Tail Dark and Handsome Read online

  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 nat
urally 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 museu
ms. 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.