her home and claim her as his mate. With the mystery surrounding the death of his first wife, can Mari risk being wife #2?
Tail, Dark and Handsome Free Chapters
Chapter 1 | Tail, Dark and Handsome
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Thankful Cayne announced the engagement of his son, Winter, to heiress Rebel Ferre. Some speculate that the engagement is more of a business arrangement than a love match. Sources claim the two have known each other since they were kits…
-Tal Tattler Marigold:
“He’s what?”
“Not coming,” her brother said. Joseph had tamed his normal tumble of dark curls into a ponytail, and he looked sharp in his suit. Marigold had just been about to tell him he cleaned up well when Joseph blurted out the news.
“Where’s Sandria?” Mari needed her friend.
“About that. It seems Tomas and Sandria left. Together. Like, together together.” He bumped the sides of two fists together. “I’m sorry,” he added as an afterthought. He never liked Tomas, and it showed on his face.
She slumped to the ground, the ridiculous dress creating a fluffy white puddle around her. The rose bouquet fell to the floor, releasing a gentle perfume from the crushed petals.
“He and Sandria? How do you know?”
“Once—”
“I swear to the stars, if you say you caught them sneaking around and didn’t tell me, I’ll…I’ll…” Her brain stuttered from the sheer volume of information to process.
“He left a note.” Joseph thrust a piece of paper at her like a shield.
Mari took the sheet of genuine paper, not a note on a tablet or a sheet of reusable digital paper.
She read. Her heart broke. Tomas fell in love with Sandria. They ran away. Together. Like, together together.
“He’s not coming,” she repeated the impossible words, feeling a touch relieved and not understanding where that came from. Tomas had been so excited about their wedding, insisting on moving the date up when a spot opened unexpectedly in the Starlight Chapel.
Wood timbers—actual wood—and strong, crystal clear glass—not actual glass—formed the chapel, framing the stars and darkness of deep space. Soft lights glowed within, allowing the starlight to filter through the timber and glass walls. Neat rows of wood chairs flanked either side of a deep red, plush carpet aisle cutting down the stone floor. Again, real wood and real stone, brought to the space station at substantial cost. Hell, the carpet was probably made from wool harvested during a full moon from sheep that only grazed in fields of wildflowers and sipped the purest spring water. Needlessly expensive, the end result was a stunning and very, very pricey venue, but Tomas insisted. He told her not to worry about the cost.
He always said not to worry, and she liked that, relaxing her grip on responsibility and letting someone else take care of her. For once.
Look where it got her.
The entire time they were planning an extravagant wedding, he was falling in love with her friend? Sneaking around behind her back? Mari had felt him pull away, but she put that down to stress and pre-wedding jitters.
Joseph rubbed her back comfortingly. This was terrible. The stupid dress. The expensive venue. The crowd of people outside waiting for her to march down the aisle. At least Joseph didn’t make it worse by offering empty platitudes. He knew she needed a few quiet minutes to gather herself.
She pressed her fingers to the corner of her eyes, refusing to cry. Left at the altar. How cliché.
Silently, Joseph handed her a tissue.
“I’m not crying,” she said, even as the mascara dribbled down her cheeks.
“No, not over that asshole.” Joseph handed her another tissue. She gave him a watery smile, grateful that her brother was also her best friend. When they were kids, they moved frequently from ship to ship. Their mother, Valerian, changed jobs almost as frequently as she changed hair color, but it was always the same type of ship: luxury cruises that entertained wealthy tourists from starports to exclusive resorts and the most stunning parts of the galaxy. That meant there were usually no children on board, but Mari and Joseph had each other.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” she finally said and flinched for the sake of her battered self-esteem.
“He cleared out your apartment and they left on a ship this morning.” Joseph paused, then cleared his throat. “He, um, used a different name.”
“So it might not be him.” How did Joseph know? Sure, he was friendly with a lot of the crews that frequented the station, but he didn’t know. Not for certain.
Hope, bitter and sharp, stirred in her chest, wanting it to be a mistake, even though she clutched a letter that explained exactly how his heart had strayed and how he wouldn’t be coming back. Tomas could change his mind. He could.
Something heavy and sour settled in her stomach at the thought of Tomas walking through the doors, exasperated with the funny story that happened and kept him from the most important event of their lives. There was no other woman, no running away.
She couldn’t hold on to false hope. Tomas did what he did. There was no going back.
Maybe…this was for the best. The universe was throwing her a course correction. Or maybe Tomas sucked balls and she thanked the stars she avoided being legally tied with that hot mess dressed in an expensive suit.
Mari grabbed the rose bouquet from the floor, threw it to the floor again, then stomped on it for good measure. She hated how desperate hope made her feel. If Tomas wanted to run, she’d let him run. Better to rip that bandage off and get the worst part over, rather than waiting and hoping for him to walk in through the chapel doors. Hope felt so much worse.
“Love sucks,” she said, leaning into Joseph.
“It does, but he sucks in particular.” He picked up the tattered bouquet. “Do we want to salvage this or toss it in an incinerator?”
“Fiery destruction. No question.” She’d toss all Tomas’ clothes, including the finely tailored suits she thought looked so good on him, into the incinerator.
A knock sounded on the door. Mari’s mother peeked her head into the room. “All right, love? Any word on Tomas? What is going on with your aura?” Valerian frowned and snatched at the air around Mari’s head.
“Mom, not now—”
“Sunshower in a Marigold Field Moonquest, stay still. You can’t get married with all this negative energy.”
Oh no. Valerian used her mortifyingly embarrassing full name.
Mari turned pleading eyes to Joseph. Somehow, she had to be Sunshower Marigold, and he got to be plain old Joseph. Not fair. He owed her and needed to save her. Normally he enjoyed watching her being chastised, but a grim expression set on his face. He hated this awful situation as much as her.
He informed Valerian of the change of plans. “Gone? This has to be a misunderstanding.” She clutched the crystal pendant that hung around her neck.
“He cleared out our apartment,” Mari said.
“But I did his star chart myself. I was sure—” Valerian trailed off and Mari didn’t know if her mother was more upset about Mari being left at the altar or her star charts being wrong.
“Yeah, well—”
Valerian removed her crystal pendant and placed it in Mari’s hand. “You need this more than me. Let it soak up all your negative energy.”
Mari’s hand curled around the crystal pendant. She didn’t believe in all the star-age philosophy—the bitter part of her whispered it was nonsense—that Valerian embraced wholeheartedly. Crystals, aura cleanses, spiritual node alignments, exercise technique to unblock a person’s life force, and star charts. Valerian happily took the most out-there beliefs from several planets and alien species, embracing each new set of metaphysical values and wisdom with enthusiasm. After all, a woman who unironically names her child Sunshower in the Marigold Field also believed in guardian spirits and past lives.
Moonquest was the family name, believe it or not. Way back when humans first left Earth to colonize the stars, some enthusiastic pioneers ditched the old Earth names for new ones. Starbuck, Moon, and Polaris were as common as Smith and Jones.
“I’ll take care of the crowd while we figure out what to do. Don’t worry,” Valerian said.
“Thanks, Mom. I don’t think this day can get worse.”
A knock sounded on the door before the chapel’s event coordinator entered. The pinched faced woman clutched her tablet. “The police are here.”
Valerian gasped, then jerked off the crystal-encrusted bracelet that dangled off her wrist. She shoved it at Mari. “Don’t tempt the universe. You have a powerful shadow over you,” she said.
“I don’t suppose the police are here for a good reason,” Mari said. Unless Tomas was abducted or someone filed a missing person’s report.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” the woman sniffed. “I placed them in the groom’s dressing room since that is not being used.” She drew the words out like she wanted Mari to squirm. Well, she got her wish because Mari squirmed and wished the wall would open up and vent her right out into space. “There’s also the matter of the bill.”
“You have the deposit,” Mari said.
“Yes, and the remainder is due today,” the woman replied.
“And you have my credit information.”
“That was, unfortunately, declined.” Her words and tone were sympathetic, but her expression radiated glee, like she called the police on Mari for freeloading.
“It must be a misunderstanding. Tomas and I set up an account just for our wedding.” She had been funneling every spare credit into the savings account, as had Tomas. Disbelieving, she dug out her communicator and logged into the shared bank account.
Empty.
Well, shit. Bet that wasn’t in Tomas’ star chart.
Valerian looked over Mari’s shoulder and made a noise that sounded like a wounded beast. “That man! And to think I aligned his chakras.”
“Do you have an alternate form of payment?” the woman asked.
“Um, hold on,” Mari muttered. Disbelief numbed her. Tomas not only left her at the altar, but he ran off with their savings. She logged into her personal account only to find it equally empty. “Son of a—”
Joseph grabbed the comm from her, scrunched his brows, and passed it to Valerian. “That bastard robbed you,” they announced together like they had been practicing for such an occasion.
Mari needed a drink. The room was too crowded, and she needed to get drunk out of her mind. Mostly, she needed this day to end. “How about a refund? The wedding obviously isn’t happening.”
“Sorry, no refunds on last-minute cancellations.” The woman grinned like she was having the time of her cold, hateful life.
“Well, I’m not getting married today. I’m the victim of a con man. I need to file a police report and…and…” Change all her passwords. Get new accounts. Run a credit check to see if Tomas ran up any debt while using her name. Probably. He always had such nice clothes and expensive tastes, but he also had a good job as a pilot, so he claimed. She never questioned where he got his money.
Oh, and make an effigy of Tomas to toss in the incinerator along with his expensive clothes.
How had she been so trusting? Tomas used to whisper in their tender moments that he loved her trusting nature, that he loved how she viewed the universe with innocent wonder. Those words used to make her melt, but now it felt like he had been laughing at her. Silent guardian spirits, he had dropped clues and practically waved his plan in her face like a red flag.
The crystal dug into her palm as she squeezed tight. There weren’t enough crystals in the galaxy to protect such a naïve, lovesick fool.
Her stomach rolled with stress. Empty or not, the contents of her gut would not stay put.
She dashed for the small toilet attached to the dressing room, her enormous dress barely fitting through the door. Kneeling on the ground, she retched and gagged on the taste of bile.
While busy maintaining her dignity in a ladylike fashion, she heard Joseph settle the bill. “I paid for a party, so we’re having a party. We’ll skip the ceremony and go straight to the reception,” he said.
“I’ll inform the staff. And the police?”
“Give her five minutes. This is a shock, you understand.” To put it mildly.
Mari rinsed out her mouth and scrubbed off the ruin of her makeup. She did her best to avoid her reflection because she just didn’t know if she had the strength to stare into the eyes of the woman who got screwed. Hard.
He always seemed so glad to be with her, holding her hand even when they were just sitting on the couch watching a show. He smiled and teased her in the sweet, subtle way, like they were the only ones in on a wonderful joke.
Apparently, the joke was on her.
Shit. All her money. All their plans…
Were those even real? Had he always been planning to abscond with her pitiful savings, or was it a crime of opportunity? She didn’t care about the money—okay, she wasn’t an heiress, she obviously she cared about the money—but she loathed the dirty feeling that crawled over her. Tomas and Sandria violated her home, her trust, and her heart. She felt…wrong, like her mother needed to smudge her aura to clean away the negative energy.
What a disaster.
Joseph handed her a glass as she exited the tiny toilet. Valerian snatched at the clumps of negative energy in her aura.
“Thanks, Mom. I hope this is vodka,” she said, taking a gulp.
“Water, but I understand someone is paying for an open bar. I suggest we put a hurt on the sucker,” he said. He watched her drain the glass, concern evident on his face.
She hated that look on her baby brother’s face. Joseph was the fun, carefree one. She was the responsible one. Everyone said so, especially when they were kids. Joe was a great guy. He’d make someone very lucky when he eventually settled down. Someone deserved to be lucky.
Sweet celestial bodies, she sounded maudlin. “You sure that was water?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll tell the guests about the change in plans. Take your time,” Valerian said, giving Mari and peck on the cheek and a hug.
Mari leaned into the hug. Mom hugs were the best. “Thanks.” She did not look forward to the pity and condolences of a hundred people, most of whom were her mother’s friends and business contacts.
“And we’re going to eat a delightful meal, eat cake, and dance,” Joseph said. He took the empty glass and handed her another with a sparkling golden liquid. That was more like it.
“I like all those things,” she said, gulping the sparkling wine like a lady, because she had manners, dang it, and only sputtered a little when the bubbles tickled her nose.
“Do you want to wear the dress or not?”
Mari looked down at the concoction of lace and tulle. At one point, the dress made her feel like a fairy princess, Princess Sunshower in Marigold Fields. “It’s terrible, isn’t it?”
“Keep wearing it. Go for the full Miss Havisham,” he said.
“Nerd.” She didn’t want to smirk, but there it was, a tiny smirk. She’d be okay in the end. Screw Tomas and Sandria. “Do you still think we can find a pair of costume fairy wings?”
“On it.” He already had out his communicator, ready to order. “We can hang out here until the drone arrives and be mysterious.”
“Or we can drink.” Mari waved her empty glass at him, then sighed. “Thanks for footing the bill. I’ll pay you back, you know.”
His dark eyes gleamed. “Don’t worry about it. Consider it your future gift for when you get married for real.”
“That outlook is not good,” she said.
“I mean, I don’t understand the compulsion, but I am 100% behind you.”
“You’d have to be in this dress.” He snorted at her snarky comment. Mari couldn’t explain the compulsion, either. One day, she realized that she was thirty and felt like she had a clock ticking down in her chest. Living on a busy space station meant that she met tons of people, but relationship material people? Not so much. Joseph seemed to be content with flings, but Mari wanted something with substance. She wanted to wake up to the same face, not for a handful of days while they hung about the station waiting for a connecting flight or ship repairs, but for years.
One face for the rest of her life.
She didn’t think it was that hard of a request, but her fruitless dating life proved her wrong. Frustrated by only meeting men who seemed to have a girl in every port, she signed up with Celestial Mates. The agency introduced her to Tomas, a pilot based out of the station.
On paper, they wanted the same thing, and in person, they clicked. He had been charming, sweet, and knew all the right things to say. Her longing for a commitment made her an easy target, and her desire to see the best in people made it easy to carry on an affair.
“I should go talk to the cops,” she said.
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Them. Are you going to return the dress or can I order these water guns? Because you’re really going to like my next suggestion.”
She should take the dress off and try to get some kind of refund, or at least sell it to a secondhand shop. “Do it. I’m feeling like I need to make some bad decisions.”
A grin spread across Joseph’s face. “My favorite kind.”
“Cops now. Then cake.” Her stomach rumbled. So much cake. Enough cake to burst the stitching in the dress. “I can’t believe I gave up carbs to fit into this dress.”
Turns out the men weren’t cops.
A Tal man wearing an expensive suit waited, sprawled in a chair like he was at home with one leg over the chair’s arm. His tail swept over the floor, back and forth. Behind him stood two bulky males with grim expressions, obviously kept around for their menace.
“He sent his female,” the Tal man said. He straightened in the chair, then leaned forward to rest his elbow on his knees. “Cowardly. I cannot abide cowards.”
“I don’t know what business you have with Tomas, but he’s not here. He took a ship this morning,” she said.
The man seemed bored by her information. “And where is this ship headed?”
“Do you think I’d be standing here in a wedding dress if I knew? He ran away. He’s not coming back.”
“I have no idea what you humans do or wear,” he said dismissively. “Tomas owes me a considerable amount of money. Mostly gambling, but he has expensive taste, doesn’t he?” He eyed her in the dress. Mari felt the need to cover herself, but remained still. He continued, “I intend to collect. Considering the circumstances, I will forgo my normal interest rate if you can pay today.”
Mari pressed a hand to her forehead, unable to process the day’s events. “Yeah, no. He’s not my husband. We’re not legally bound or obligated to each other, thank the stars. So why don’t you have a piece of cake and a drink?”
The man stood, tugging the cuffs of his suit. “That’s adorable, but I wonder what gave you the impression that I’m a bank. I want my money.”
Mari craned her head back, as the man stood a good few inches taller than her. “What did you say your name was?”
“Nox.”
“Nox,” she repeated, because Tomas had to borrow money from the most notorious loan shark on the station. “I’m sorry. He ran off with all our savings.”
“Yes, and I will have my money. I don’t particularly care how or from who.”
“But I don’t…I can’t. I’m broke.” First the humiliation of having her brother pay the tab for her not-wedding, now this. If she ever saw Tomas again, she’d shove him out an airlock. “I was supposed to be married today,” she added, her voice small.
Nox made a sympathetic sound and patted her on the head. “I can’t help but feel this is my fault. Tomas enjoys spending money. Unfortunately, he has a nasty habit of running away and leaving his spouse with the bill. I knew that but still gave him my money.” He chuckled, a cold and brittle sound. “He’s done it three times, you know.”
The news of his three other wives rocked Mari. They had talked about past romantic relationships. He never mentioned being divorced, mainly because he wasn’t. He was a bigamist.
“I’m sure it’s nothing about you. That’s just his pattern,” Nox continued.
“I’m not sure if I feel better knowing I was one person taken for a ride or one of many.” The Interstellar Union had inclusive marriage regulations, but poly marriages were only legal if the parties knew about the other people and filed the correct form, and they hadn’t filed the proper paperwork.
Paperwork? Really? That’s what bothered her? Tomas did her a favor, running away before they were legally bound to each other.
“I believe it is best to be exclusive, but perhaps you can find some small comfort with the other wives.”
“Lucky me,” she said numbly, not believing that for one second.
“Shame he did a runner. There are few places he can hide from me.”
Corra. Tomas had wanted to move to Corra after the wedding. He had been talking about it nonstop.
Something like realization must have shown on her face because Nox perked with interest. “Oh,” he purred, “if you know where he ran, I’d suggest telling me now. It’ll go toward the debt.”
“I’m…he never said, but he talked about Corra a lot.”
The ears on top of Nox’s head twitched and fluttered. “Corra may be outside the IU, but it’s not outside my reach. Now, you do look delightful.” He placed a hand on either shoulder and gave her a long look, then tutted. “Humans are so strange. All this white when you’re barely beige. It’s so dull. Must be off. We’ll talk about the debt.”
“I’m not paying,” she said, knowing that if the notorious moneylender had her in his sights, she’d pay one way or the other.
The guests were polite enough to give her sympathetic looks but tactful enough not to mention how a con man charmed Mari out of her savings, left her holding debt to an unscrupulous man, and stomped all over her heart. Oh, and ran off with her former friend.
She asked the guest to take their gifts back, but a few insisted she keep the matching towel sets and new pots and pans. She ate cake, drank her fill of sweet, bubbly booze, and danced until her legs burned with exhaustion. No one questioned the glittery costume fairy wings she wore. Jilted brides were allowed to be eccentric.
In a week, she’d board a ship and head out for her honeymoon. Alone. She had already paid for the trip in full, and she intended to enjoy the luxury resort on a sunny island. Real life and untangling the mess Tomas left behind could wait a little longer.
After all, it couldn’t get worse.
Winter:
“Almost there. We don’t want to miss the show.” Winter climbed onto the boulder and hauled himself to the top. The tinted glasses slid down his nose. They were a necessary hassle.
He and his kit, Zero, hiked through the forest all morning, slowly making their way to higher ground. Behind them, a bot trundled along, its all-terrain treads struggling with actual terrain. The bot navigated its way around obstacles easily enough, but its sensors seemed unable to distinguish the difference between mud and dry ground.
The bot bumped into the boulder, backed up, then bumped into it again. He’d have to recalibrate the sensors.
With minutes to spare, Winter and Zero made it to the overlook.
The island spread out below them, foliage and scrub on the mountain, the boxy structures of the village, and the thin band of pale gray sand beaches. Beyond that, the ocean surrounded them, an endless stretch of wavering gray. Sunlight gleamed off the water, the light diffusing into a bright glow that made him blink.
Winter turned away. Salty wind ruffled his hair and threatened to whisk the hat away. He clamped a hand to hold it in place. His legs ached wonderfully from exertion. From their perch, there was only birdsong, sun, and the wind.
His total color blindness—achromatopsia—left him in a world of varying shades of gray and sensitivity to light. Outdoor activities required planning and certain equipment—shaded contact lenses, tinted glasses, and a hat for very sunny days—or he risked being completely blinded by sunlight and suffering a debilitating headache. Overcast days were easier, but he refused to let a little sunshine spoil the show.
Winter naturally craved the solitude of life aboard his ship, but it was too easy to cocoon himself in that sterile environment, where he could control the lighting. He had spent years in his workshop, sitting in front of screens and hunched over prototypes. At some point, being in his ship felt like hiding, like letting his achromatopsia dictate his life. Now, he hungered for dirt, sun, and sweat. The soreness in his muscles reminded him he was alive.
A recluse by choice, not because of a hereditary medical condition.
Unfortunately, Zero did not agree about the virtues of the outdoors and complained mightily. He was more than happy to spend his adolescence with his nose in a book and parked motionless in front of a screen.
Zero flung himself down on the rock beside Winter, groaning dramatically. “I’m gonna die…”
“You will recover,” Winter said, handing the kit a bottle of water and a pair of specially created sunglasses. “Put these on. Do not damage your eyesight.”
Zero complied, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and also, somehow, standing straight up from the wind.
With an amused huff, Winter plucked a leaf from his kit’s hair.
A comfortable silence fell between father and son. His body ached pleasantly. Some mornings, his joints moved stiffly as he lumbered out of bed, but he could still hike and appreciate the natural world.
The bot whirred and beeped below them. “That really is the dumbest thing Uncle Chase’s ever built. Like give up, stop bashing the rock,” Zero said.
Winter could order the bot to cease, but Chase’s directives were to have it field-tested, which meant he had to allow the bot to batter itself to pieces. Hopefully, the sensors and programming kicked in to tell it to stop, unless it was locked in a loop. Even a worst-case scenario where the bot destroyed itself provided usable data.
He sighed at the remarkably unintelligent bot. He had hoped to keep production costs down. The small size and versatility of the bot would make it instrumental to colonists and individuals on isolated, far-flung homesteads. The military, of course, would be interested in anything with explosives strapped to it. He considered that a neutral use of his research, as the bot had as much potential to save lives as it did to inflict harm.
Chase would insist on marketing it as a personal servant, ideal for glamorous camping, to the idle wealthy, the exact sort who traveled three weeks in a private space yacht for rare mushrooms that only sprouted once a decade and had to be harvested by moonlight or they turned toxic. That sort.
He and his cousin agreed on very little, especially when it came to running the company. That Chase had always been the favorite did not help.
“Dad, pay attention.” Zero nudged his shoulder.
The moon drifted across the sky as if pulled to the sun. Strange how it hung almost unmoving in the sky all day, but now the eclipse approached alarmingly fast.
“Look!” Zero pointed to the ground. Leaves from nearby trees scattered shadows of the eclipse on the ground.
The sky dimmed into darkness as the moon eclipsed the sun, and the light took on an ethereal quality.
“It’s red. So cool,” Zero said, despite knowing the color held little meaning for his father. “The sky is normally blue. Red is dark and a bit like blood.”
“Blood red,” Winter said, recognizing the phrase.
A ring of dancing fire, blinding in its intensity, encircled the moon. Winter held out a hand, letting the refracted shadow dance across his skin. He traveled light-years to witness this moment. His heart hammered in his chest, partly from a mix of exertion and awe.
Mostly awe, he decided.
Zero squirmed beside him.
“The wonders of the universe bore you?” Winter asked.
“No,” Zero said too quickly, which meant he was hiding something.
“And it has nothing to do with the notecards in your pocket?”
Zero’s ears flattened as he shifted to pull out the battered notecards. “Can I?”
“Please.” Winter turned his gaze back to the vista stretching before them, waiting patiently for his kit to gather his thoughts. This was hardly a conventional location for a presentation, but he couldn’t think of a better spot.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know your schedule is busy.” Zero shuffled the notecards before tapping them against his thigh. “I believe my presentation,” he made an awkwardly stiff sweep with one hand, “will convince you that my proposal is advantageous to both our interests. There’s supposed to be a whiteboard. Imagine the whiteboard.”
“Consider it done.” Winter’s tail swished with amusement as he watched his son stumble awkwardly through his presentation. He found Zero’s copy of The Art of Persuasion and Arguments, so he had an inkling this was coming. Zero had an analytical mind and researched everything thoroughly, especially before venturing into unexplored territory.
Zero cleared his throat. “I could bore you with the statistics for adverse outcomes for child prodigies who receive exclusively private tutoring—”
“Were you able to find any statistics?” Winter leaned forward, the uneven rock digging into his ass. The shadows of the eclipse scattered over Zero’s face and the notecards.
“Anecdotal and nothing recent.” Zero shuffled the notecards, which meant no. He most likely wanted to open with soft data that would put Winter in a defensive position. Tricky, tricky kit. Zero continued, “As you know, my education has been extensive and intense.”
“You’ve had the best private tutors that currency can supply.” Winter would know. He sat atop a considerable fortune and poured a staggering sum of it into his kit’s education. In their private spaceship, they traveled from city to city, planet to planet, to attend lectures and workshops given by a variety of leading experts in whatever subject had caught Zero’s interest. Mathematics, music, philosophy, literature, history, archaeology, they all interested him to some extent, though Zero seemed to lean toward mathematics and music.
Currently, Zero’s interests centered on political rebellion expressed in music. They would soon travel to Earth to allow Zero the chance to watch human operas performed in original human languages. Apparently, Earth operas were quite seditious. What other kit could say they had the same opportunities?
“I have worked hard and my test results have exceeded the general requirements to graduate from primary education according to Interstellar Union guidelines.” Zero moved the card to the bottom of the stack. “But I believe this is one area of my education that is lacking. Remove cloth. Oh.” He looked up from the card, blinking. “Pretend this is the whiteboard.”
He passed the card to Winter. Neat blocky letters spelled out “Be a Normal Person” at the top. Underneath were six points.
1. Hire a tutor for social skills.
2. Live in one place for at least a year.
3. Attend a regular school.
4. Do a sport.
5. Make friends.
“You are a normal person,” Winter said.
Zero scrunched up his nose, and his ear flicked. “I’m not.”
Winter’s fingers itched as his claws threatened to unsheathe. The last seven years had been a tangled mess. He lost so much time to grief, blame, anger, and physical pain that he left his kit to find his way through the darkness. How badly had he failed Zero that he believed himself to be abnormal?
“Who said you were abnormal? Was it Chase? I will—” Winter bit off his words. He wanted to threaten violence but did not want to utter words that could be misconstrued, even in the privacy of his own home.
“No one. I just am.” Zero hesitated, his ears pressed back. “I can tell.”
“No one? What about that last tutor? He was a rude fucker.”
Winter paid a small fortune to supply Zero with the best tutors in the galaxy. Always precocious, Winter let Zero’s curiosity guide his education. As he flitted from interest to interest, he gathered books and tutors. They traveled vast distances between stars to attend lectures and visit museums. Winter hired experts to give guided tours and private one-on-one sessions. Any other kit might be spoiled, but Zero soaked it all up. No one kit had such a lavish education, a fact which pleased Winter. That Zero’s interest kept returning him to music pleased Winter less, but mathematics and music attracted him equally.
If Winter could burn every piano in the star system, he would.
Zero rolled his eyes. “Because I found an error in the textbook he wrote.” His tail swished in amusement. “My five-point plan,” he said, tapping the card to redirect Winter’s attention.
“Just five?”
Zero leaned forward to regard the card upside down. “It may fluctuate once the plan is in motion,” he said, then shuffled his cards again. “Point one. Socialization opportunities with my generation have been limited. There is much I do not know about kits my age.”
Winter softened. A hard life of disappointments created a protective barrier around him. He had little room for anyone in his heart except for his kit.
If Zero wanted to socialize with kits his age, Winter would not argue. Fourteen was too young not to have friends and too old to figure out how to make friends. It was a tender age, and Winter needed to protect his kit from the many hurts others inflicted.
Brilliant, as brilliant as his mother had been, Zero missed social cues. He relied on crutches, like tips on small talk from self-help books, and Winter knew the fault belonged to him. Isolated on their ship, Zero’s only companions were the people hired for his education, adults paid to see to the needs of his intellect. Zero would either flourish once he reached adulthood or flounder, and the outcome would depend on the skills he developed now.
There was only one answer. “I agree,” Winter said.
“You do? Of course. Very good,” he said, quickly recovering from his initial surprise. He shuffled to the next card. “We need to hire a specialist for social skills.”
“Is there even such a thing?” Winter scratched behind an ear. He considered a motivational speaker on winning friends, but that didn’t seem correct.
“I was thinking of another nanny.”
“A nanny? You’re too old.” Fourteen was too young to be unsupervised but too old for a nanny.
“Not to supervise, but to coach me. Help me be normal around people.”
“Are you saying I don’t know how to be normal around people? No, don’t answer.” A recluse for the last few years, Winter did not know how to be normal around anyone. Not that he ever excelled at sociability. He lost his polish and with it the social niceties like being polite and refraining from growling when someone shoved a camera in his face.
“We’ll revisit. Point two, I want to stay in one place for at least a year, to maximize social investment.”
“Our ship is not good enough?” Their private yacht had all the luxuries a person needed to cruise the stars in comfort.
“Dad, you don’t understand,” Zero whined, suddenly sounding very much a teenager. “I want to live on Corra.”
“No.” Absolutely not. He would never return to that horrid place.
“That’s it? No reason, just do as I say?”
“You know the reason,” he growled.
Zero’s ears went back, but he lifted his chin in pure stubborn determination. “I want to visit Mama’s grave.”
“She is not—” Winter closed his eyes, wanting to say that Rebel’s body might rest on Corra, but her heart and spirit were not there. Zero carried them with him. Instead, Winter recalled the dark skies as the storm swallowed their vehicle and tossed it about like a toy. For a moment, they had been weightless, then the vehicle slammed into the ground. He awoke to fractures in his hips and legs, and Rebel had vanished.
It took six months to recover her body. In that time, Winter’s broken bones healed, and he learned to walk with an artificial hip. The court of public opinion shredded his reputation.
The official investigation deemed Rebel’s death an accident, but the damage from what had been said about him, about their family, speculated on the front page of every news media site, could not be undone.
Winter fled the planet the moment he could, and he never wanted to return.
“I know. I just want—” Zero reached for his tail, spilling the cards onto the ground.
“Would you consider an academy? You could stay there for the entire school year?”
Zero’s ears went back, disliking the idea. “Then you’d be alone.”
“I’ll be fine.” He had kept his mind occupied for the last few years by traveling the stars in his private ship. He had shown his kit many wonders, but there were more places to visit. He could explore on his own. It was not running away, and he always had his work.
“I just want to be regular.” Zero slumped down, leaning back on his hands, and his tail dangled at his side like a limp noodle.
Winter’s heart ached for his kit. He would do anything for Zero, but what the kit wanted…he was too young to remember the media storm after the accident or, if Winter were being honest, the constant rumors before the accident. Staying in one place for too long brought attention, even now. There were always those who wanted to stick a camera in his face and discuss Rebel, hoping to get a reaction. Constant travel protected Zero from that.
But it left his kit feeling rootless and without friends. It pained Winter to see make friends a goal. Seclusion may have been right to him, but it harmed Zero.
And it had to be Corra, because his kit needed to see a hunk of polished granite engraved with his mother’s name.
“One year,” he said.
Zero immediately perked, his tail vibrating with excitement. He threw himself at his father in an increasingly rare display of affection. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! This is going to be the best year!” He rubbed his cheek to Winter’s, a soft kitten purr in his throat. “But—”
“The house may be in disrepair,” he cautioned. Harboring too many painful memories, he left the property—and all his research—to a caretaker. Other than the occasional update and request for repairs, he knew nothing about the condition of the house. “It will not be as comfortable as the ship.”
“I don’t care! I’m so excited. When? Can we go now? Let’s go now.”
The journey to Corra would take a solid month from their current location. “When my project has concluded.”
“And I’ll find a nanny,” Zero nodded, as if he settled the matter.
Ah, that blasted nanny.
“No nanny.” Zero opened his mouth to protest, but Winter held up a hand. “No. If you want to be a peer with your cohorts, you must have the same accommodation. You are too old for a nanny.” Avoiding media attention and simply being the child of his parents would make Zero’s plan difficult enough. Having a nanny follow him around would further ostracize him from his peers and potential friends.
“Fine,” Zero said, dragging out the word to indicate that it was, in fact, anything but fine. “This will be great. You’ll see!”
Chapter 2 | Tail, Dark and Handsome
↓
Ferre family tragedy. Insurgent forces shot down the business magnate’s ship as it attempted to leave Talmar’s surface. No survivors have been reported.
-Tal Tattler Marigold:
Apparently, it could get worse. A lot worse.
“I heard everything. It’s shameful, really, just shameful. Of course, I understand why a girl like you would be susceptible to such an act, but I’m shocked that Valerian didn’t sense his bad intention.” The woman attempted to frown, but the muscle relaxants injected to smooth away wrinkles left her unable to express basic human emotions. Not that Mari thought the woman capable of such vulgarity.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The crystal pendant floated off her chest in the zero-gravity room. Focusing on the feel of the silver chain around her neck, she recited the seven Tal virtues.
Humility.
Patience.
She would tune out the universe and find perfect peace.
Mari cracked an eye open. The woman was still there, whispering in hushed tones.
“I’m sorry, I’m trying to find my center,” she said.
“Oh. Oh,” The woman’s eyes went wide, suddenly realizing they were in a Zero-Gravity Yoga class and not gossiping over cocktails.
With her blood pressure at odds with the soothing music playing in the studio and her mood soured, Mari ran through the rest of the virtues: kindness, justice, fortitude, prudence, and forgiveness.
Nope. A settling sense of calm did not descend. Mari found herself as annoyed as she had been a minute ago.
The instructor moved the class through the final poses and into five minutes of meditation. Mari did her best to empty her thoughts. She floated a foot above a padded floor. Her hair, pulled back into a ponytail, drifted around her. The giant window on the far wall was open to reveal the brightly colored churning gasses of a nearby nebula, nearby being a relative term. Olympus Station offered spectacular views of the nebula.
Free from gravity, the constant ache in her shoulders eased. She should follow up with a massage to work out the last of the tension in her back and shoulders, but she wanted to enjoy the blessed silence.
The instructor thanked them for their participation and wished them all a peaceful journey. The music ended, and gravity returned with a gradual pull that dragged her back down to the padded floor.
Her chatty companion picked up her monologue right where she left off. Mari turned to dry her face with a towel, hoping the woman would realize the conversation was at an end. Any reasonable person would. She grabbed her bag and walked out of the studio.
The woman followed.
What the…
She needed help or a distraction. Heading to the refreshment table, she waved to Valerian. Yes, she did Zero-Gravity Yoga with her mother. In a few days, they’d be on a ship heading toward her prepaid and nonrefundable—she tried—honeymoon with her mother. She paid for two tickets, and she planned to use two tickets.
It wasn’t that weird.
“Cucumber water,” Mari offered, wanting to stuff the sliced cucumbers and lemons down the woman’s throat. Instead, she handed the mouthy lady a tumbler of water and sliced whatevers that were supposed to promote…something. Detox? Energy?
“Oh, thank you.” The woman took a sip, leaving a vivid ring of lipstick on the rim of the glass. “You know,” she started.
Please, no. Just be quiet.
Mari steeled herself for whatever the woman was about to say.
“You have a lot of acid. I can see it in your pores.” The woman leaned close, as if to inspect Mari’s skin. “Massive. Like craters. Alkaline water will neutralize the acid in your stomach. A bit of lemon wouldn’t go amiss either, and help you shed a few pounds.”
Mari repeated the virtues. The repetition had always soothed her temper in the past. Not today.
“Lemon is an acid. If I added it to alkaline water, it would turn the water neutral,” she said dryly.
The problem with living on a close-knit station like Olympus was that gossip spread like wildfire. Everyone seemed to know Mari’s story, and everyone felt the need to console her. The pity, sympathy, and well-worn clichés about everything happening for a reason got real old, real fast.
She blamed Valerian and feared the pattern would continue on the ship.
Bring her mother, she thought. Great idea, she thought. Don’t waste a perfectly good ticket, she thought.
Big mistake.
Valerian followed Mari around, constantly updating her star chart and loudly announcing anything that looked like a good omen. Her baby was suffering, and she would do anything to ease the pain, if that anything involved complaining about Tomas and how Celestial Mates was rife with con artists and thieves.
It didn’t help that Valerian had just a touch of a flamboyant personality. Hardly worth mentioning.
Okay, okay. Within hours of the disaster that had been her wedding, Valerian shared the shocking details about what a cad and a heartless monster Tomas had been to her baby with business associates, shop clerks, and the neighbors. Everyone seemed to know about Mari’s personal life because Valerian couldn’t keep her mouth shut.
Valerian convinced her to come out for the yoga class. Or wore her down. The result was the same.
Still better than mopping her apartment. Marginally. Mari bolstered herself, knowing that in a few days she’d be at the resort, enjoying the sunshine and a beach. She’d tolerate her mother’s persistent gossiping for a few more days. Hopefully, she’d be distracted once they boarded the ship.
Mari gulped down her own glass of cucumber-infused water and looked to the window. The nebula swirled with purple and gold churning gasses.
The woman continued to prattle on, and Mari did her best to keep a placid expression on her face. The woman complained about the freshness of the lemons—she honestly expected fresh lemons on a space station? Apparently, the woman had to apply a thick layer of makeup and tease out her hair into an impressive updo before she was presentable enough for yoga. Mari guessed she also regularly visited a youth spa; that woman had an impressive amount of work done. She had modified her body into an ageless state that could be anywhere between forty to one hundred.
“You know, you’re not so old. You can get these lifted. They’re so droopy.” The woman grabbed Mari’s ear and pulled her down for inspection.
Mari knocked her hand away, furious. How dare she grab her! She opened her mouth to give the opinionated woman a piece of her mind when a familiar hand touched her shoulder.
“I don’t like your aura. It’s not normally so peaky,” Valerian said.
Mari did not understand what that meant. “I’m fine.”
Valerian frowned. “We should consult your star chart and sort this out.”
Mari knew what was wrong with her. She opened her heart to the wrong man. “I’m going to take a nap. I’m sure the peakiness will pass.”
“If you’re sure…” Valerian did not look convinced.
Mari’s unwanted companion turned her attention to Valerian. “You do star charts?”
“I do.”
“Fascinating. Is it true—”
The two women wandered off, deep in conversation.
Twenty minutes later, Mari sat on the bed in the apartment she once shared with Tomas, staring in disbelief at the eviction notice on her tablet.
How did everything keep getting worse?
She threw the tablet across the room. The new landlord wanted payment now.
When she and Tomas moved in together, he told her he’d handle the rent and she should put that money toward the wedding. So she did, like a chump, month after merry month. Turns out, Tomas hadn’t paid the rent at all. Like, not even once. Fortunately, she worked out a payment schedule with the landlord to avoid eviction.
Something changed, and now she had thirty days to pay up or move out, all because Tomas gambled away their rent at the casino.
Perfect. That’s what she got for checking her messages. She should have avoided those like she’d been avoiding Nox.
There had to be a reason for all this bad karma barreling down at her. She believed herself to be a kind person. She didn’t kick puppies or spread malicious gossip. Why in the ever-loving heavens did the universe send Tomas DeWitt her way?
Mari sank into the bed. The sheets were crisp and clean and the comforter fluffy like a cloud. The mattress must have been made out of a marshmallow because the bed felt divine. She fidgeted to get comfortable. Yoga usually eased the tightness in her lower back, but not today. She was wound so tight she felt like she’d implode.
The mattress didn’t help. Her body ached. Her soul hurt.
Even if she had the money, she did not want to stay. Tomas infected her apartment. What had once been her haven was ruined because she shared it with him.
And her bed…
She wouldn’t be able to rest in that bed, thinking about goodnight kisses, early morning conversations, and how Tomas’ hair spilled on the pillow. Her mind replayed every conversation from their first messages, first date to their final night when Tomas kissed her goodbye and said he couldn’t wait to see his perfect wife in her wedding dress.
It didn’t matter. While she bent over backward to be the perfect partner for him, he gave her nothing but lies. Sweet lies that felt so real.
Tears refused to fall, no matter how long she wallowed in self-pity.
Maybe her aura was peaky.
No. She couldn’t do this. Just no. On the first night, she changed the sheets and gave the entire apartment a good scrubbing. It failed to clean away the memories that clung to the walls, choking the air. She couldn’t stay here now, thanks to Tomas borrowing money and doing stars knew what with it.
Looked like she was getting a fresh start in a new apartment, complete with a new bed.
Being conned out of her money was hard enough, but her mother kept snatching at the air around Mari’s head to clean the negative energy...
So embarrassing.
She wanted to hide away in her apartment until people aboard the station got bored or the next juicy bit of scandal happened. It was a busy station. Someone had to be doing something worth gossiping about.
The pressure would ease when they reached the resort. Stations were confined spaces, no matter their size. People got weird when locked up together for too long. At the resort, Mari would be a stranger. She could lounge on the beach or the pool. She could hike the hills and discover the island. The brochure boasted about ancient ruins. Those might be worth exploring.
Mari couldn’t shake the feeling that she should be sadder. Heartbroken. She had been ready to pledge herself for life to Tomas, so why did she feel embarrassed and annoyed, rather than devastated? Had she been so desperate to marry that anyone would do? Or had Tomas been particularly charming? Shouldn’t she be sobbing on her best friend’s shoulder instead of holed up in her cabin, hiding?
Mari just didn’t know anymore, and she wanted to be away from all those sympathetic people with their pitiful eyes and empty words of comfort.
She hated this. All of this. The self-doubt. The moping. The sleepless nights. No amount of mindful meditation helped ease the tension twisting inside her.
That fresh start sounded so good.
Now she needed to scrape together enough credits for first and last month’s rent for another apartment in the station. The lower levels were cheap, but she didn’t have the credits even for them. Joseph still lived in the family’s accommodation, where Mari had lived only six months ago. She’d have to move back until she got the money together for her own place.
She shuddered. For a woman who built a career on mindfulness, inner peace, and harmony, Valerian embodied chaos. Growing up, Mari never knew how long they’d be in any one place. Being a constant outsider made it impossible for her to make friends. Just when she got over her shyness, it was time to move again. Mari hated the uprooted, drifting sensation of starting over.
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 could be contested. She hadn’t 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 and wrote a terse reply.
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 tailcoat 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’ cologne, he’d smarm up the last of the breathable air.
An ear twitched. “I am the new property owner,” he said.
“Since when?”
“Since the previous owner found himself with unexpected medical expenses and a willing buyer for a, frankly, subpar piece of real estate.” Nox dragged a finger across a chair seat, inspecting it for dust, before sitting. “This is a bit raggedy, isn’t it? I suppose it has a certain rough charm.” He leered at her and waggled his ears.
No. Just no.
“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’ 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 the kind of person with 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 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.
“Consequences. Who knew they were so vicious?” he tutted, sounding 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 scoffed. 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 Nox 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, fuck.
If she ever saw Tomas again, she planned to shove him out an airlock. Karma be damned.
Winter:
Winter 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 onboard 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 dressed elegantly in bespoke suits and his hair was 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 was 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. 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 the stark difference between his and his kit’s markings. Zero’s pale gray complexion and dark gray stripes supported 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 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 could never reach 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 hired none 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.