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  Her breath fluttered. This was too soon after Tomas, some distant part of her mind protested, and Winter wanted so much, so soon. The rest of her was on board with what was about to happen. Anticipation zipped through her, tingling in a way that no one had ever made her.

  “Dad? Did you ask Merry-gold?”

  Winter pushed Mari away. The back of her legs bumped into the lounger, and she crashed down with a thump, the wood groaning under her weight. She stared up at him.

  His actions were as good as a bucket of cold water.

  Just a job, she reminded herself.

  Winter

  “Apologies,” he said, hauling Marigold to her feet. His kit startled him. He had no intention to push her away, but it was a reflex developed to avoid cameras.

  She batted at his hands, irritation written on every inch of her. “Back off. Enough.”

  He stepped back, missing the loss of her heat. Zero ran up the beach and skidded to a halt.

  “If you have changed your mind, I understand,” he said. Whatever this was between them was fragile, and his proposal added undue stress. If she refused him outright, he could not blame her.

  She huffed, hands balled at her side. Frustration vibrated through her, yet her voice remained cool as she said, “I’ll see you in the morning for departure.”

  Father and son watched her leave. “What did you say?” Zero demanded.

  “Regretfully, it is not what I said.” Winter rubbed a hand over his face, aware that the scent of her perfume lingered on his skin.

  “How did you mess up? She liked us! What did you do?” Zero sneezed, loudly and rudely.

  “Mind your manners,” he snapped.

  He had only intended to offer the pilot’s position to Marigold. What followed, he had no plan for, only the vague sense of wrongness if she left. The lack of a plan—the complete lack of intention, honestly—worried him. His control had slipped. Would she run to the media with his poor excuse of a proposal?

  No. Marigold was not like that. While his ability to judge the true intentions of those around him was faulty, Zero had an uncanny ability to spot those with a true and loyal heart.

  Patience.

  She requested time. He could wait.

  “It is done,” he said. “She will come with us to Corra.”

  “To stay?”

  “No. She did not agree to that.”

  “Make her,” Zero demanded, sounding like the young kit he was.

  “You cannot force a person to stay. You can only open your heart,” Winter said, half-believing the words. In his experience, people were only interested in him for their gain. They always left in the end. He had yet to find the one who would choose to remain.

  No amount of patience helped ease the burden of that truth.

  Marigold

  Countdown to departure ran like a subroutine in the back of her mind. Six hours, time to get out of bed. Six hours to pack and everything that came at the end of a holiday.

  Mari wrapped the bedsheet around herself and hurried across the sand, one hand shading her eyes. The morning sun sat just above the horizon, turning the water into a blinding liquid gold. Gorgeous, sure, but hella hard to navigate her way to the seated figure on the sand without bumping into every single lounger. Every. Single. One.

  Valerian sat with a blissed-out expression on her face, her legs folded neatly in the lotus position and her hands laid palm-up on her knees. She looked fresh and bright, like she rose before dawn to greet the day and not like she had been out all night with her gentleman friend.

  Mari lowered herself onto the sand. Her legs folded neatly in a position that mirrored Valerian’s. She hoped she looked half as good as her mother at her age. As much as Valerian praised the benefits of antioxidants and meditations, Mari figured genetics and quality moisturizer had more to do with it.

  “And what time do you call this, young lady? It’s like you don’t respect your curfew at all,” Mari scolded in a teasing tone.

  Valerian ignored her and said, “So, you’re going with him, then.”

  How did she know? Never mind. Moms always knew.

  “It’s a job,” she said casually, with a shrug, like the kiss hadn’t happened. Like he hadn’t asked her to be his mate. “Four weeks to Corra, then I’ll catch a flight back.”

  Valerian hummed noncommittally. Mari knew that hum. It was her judging-you-and-found-you-wanting hum.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” Valerian said. She rose to her feet and stretched, moving her arms behind her, then above her head. “Don’t just sit there like a lump. Come and greet the day with me. Our bodies were made to move.”

  Mari struggled to her feet, tripping over the sheet before fighting her way free of the tangle. She fell into the easy rhythm of a sun salutation, a set of exercises from the ancient Earth practice of yoga. It might have eased the tight muscles in her thigh and hips. Valerian touted the spiritual benefits of yoga, but Mari enjoyed it for the gentle stretching and the quiet.

  “Only—” Valerian started. “No. Never mind. You’re an adult.”

  The usual quiet, at least.

  “What? Just say it,” Mari said.

  “His aura is murky, that’s all I’m saying. And I don’t get a sense of calm from him. He’s troubled, but I won’t say more. Only you shouldn’t trust him, and do you want to be alone on a ship with him for four weeks? Anything could happen, but—”

  “You won’t say more.”

  “Don’t mock me. I’m worried. There are rumors about that man,” Valerian said, irritation breaking through her normally placid demeanor.

  Funny, Valerian liked him plenty when she thought he was simply a rich single dad.

  “I know about the rumors,” Mari said.

  “Do you?”

  “I know how to search on the network, Mom.”

  “Oh, well, then you’re an expert,” Valerian said in a curt tone.

  “And you are?” Mari finished her sun salutation, feeling more feisty than usual. “I’ve spent the last few days with him. He’s been nothing but kind to me.” Comforting her when she was a panicky mess on the sailboat and offering her shelter in his home during a storm. She had a hard time reconciling the man portrayed in the media reports with the same man who laughed and joked with his son, with the man who begrudgingly let a stranger intrude on his father-son time.

  “You liked him well enough before,” Mari added, keeping quiet on the part that Valerian only liked Winter when she thought he was wealthy and had no other complications.

  “He murdered his wife.” Valeria’s words interrupted Mari’s thoughts.

  “We don’t know that.”

  “Everyone knows that. There’s the fighting to consider, too. He has anger issues, Marigold. He’s not a safe man.”

  She disagreed. She had never felt safer than when he held her in his arms. Plus, he was a giant cinnamon roll when it came to his kid.

  “I know men like that,” Valerian said. “Very well. They wear a mask. They can be charming on the outside, but in private, it’s a different matter. The masks come off. Then you aren’t good enough. They wear you down, little insult by little quibble, also pick and picking, until you’re at the point when you think they are all you deserve. That you should be grateful for them.” Valerian took a breath to steady her voice. “You deserve better than a man like him.”

  Mari looked away, watching the waves rather than her mother’s face. Valerian hardly ever spoke of Mari’s father, for good reason. Mari had been too young to remember the man when Valerian left him. She remembered Joseph’s father, a kind man with a scratchy beard and a big laugh, and considered that man her true father.

  “Winter’s not like that. When has he been charming in public? He’s rude. All the time.” But not in private. When they were alone, when Winter invited her into his home, into the place he felt comfortable, the grumpy mask came off. “You are right about the mask. He’s a grouch in public. It’s…armor, I think. A defense
. When he’s with his son, he’s sweet. Patient.”

  “I don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did.”

  “Mom, the universe is giving me this opportunity and I’m taking it. Maybe the mess with Tomas needed to happen to get me here.” She only half-believed the nonsense that came out of her mouth.

  Valerian hummed, this one her I-know-you’re-right-and-I-don’t-like-it hum. So many hums.

  “I just can’t go back right now. I can’t,” Mari added.

  The words seemed to soften Valerian. “I don’t like this. Be careful. He’s a dangerous man.”

  Mari knew Winter was dangerous, but not in the way Valerian thought. He was a danger to her better judgment and her heart.

  Chapter 8

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

  -Interstellar Music News

  Winter

  Lights 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 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 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, um, 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, 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, someone took pride in crafting the environment.

  A closed door waited at the 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 boiling water over the tea bags. 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 sensed 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 a 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 any time 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 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 sailboat 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.

&n
bsp; 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 restock his ship. Corra waited at the end of a four-week journey. They required fuel, sustenance, and the other necessities. He should use his time effectively and order those items to be delivered and they could depart quickly. 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.

  Marigold

  Joseph 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.