Tail Dark and Handsome Read online

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

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

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

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

  He glistened and smelled delicious.

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

  “Then why did you dump it on me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “It’s fine.”

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

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

  “So that’s the guy?”

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

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

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

  “You have a job.”

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

  “It’s a good job.”

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

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

  “He thought you were Tomas.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  “He killed his wife!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Rude, she decided.

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

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

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

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

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

  He made noises that were at once judgmental and indecisive.

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

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

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

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

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

  Chapter 9

  Drin
k, drugs, and nonstop parties! The out-of-control lifestyle of pop star Rebel Cayne.

  -Tal Tattler

  Winter

  He stood under the cold water of the shower. He lathered and rinsed several times, but he could not remove the scent of herbs and citrus—the scent of his female—from his nostrils.

  No, not his female.

  His behavior was unacceptable, even if it sprang from a place of protectiveness.

  Intention did not matter. Even if the male had not been her brother and turned out to be her false mate, it was not his place to be defensive. Marigold was not his female and not his mate. He would never have another mate. What did he care if her piss-poor excuse of a mate came sniffing back, tail in hand, and begging for forgiveness?

  He did not care.

  The water and soap rinsed away the oil, but it did not ease the tension. His cock ached like a rotten tooth. Her scent was all around and he craved more. He wanted to bury his face in the pillows on the bed, roll around on the sheet until their scents mingled together. Even more, he had the desire to dig through her wardrobe and steal a memento. Not just any memento, but a scrap of silk and lace, the kind he glimpsed on the boat.

  Yes. The longer he thought on it, the more he became convinced of the merit of the idea. She would not know, and if he could have a piece of fabric that smelled intensely of her, he could relieve some of the building pressure.

  Out of the shower, he quickly dried. His clothes still had a few more minutes in the cleansing unit before they would be ready, giving him time.

  He crept out of the cleansing room, a towel wrapped around his waist. The door to the sleeping chamber was shut. No one saw him open the top drawer in the wardrobe, and no one saw him stare at an unfolded pile of undergarments.

  He could not pick through to find the perfect pair. What if Marigold had the messy pile memorized? She would know.

  Snatching the pair off the top, lace in a pale fabric, he slammed the drawer shut. Placing the lace to his nose, he took a deep breath. His cock twitched as he rubbed the silky fabric against his jaw. No one would ever discover what he took.

  The room held the lingering scent of another male. He wanted—needed—to rub his face to the pillows, marking them with his scent glands. The pillows, the bedsheets, her panties, everything, to replace the stench of her false mate.

  The towel slid to the floor. His cock leaked. Dick in hand, he gave himself a stroke. It was a violation to abuse her trust, jerking himself off in her bedroom while he rubbed his face against her panties, but he needed the release. He had not felt this level of desire, any desire, in so long that he believed his cock no longer functioned properly.

  She stirred him back to life.

  She never backed down from his rudeness and disdain, instead meeting his ill temper with humor and resolve. He did not believe she could be cruel. Even at his worst, even while he tried his best to gut her brother, her words were kind and patient.

  His hand worked the length of his cock. He imagined how she would appear on her knees, dark eyes blown wide with desire, her lips parted, eager to taste him. He wondered at the feel of her blunt human teeth, contrasted with the texture of her human tongue, the heat and softness of her.

  With a barely restrained groan, he spilled in his hands. Panting, he stood in her sleeping chamber. When sense returned, he cleaned himself, dressed, and tucked the panties into a pocket.

  By all the seven virtues, he did not deserve a female like her.

  Marigold

  Just when she thought two men covered in herb-infused olive oil, wrestling on her kitchen floor was a new low, along came another.

  Apparently, Tomas hadn’t paid off their furniture, like he claimed. Mari held her plate of chicken and mac and cheese, shocked and unable to process what was happening as the repo people carted away her table and chairs. Joseph, thankfully, had the wherewithal to clear off their dinner.

  “I don’t understand,” she muttered. “Did you send an overdue notice? I’ve been checking my mail.”

  “Payment was due today. If you got the credits on you now, we’ll bring your stuff back,” the man said, barely glancing up from his clipboard. “Copper pots and pans set?”

  She pointed to the cabinet under the cooktop and said, “Take it. I don’t want to look at it.” Not to mention she didn’t have the credits, but she also didn’t want to look at the junk anymore. The furniture, the painting on the wall, even the pots and pans, were artifacts from a previous life.

  “Think of it like having movers you don’t have to pay for,” Joseph said helpfully.

  “I already have that. I have you.”

  He snorted. “Oh no, you were going to pay.”

  Winter emerged from the back, brow furrowed as two men carried out the sofa.

  This was embarrassing. “Good shower?” she asked, desperate to do anything other than explain why strangers were carting off her possessions.

  “Ah, yes. The water pressure was adequate.” His tail twitched behind him. “I must apologize for my behavior. You were not who I expected, but my reaction was uncalled for,” he said, speaking to Joseph.

  Her brother’s brows hiked right up to his hairline. “If Tomas walked through the door, I’d tackle him too.”

  “Regardless. Now,” he gave Joseph a brief nod and turned to speak to Mari, “I must retrieve my kit before he spends all my credit on books. I will see you on the ship tomorrow?”

  “I’ll be there,” Mari said.

  As Winter left, Joseph elbowed her in the side. “Ow! Stop it.”

  “Then stop staring at his butt,” Joseph said.

  “I was not.”

  “Was too,” her brother retorted, clearly at the height of his sibling sass-back game.

  Maybe she stared a little. It was a nice butt.

  The repo team moved the furniture out one piece at a time. She sat on the floor, hugging the potted plant in desperate need of a good watering, and ate chicken right out of the container. She wasn’t going to get emotional. This was only stuff.

  Joseph took a swig from the wine bottle, winced, then passed it to her.

  She gagged at the taste of the wine and pushed the bottle back at him. “That’s awful. Why did you buy such a bad wine?”

  “It’s not bad. It was dropped. I told you that.”

  “Fuck it. Give it back.” The wine tasted just as terrible the second time around, but as the warmth of the wine spread through her, she found she didn’t care.

  The repo team carried out the sofa and chairs, rolled up the carpet that always reminded her of sunshine and flowers, and dismantled the entertainment center. They emptied her clothes from the wardrobe and dresser into a pile on the bed, then carted those away. All that remained was the mattress on the floor and a pile of her clothes.

  “I don’t even care,” she said. “It’s not like when Tomas and I picked out the furniture, it was because we were starting our life together and I was happy. I wasn’t.”

  “You were,” Joseph said, taking the last swing from the bottle.

  “I was not.”

  “A little.”

  “A little,” she conceded. Furnishing the apartment together felt like a dream. Each item was a promise toward the future they were building together. Tomas insisted on spoiling her and dumping all her old secondhand items for new ones. It was their home. He told her not to worry about the expense. He’d take care of it, and she believed him.

  She believed all of it.

  “Fuck.” She banged the back of her head against the wall. “How does he keep finding ways to hurt me?”

  “More chicken?” He offered her the last piece.

  “I don’t need to eat my emotions.” Still, she took the last piece.

  “Good thing you’re not staying here. Mom will want to smudge the place with sage. Probably still will.”

  She nodded. Her life was a hot mess. Her apartment was a bigger mess. All she owned was a set of dishes, boxes of tea—why did she have so m
uch tea?—and her entire wardrobe dumped in a pile on the floor.

  Hot. Mess.

  “Hey, this isn’t a bad thing,” Joseph said.

  “How?” She waved a hand, indicating the enormity of everything. “Mom told you about the moneylender, right? So I’ve got that to deal with.”

  Winter had given her an advance on payment for the job, which she immediately sent to Nox. Hopefully, that would be enough to keep him from harassing Valerian and Joseph.

  “Mom mentioned that, but I was thinking that you’ve got a big heart and you care about people. That makes you vulnerable to certain butt-faced star-sucking voidholes,” Joseph said.

  “Are you trying to make me feel better? I honestly can’t tell.”

  “I mean, just because a bad person took advantage of your good nature, doesn’t mean…fuck. I don’t know. Don’t beat yourself up because you wanted to believe in love and heart eyes and all that shit.”

  Joseph’s words pulled a reluctant laugh from her. “Such a poet. We should pack,” she said.

  “Screw packing. Let’s shovel your shit into bags.”

  “I need to find enough for the trip to Corra.”

  “Fine. Point me to a pile and I’ll box it up and send it to Mom’s,” Joseph said.

  Before the warm buzz of the wine left, they cleared the pile, and she had a bag packed. Amazing how fast it went when she didn’t have to worry about moving furniture or packing a few dozen boxes of junk.

  By the time she curled up on her sad little mattress on the floor, she was ready to move on from the lies and half-truths of Tomas. A final confrontation and giving him a piece of her mind would be great for closure, but watching their life being dismantled one lounge chair at a time drove the point home. It was over, and she was glad to be done with it.

  As she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts turned to Winter. Mr. Growly Claws, as Joseph named him.

  A slow smile spread on her face.

  He was an insensitive jerk, unquestionably, but not to the people he cared about. He had fought to defend her honor, as old-fashioned as that sounded. It was sweet, in an uncivilized, toxic way, but endearing nonetheless.