Pulled by the Tail: Celestial Mates

by Nancey Cummings

  Resting on top of the bed, the cold air washed over Talen, but he knew he’d never fall asleep, despite his bone-deep exhaustion. He was forever cleaning up Quil’s messes. He spent so much time and energy reacting to his brother’s schemes, trying to mitigate damage, and draining himself, that he had no idea what he wanted for himself.

  Damn Quil.

  He should let his irresponsible, impulsive asshole of a brother deal with this disaster of his own making, but he dreaded discovering how Quil would rectify the situation.

  No doubt he’d do something stupid and impulsive, thereby making everything worse. Talen fought his instinct to jump in and fix it. If he did that, Quil would never learn and Talen would spend the rest of his days trailing after his brother, sweeping away trouble.

  But the female had been hurt. She did not cry but her eyes, a curious green, told that she would do so in private. He politely ignored her swiping at the damp corners of her eyes, understanding she had suffered enough humiliation for one day. He could not ignore her situation. He had to make it right because he knew Quil would not.

  This was pointless. He needed his sleep. Tomorrow promised to be a very long, very annoying day.

  Talen rolled out of bed, intent on a soothing cup of herbal tea. The rest of the household was asleep or in their rooms as he prowled through the darkness.

  With a warm mug of tea, he entered the library. Moonlight shone through the window, casting light and shadow on the floor.

  He enjoyed the library and looked forward to the day when he could fill the bookshelves with actual books. His father had been a historian and Talen remembered the grand library of the family’s estate on Talmar. The space seemed massive to him as a kit, with the floor-to-ceiling shelving of neatly arranged books. He loved spending sun-filled days in the room, sprawled on the carpet reading or drawing on loose paper, while his father worked. He had only been a young kit and did not comprehend everything he read, but he enjoyed the feel of books, holding knowledge in his hands. He studied illustrations, finding atlases and star charts interesting but not nearly as fascinating as the photos and illustrations in a history book.

  Perhaps, if his parents had not been assassinated, if the Talmar civil war had not come, he would have followed in his father’s scholarly footsteps. Quil had always been the heir and studied how to manage the estate from their uncle, Forthright. Agriculture and maintaining a relationship with tenants may not have been Quil’s passion, but he had a keen interest in the gardens and grounds, even then. But all of that was another life and it was pointless to speculate on what-ifs.

  He took a jeweled flower blossom out of the display case. Carefully winding the clockwork mechanism on the underside, he set it on a table. The first notes of a Tal lullaby rang out and the blossom slowly opened. The device glowed with an internal light, casting a prism of rainbows through the cut crystal of the flower’s petals. Once the blossom opened fully, a figurine of two entwined dancers emerged. They spun with mechanical precision as the music played.

  Talen cradled the warm tea and watched the colorful lights from the music box play across the ceiling. Normally a source of comfort, the music did nothing against the tension coiling inside him.

  He spent so much time reacting to Quil that he forgot himself. It wasn’t healthy. When his mother instructed him to take care of his brother, this couldn’t be what she meant. He wished he had a lifetime of memories to trawl, searching for some scrap of wisdom. He had only been a kit—eight years old—when that life of privilege ended. The gaps in his memories continued to grow while the memories themselves faded with the passing years. All he had was hurried goodbyes and an ornate music box.

  The music box had been a courting gift from his father to his mother. Crafted by a renowned jeweler and encrusted with gems, the costly device received more admiration for its expense rather than its artistry. That fact did not paint his parents in a flattering light and Talen sometimes wondered if he would have been as concerned with appearance and conspicuous spending as they, had they lived.

  They had not been bad people, but they had been flawed. As with many of the aristocratic families murdered during Talmar’s civil war, they sort of had it coming. They weren’t outright villains. His father spent his days in scholarly research, leaving the management of the estate to his brother. His mother served as a member of Talmar’s parliament. But they spent staggering sums of money, seemed to care only for their pleasure, and that made them easy targets.

  As a child, though, he understood none of that. He had been fascinated with the flower-shaped music box and played it nightly before bed. The melody lulled him to sleep and the fact that it had been in his bed was the only reason it came with him as they fled Talmar. Bright had gathered him up, blankets and all, and carried him on the shuttle. Only later, when they were safely in orbit, did they discover the music box as it fell out of the wad of blankets.

  It stayed with him, the only tangible link to his parents and former life on Talmar. The music box could have been sold for a small fortune and they would not have had to stay in dilapidated stations.

  Sentimental fool.

  He couldn’t deny it. The scraps of his personal history were so few that he clung to the pieces he had. Quil knew this and exploited it at every turn.

  The music box wound down, the last notes fading into the silence of the house.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” a familiar voice said.

  Talen drained the last of the now-cold tea. “I’m not in the mood for your nonsense, Quil.”

  “But you are in the mood for nostalgia.” Quil turned over the music box, inspecting it carefully. “This could be in a museum.”

  Or a bank vault.

  Talen took the precious device and locked it back in the display cabinet.

  “I have a gift for you,” his brother said, producing a flat box.

  Talen instantly knew what the box contained. “Do not think you can buy my forgiveness with gifts, especially that kind of gift.”

  Quil cracked the lid, displaying the flexible claw caps inside. “You must be responsible and think of protecting your mate. Humans are delicate and their skin is not as thick as ours.”

  He meant that literally. Tal skin was durable and resistant to casual contact with claws. It took effort to shred a Tal skin with claws alone. Humans, however, could be shredded to ribbons before a Tal realized they even touched the human. He had served alongside enough humans in the Navy to see it happen during hand-to-hand training. He never had a human bedmate, but he could imagine the consequences of claws unsheathing in a moment of passion.

  Quil had no shame.

  “I do have experience in these matters,” Quil added, making the moment worse in every possible way.

  Humility, patience, kindness, justice, fortitude, and prudence.

  And practice. I do not wish to gut my brother. Not really.

  “I do not need a sex talk from my brother,” Talen said, taking the box and ignoring Quil’s idiotic smirk. He left the library, Quil following close on his tail.

  “Are you no longer speaking with me?”

  “I’m tired,” he said.

  “Then stop prowling the house and find your bed.”

  “No, I’m tired of this.” He paused, motioning between himself and his brother. “I am not helping you when I fix the trouble you cause.”

  In a rare moment of openness, Talen saw unease on his brother’s face, only to be quickly replaced with a nervous smile. “Of course that’s helping me.”

  “No, you are a grown male. When our mother told me to take care of you, she did not intend for you to always be a kit.”

  “I am not a kit,” Quil said, showing the first signs of exasperation.

  “If you behave like a spoiled kit, you are a kit, no matter your years.” His tail lashed violently behind him. “And I have spoiled you, but this must end. Tomorrow we will rectify what you have done to the human female, but that will be the last time I scurry behin
d your wake of chaos. No more.”

  Quil’s ears moved forward and then back. His posture became more guarded and closed off. “Will you stay?”

  Talen wanted to reassure Quil that they were always brothers and would always be together, but the words never came. “I don’t know.”

  Chapter 5

  Georgia

  G,

  I’m not saying that as a medical professional, I could end a certain two-timing cat bastard’s life and make it look like natural causes because that would be unethical. Plus, leaving an electronic record of such a boast would be dumb. Beyond dumb. But I am saying that I have certain skills and righteous fury.

  Let me know what you think.

  -Freema

  * * *

  Georgia barely slept. She couldn’t fault the enormously comfortable bed or the snuggly, plush blankets. Other than a few creaks of the floorboards in the hall and the groan of wind outside the windows, the house was quiet during the night. She just couldn’t turn her brain off.

  She kept running through scenarios, trying to wrest some control over the situation. The one thing she knew for certain was that no matter what the contract said, if it was valid or not, she didn’t want to be married to Quil. They were finished.

  Freema’s invitation to life on a colony sounded like her best bet, but that was still a few months out. Plus, she’d need to foot the transportation bill to wherever Freema settled. The agency—and by extension, Quil—paid for her travel to Corra. She had some funds but not enough to get back to Earth, probably not even enough to get off Corra.

  Right. She needed a job and a place of her own. Staying in Quil’s house wasn’t an option. She didn’t want to see his smarmy, slippery smile or his side chickie’s better-than-you sneer.

  Rolling onto her side, she buried her head under the pillow.

  He got tired of waiting. How was that possible? He knew the distance before he signed the contract. The whole situation reminded her of Kevin’s unwillingness to be a supportive boyfriend when she was sick.

  No, she mentally corrected herself. He was never a supportive boyfriend. Pity she didn’t see it. He just didn’t want to be associated with having a sick girlfriend, like her illness tarnished his reputation.

  Georgia never considered herself a doormat, but two men just walked all over her like she had “Welcome! Please wipe your feet” printed on her forehead. Something about her must attract assholes. Or, more likely, she desperately wanted to be loved and accepted so she willingly turned a blind eye to romantic relationships.

  She rolled onto her other side. The enormous empty bed stretched out before. She hated wallowing in self-pity. She wasn’t a doormat and deserved to be treated with respect.

  Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.

  Finally, after drifting in and out of a stress dream where she had to repeat high school—despite her protests that she went to college and had a degree—the silvery light of early dawn spilled through the window.

  She showered and dressed, hoping that would revive her tired self, before checking her messages. Freema responded, outraged and sorrowful for Georgia’s predicament. She may have offered to commit a little light murder, which warmed Georgia’s heart. Then she looked out the window and discovered snow.

  Actual snow.

  “Holy hamburgers,” she said, jamming her feet into her boots. She had never seen snow in real life. Her hometown sometimes dipped into the freezing temperatures in winter but never for more than a few days and never had it snowed in her lifetime.

  Bundled up with two layers and a jacket, she navigated her way through the maze of the house down to the ground floor. She didn’t find the front door but found the kitchen, which opened to the outside.

  It appeared to be a small garden nestled against the house, with empty box planters near the doors and shrubs along a stone wall at the foot of the garden. Treetops poked over the wall. A gate hung partially open and Georgia couldn’t resist.

  An inch-thick layer of snow covered the ground, dusting the shrubs and the tops of the trees. Her breath hung in the air like smoke and her boots made a pleasing crunching noise on the gravel path, despite slipping. Snow continued to fall in fluffy, wet flakes and Georgia tilted her head back, letting the snowflakes melt on her face. Her nose went numb from the cold and she was certain her boots weren’t waterproof, but it was marvelous.

  The gate creaked opened and Georgia stood at the edge of an expansive lawn. Rolling forested hills surrounded the house on either side, blanketed in snow. When the shuttle landed yesterday, she didn’t have the opportunity to appreciate the view.

  The world was fresh and calm in the morning light and she stood right in the middle of a living, breathing Christmas greeting card. She’d be okay. She wasn’t desperate or without friends. Life kept giving her lemons, but she’d handle it because lemonade was delicious as fuck.

  “Human? Are you lost?”

  Georgia turned toward the Tal female calling her from the kitchen door. “Why would you think I’m lost?”

  “I’m certain I don’t know, but perhaps because it is snowing and you’re standing there like you’ve never seen snow before,” the woman said, shoulders pulling back. The words may have been sharp, but the tone held the infinite patience of a parent trying to explain to a child why they shouldn’t touch the hot stove. Georgia instantly liked the woman.

  “But I’ve never seen snow before,” she said.

  “Now come inside. It’s too cold and you’re hardly wearing anything.”

  Georgia looked down at her bare hands and shoved them in the jacket pocket. “Fair enough.”

  “Foolish kit,” the woman said, pulling Georgia into the now-warm kitchen. The layout and appliances were older, but they gleamed from care and pride. A skillet sizzled on the stove and smelled delicious. The sensation of being at home settled over her like a warm blanket.

  “Let me see what you’ve done.” The woman grabbed Georgia’s hands and turned them over, inspecting her. “Are you supposed to be this color?”

  “Um, yes. I’m pale.”

  “But this is pink. And here, too.” The woman grabbed her by the cheek and squeezed, just like she was a child.

  “From the cold. Let go.” Georgia rubbed her tender face. “I’m fine. I’m wearing a coat.”

  The older woman sneezed lightly; her ears pressed back against her head. “This is not a proper coat. If I hadn’t found you standing on the lawn, you’d be frozen to death by now. Sit down and let me get you some tea. That will warm you up.” The woman continued to mutter about high-maintenance humans as she filled a kettle and set it to boil.

  “I don’t think I caught your name,” Georgia said.

  “Bright.” A plate of eggs and what appeared to be bacon arrived at the table, along with toast and a bowl of sugar. A box of tea and a mug of hot water soon joined. “I suppose you’ll be here from now on. We’ll need to get you proper clothes for the winter.”

  Georgia packed her winter clothes but knew her Southern California wardrobe wouldn’t suffice. “I need gloves, a hat, and a scarf, I guess.” She wiggled her damp toes. “And boots.”

  “Shameful,” Bright muttered, bringing over another serving of bacon. The meal was delicious, and she ate with an appetite that surprised her. This seemed to please Bright, who poured herself a cup of tea.

  “This is marvelous. Thank you.”

  “Guests normally eat in the dining room, but I think you must be family now,” Bright said.

  A clank and loud bang rang out, sounding very much like hammering. Bright’s ears twitched but said nothing as she stirred her tea.

  The hammering continued. She pulled out her tablet reader and checked the time. Most sensible people would still be asleep. She’d rather be asleep. “Bit early for that,” Georgia said.

  “The kits like to get an early start on the day.”

  A bell added to the noise.

  “That’d be guests at the front desk,” Bright said
, unconcerned.

  “Shouldn’t we see what they want?”

  “I’ve never troubled myself.”

  Georgia followed the bell to a counter in the foyer. Fiona spoke with two Corravian men and a woman. Georgia remembered something from the informational packet the agency sent, that Corravian biology required two males to fertilize a female, so marriages were trios. The repeating trinity design in the house’s architecture fell into context.

  The trio appeared disgruntled and disheveled, like they hurried out of bed. “The noise is unacceptable.”

  “You want hot water this morning? You’re going to have to put up with the noise,” Fiona said.

  “What I want,” the man said, “is a refund from this farce of an inn.”

  A dark look settled on Fiona and she opened her mouth to speak. Whatever she was about to say, it wouldn’t be good for business. Georgia might not know much about the situation she landed in, but she understood customer service.

  “Good morning,” she said with breezy cheer. “I see you found our guest robes. They’re lush, aren’t they? So soft and cuddly.”

  The Corravian woman stroked the sleeve of her robe. “I suppose.”

  “I apologize for the noise this morning. We’re in the middle of our soft opening and, obviously, we’re still working out the kinks. These historic homes always require a little bit more and the hot water never goes out at a good time. How about I take 50% off your bill for the inconvenience of our growing pains? Would that be acceptable?” She nodded and the trio nodded along with her, forgetting their complaint, given the significant discount.

  “Well, nothing is perfect. It’s a lovely house,” the woman said.

  “It snowed overnight and the view is amazing. How about breakfast? The kitchen is open and I’m sure we can whip up whatever you like,” Georgia said, leading the trio to the dining room. Or what she hoped was the dining room. The room had a long table, chairs, and a pot of tea already waiting.