Tail Dark and Handsome Read online

  For a human.

  Her face was flat, and her nose was just wrong. Too small and too thin. Her complexion was an interesting shade of gray. Her hair, eyes, lips, and any other feature of note was also an uninspired gray. Finding it easier to focus on her flaws, he noted the mud that clung to her feet and legs. Water dripped from her hair and garment, puddling onto the floor.

  “You are contaminating my home,” he said.

  She raised an eyebrow. “No more than you. Nice ship, by the way.”

  “So you saw that,” he said. The ship, not large as space-going vessels were concerned, but not small, either, had been parked next to the house. Winter did not see the point in paying a docking fee when he already paid for the old farmstead, which offered plenty of room for a fleet of ships. Then he added a reluctant, “Thank you,” because manners.

  “It looks like a custom build. All shiny and new.” She waited for a reply. She’d have a long wait as Winter had no intention of sharing how his cousin, Chase, gifted the custom-designed ship to Winter. “Is it a Bando?”

  “No, it is not.” He removed his muddy shoes at the door and indicated she should do the same.

  “Oh, must be CayneTech then,” she said, bending to remove her sandals. He did not stare at the way the rain made the fabric of her garment sheer or the way it clung to her ass, because he had manners. She continued, sensing nothing amiss, “Is the engine the same model or is that custom as well? Did CayneTech fix the stabilizers or is takeoff still bumpy? You know, the stabilizers would be a nonissue if they hadn’t cheaped out on the parts. That alloy just can’t take the stress.”

  “You may use the cleansing room,” he said, debating whether to take her to the shared facility or give her the unused bedroom. The storm would last all day, and there was no safe way down the mountain until the storm broke. This was a much better use of his faculties than commenting on the disappointing stabilizers. Chase had tried several other denser alloys. Unfortunately, those always led to complications in the landing gear and ultimately compromised the integrity of the ship.

  The guest room, he decided, leading her up the stairs to the second floor. Then, he failed at restraint and said, “That alloy is lightweight and durable enough if the pilot has a modicum of skill to avoid bouncing off a planet.”

  “Pilots do like to make the ships bounce,” she said, sounding amused and not at all registering that she insulted his cousin’s design, their family’s company, and his personal ship.

  She scanned the room, then poked her head into the cleansing room. “Wow. This is a lot fancier than I was expecting. You never know with old buildings. And a machine to clean my clothes. Excellent.” She poked at the buttons on the cleansing unit built under the counter. It could clean and dry her garments while she showered.

  “Hot water is on demand. Use as much as you like,” he said, leaving her.

  In the private cleansing room attached to his room, he tried not to think about the droplets of rain that clung to her eyelashes. Physical attraction meant nothing, yet he hadn’t experienced the pull of it in so long. Not since Rebel vanished.

  No, he corrected himself, before then.

  Winter let the water wash away the grime and the tension in his shoulders. He had better things to worry about, like the stranger in his house.

  She had to be a corporate spy. She recognized the ship, even though the model was not yet available for the public. Yes, that accounted for why she was upset he left the malfunctioning bot behind. Even broken tech had secrets a competitor could use.

  Which company sent her? Space String? Bando?

  He grumbled. Bando. They had a long record of poaching CayneTech’s top researchers. Despite patents and non-compete contracts, Bando always seemed to have a similar product a few months after CayneTech, at a fraction of the cost.

  Hurriedly, he dried himself, determined not to let the female wander the house unsupervised. Bad enough that Chase sent him reports every day about the company’s falling stock prices, lost contracts, and unflattering product reviews from dissatisfied customers. If Chase discovered that Winter let a spy wander through his home, he’d never hear the end of it. Winter did his part, systematically testing the projects Chase sent him, and Chase worried about the market and the shareholders. That was their arrangement.

  On paper, both males were equal holders of CayneTech stock. Chase was the executive chairman and Winter head of research and development. A family business. In practice, Chase was the one at the CayneTech facility day in and day out. He had the board’s support and enough shares that he remained in control of the company in all aspects. Fine by Winter. He did not like people. Anyone, really, and his cousin was especially good at irritating him. They worked best separately.

  Winter traveled where he pleased—often where Zero’s whim took them—and worked remotely. It was one of the few privileges his wealth bought him. The family fortune had brought only unwanted attention and trouble, so he was inclined to take advantage of this benefit.

  Chase always tried to send staff along with his latest project. The staff never lasted. Winter normally sent them back to Chase with a cart of malfunctioning parts. In short order, Chase sent a new shipment of toys to test and new personnel.

  He did not have time for Chase to repair the machine or send a replacement. Their stay on the planet was coming to a close. Zero wanted to stay for a meteor shower, but they needed to head to Corra soon after if they were to arrive in time for the new academic year.

  Winter found Zero in the lounge that stretched along the back of the house. The shutters were retracted, offering an unobstructed view of the storm outside. The sky had turned dark, despite the midday hour. The clouds seemed to hang lower, crowding around the mountain as wind lashed the building. The rain beat a constant cacophony, the sound penetrating through the structure.

  His kit lay on his back, arms behind his head. His tail swayed, keeping time with the rain.

  “Is it okay if I watch the storm?” Zero asked.

  “Yes. I will be in the kitchen,” he said, pleased at his kit’s thoughtfulness.

  “Uncle Chase will be upset with you. This is the second machine you ruined.”

  “I did not. It malfunctioned. Prototypes malfunction. I’m doing Chase a service by finding all these flaws.”

  Zero snorted, his ears fluttering with unvoiced laughter.

  “Here you are,” the female said, clattering down the stairs. Dry and clean, she looked like a different creature from the sodden, fearful female he found.

  Zero sat up, his entire body at attention.

  She stood with her hands on her hips, inspecting the room. A smile drifted over her lips. “Wow. This is gorgeous. I bet the view is amazing at sunrise. I like it,” she said, as if her opinion carried merit. Which it did not, and his chest did not puff up with pride at her praise. If anyone thought differently, they were mistaken.

  Winter should offer his guest a beverage. Perhaps food? It was after midday, but he had not yet eaten. The words dried up in his mouth.

  Her feet were bare.

  His mind went blank. Human feet were flat and the toes so adorably short. It was amazing that humans could balance with their small toes. More than the unusual appendage, the intimacy of her bare feet unnerved him. No one should be comfortable enough to wander his home in their bare feet. It was wrong. It was unduly familiar.

  “Oh. Hello. I’m Marigold,” she said to Zero.

  “Your feet,” Winter croaked. His tail slinked by his side. He could not allow this female to unbalance him.

  “My sandals are still in the cleansing unit. They needed more time,” she said, ignoring him. Moving as if she were being pulled, she pressed a hand against the window and watched the storm. Lightning flashed. For a moment, the light flared and distorted his vision, blinding him. His eyes squeezed closed, reluctant to open even after the event passed.

  Thunder rumbled. Winter opened his eyes. The female removed her hand from the window, as
though she had been shocked.

  “Thanks for letting me wait out the storm. I can’t imagine being out in that,” she said. Then she observed him. “Your eyes. The color changed,” she gasped.

  “I have a sensitivity to light and must wear protective lenses,” he said, familiar with explaining his achromatopsia as simply as possible. People were curious, but they were not truly interested.

  “Oh. That explains the mood lighting,” she said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with his sight,” Zero jumped in. While Winter had a lifetime of people asking too personal questions or assuming his lack of color vision meant he was blind in all regards, Zero was still learning to navigate this. “He has a genetic condition, achromatopsia. That means the cones in the retina do not function properly so he can’t see color, only white, black, and gray. But there’s nothing wrong with my dad.” The words all came out in a rush.

  “I also experience blindness in full sun, hence the lenses,” Winter added. He did not wish to discuss the topic and would discuss with his kit about blurting out medical information to strangers.

  “Thank you for telling me. Is lightning a problem? Should we close the curtains?” she asked, turning to him.

  “It is not a concern. I should—” He should…he searched for what people did in situations like this, when they took pity on a frightened female and invited them into their home.

  Rebel would know what to do. Charm and hospitality came easily to her. Fuck, even Chase would know how to behave with a guest. He should offer her a beverage or food.

  Yes. Food. That was good.

  “I’m hungry. Come to the kitchen if you wish to eat,” he announced.

  Zero sneezed, lightly and discreetly passing judgment on his father’s rudeness. “He means to say, would you like a drink? Something to eat?”

  “That sounds good. Thank you.” The comm unit on her wrist chirped with an incoming message. She frowned. “Give me one minute, please.”

  Zero dragged Winter to the kitchen. Once they were out of the human’s inferior listening rage, Zero turned to Winter, his eyes wide. “What the what?”

  “The storm,” Winter offered.

  His kit stretched up to pat him on the head. “There, there. Making friends is hard. I’m proud of you.”

  “I am not making friends. She is likely a corporate spy.” Then he dropped his voice to a whisper. “She asked about our ship.”

  “Sure.” Another pat.

  Winter swatted Zero’s hand away. He was not in the mood to be condescended to by his kit.

  Zero laughed and scampered out to their guest with all the graceless enthusiasm of youth. “Merry-gold. Does your name mean something in human?”

  “Marigold. It’s a type of flower. Bright. Yellow,” the female responded.

  Winter wanted her to describe yellow. People, he learned, often associated colors with emotions, smells, or tastes. He found those connections to be fascinating, but he would not ask because she was obviously a spy and he would not encourage her espionage.

  “Dad says you know ships?” Zero asked.

  “I’m a pilot.”

  Oh no. Winter knew what Zero would do with that information.

  He had to endure the next few hours. The storm could not last forever.

  Marigold

  Outside, the sky darkened, feeling almost like twilight. Rain hit the windows in sheets, distorting the lights of the village in the distance.

  Despite the storm thundering outside, the house felt cozy with plenty of charm. Older, it had been updated recently and decorated for tourists with money to spend. The dim lighting added to the cozy feel, like a warm, dry haven against the storm. The decor leaned toward bland, lots of tasteful gray and white, and little personality.

  Honestly, Mari didn’t know if that was just Valerian’s bright technicolor preferences burning away her optic nerves. She liked color. Her mother liked a lot of color. Like, a lot lot.

  The comm unit chirped again with another message from Nox. This one was a photo of Mari and her mother at breakfast, taken that very morning.

  “Don’t you have anything better to do? Babies to steal candy from? Puppies to kick?” she wrote. Distantly, she knew she shouldn’t antagonize the moneylender because if Nox had people watching her, he also had people who could break her kneecaps or whatever his sort did.

  She didn’t think he specifically sent people to Fortune merely to monitor her. She didn’t owe that much money, and if she did, he wouldn’t have allowed her to leave Olympus Station. Fortune was a common destination from the station. Nox likely had resort and hotel staff on his payroll just as a matter of course.

  Still, the idea of someone watching her and her mother made her skin crawl.

  “Merry-gold,” Zero said, pulling up a stool to the kitchen counter.

  “Please call me Mari.” She shoved the comm unit into a pocket, not wanting to see whatever new photos Nox sent. She wasn’t an expert on organized crime—though she watched a documentary with Valerian—but harassing her hardly seemed a cost-effective use of Nox’s time.

  “You told me you were called Merry,” Winter said in an accusing tone. His eyes were an icy blue. Sharp and rather beautiful, she thought.

  “Mari,” she said.

  “Merry-gold,” Zero told his father in a tone that questioned the intelligence of all adults, everywhere.

  “Merry-gold,” he repeated.

  Close enough.

  “Your hair is fluffy. Is it always like that? It looks like an angry cloud. I like it. Can I touch it?”

  Mari ducked to avoid his incoming hand. Her frizzy hair was a sore point. The island’s humidity turned her normally manageable waves into a mess. She had been relying on a leave-in conditioner to keep the frizz at bay but didn’t have any on her to reapply after her shower. She said, “Yes, my hair is frizzy. No, it’s not always like this. The humidity makes it frizzy. And it’s rude to touch other people’s hair. Could I grab your ear?”

  He gasped. “No, that is impolite. My apologies.”

  Winter set two plated sandwiches on the counter, along with water. The offering was basic, some cold meat between thick slices of bread, but she devoured every crumb.

  The comm unit in her pocket chirped again. Groaning, she answered, because it wouldn’t stop until she did.

  “Keep making the jokes. I add a credit to your total for every joke,” Nox wrote.

  “What was that?” Zero asked.

  “Nothing important.” She deleted the message and powered down the phone.

  “Do you play King’s Table?”

  “I do,” she said. Practically every pilot played the game. Flights often had long periods of downtime, and connection to the network for streaming entertainment was not always guaranteed. The game involved moving tokens across a grid. No token moved the same way as another. Every planet in the Interstellar Union had a similar strategy game. On Earth, it was called chess. Growing up, Mari had a battered old resin set. Sealant tape and goodwill held the cardboard box together. The instruction sheet on different planetary rules had long ago vanished, but Mari had the rules memorized.

  The board Zero produced was Tal, with glossy green and white stones. Painted symbols indicated the rules the token had to abide.

  “I played all the time with my brother. Do you know Earth rules?” she asked.

  “Not as well as Talmar rules, but I’ll try.”

  The kid was being polite because he beat her without trying very hard. Mari scrambled to anticipate his moves, but Zero seemed to know the outcome of the game by the third or fourth move.

  While they played, he chatted and asked questions. It soon became obvious that he worked his way down a “ten questions to get to know someone” checklist. It felt like a job interview.

  What’s your favorite season? None. She lived on a space station.

  What historical figure would you most like to meet? Probably the person brave enough, or hungry enough, to realize that they co
uld eat a tomato and not die, despite it being a fruit from a family of poisonous plants. Then she had to explain tomatoes and nightshades and that Earth was not a death planet filled with tricky poisonous plants.

  Favorite subject in school? She enjoyed literature and physics.

  Best meal you’ve ever eaten? Mari waxed on about a vendor on Olympus Station that fried balls of dough to order and then rolled the balls in sugar. They melted in her mouth and were divine.

  And Mari’s personal favorite: if you could have a superpower, which one do you pick?

  “I’m not going to pick. I’ll take whatever the universe gives me,” she said.

  “That’s cheating. You have to answer,” Zero said.

  “It’s too big. How can I pick?”

  “That’s the point. It shows how you think about problems.”

  “Ah,” she said, sliding her token across the board. She figured she had two more moves left before Zero captured her king. “Then I’d like to be able to give other people superpowers.”

  “That’s cheating. That’s like wishing for more wishes.”

  “How? I give people superpowers. What am I getting out of it?”

  “It’s overpowered. Pick again, and only one that affects you,” he said.

  “Well, then define the question better. You said any, not ones from limited criteria.”

  Zero grumbled but good-naturedly. “What is your age?”

  “Thirty. What’s yours?”

  “Fourteen. My father is forty-one. It sounds like a lot, but I bet it’s not when you’re thirty.”

  “Yeah, that sounds like something a fourteen-year-old would say,” she answered.

  A laugh drifted out from the other room. Winter had been lurking nearby but had not taken part in their conversation.

  Just as well. The man practically blamed her for the storm that ruined his bot, like she controlled the weather. That should have been her superpower, and then she’d zap him with a bolt of lightning. And then she could fry Nox and Tomas’ behinds. Weather control had a lot of appeal at the moment.