“You’re trying to steal my husband because that one won’t have anything to do with you or your bastard.” Fiona jabbed a finger in Talen’s direction. “You’re not going to trick my man into marrying you, you slut.”
The room fell silent.
“Apologize,” Quil said, voice barely louder than a whisper.
“I won’t,” Fiona said.
“Apologize! Your behavior shames me. Georgia is family and we treat family better than that.”
Georgia felt the brush of Talen’s tail against her leg, offering comfort. Whatever ugly things Fiona said about her, she knew his heart.
“She’s not family,” Fiona said, voice rising in pitch. “She’s just the help that got knocked up. You should be taking my side, not hers.” She fluttered her lashes but Quil sneered, finally seeing her for the pile of human garbage she was.
That was definitely the hormones talking.
“If you won’t defend me, I’m not going to stick around and be spoken to in such an undignified manner,” Fiona announced, moments before flouncing out of the room.
Georgia felt the burn of three sets of eyes on her. “I think I’ll head to bed too.”
“No one thinks that. You’re as much a part of this family as I am,” Charl said, the most he had spoken all evening.
“Thank you.” Tomorrow, Georgia would pay the price for her sharp tongue, but she intended to savor this moment.
* * *
Talen
* * *
By morning, Fiona was gone, along with the cash box from the office, assorted items that could be resold easily, and the jeweled music box.
“All our money?” Quil raked a hand through his hair.
“All your money. And the household account. She did not have access to my personal accounts,” Talen said. Fiona took quite a lot of money, but they had a cushion. A tiny cushion.
A call to the bank would freeze any additional withdrawals, but the household account had already been emptied.
He paced the length of the library, passing by the empty display case. Shattered glass from the case littered the floor, crunching underfoot. He didn’t care about the money—well, he did in the vague way that he did not want to lose the house and be a pauper—but his focus was the missing music box.
“This is my fault,” Quil said.
Talen did not have to affirm that statement. It was obviously his fault. He knew nothing about that female before he brought her into their home. He gave her access to their money with no more reference than a pretty face and a warm cunt.
Fiona played them. Not even skillfully. Every bit of doubt she cast at Georgia, every accusation, was projected from her own schemes. She had literally been telling them what she planned to do, and they ignored her because she was vain and shallow.
They would have to sell the house, if they could sell it at all. Who would be so foolish enough to purchase a money pit and toss another fortune into that same pit?
Talen glared daggers at his brother.
Who besides Quil?
“Your damn cock got us into this mess,” Talen growled.
“My cock brought you your mate and your kit, so you’re welcome.”
Quil stepped right up to Talen, nose nearly touching nose. Their ears flattened and they snarled. Talen’s claws itched, wanting to be unsheathed. No, correction, wanting to be covered in the hot, sticky gore of Quil’s blood.
Patience. Forgiveness. Kindness.
The virtues offered him little comfort.
“You are impossible,” he said, shoving Quil back a step. “You never accept blame and you never apologize.”
“And what would you have me do, brother? Cover myself in ash? Parade through town for all to see my shame?”
“Take ownership of your shit! Stop expecting me to fix everything.”
A cough at the door interrupted them. Georgia had a tablet cradled against her chest. “Have you called the police?”
“No police,” Talen and Quil said simultaneously.
“They could post a bulletin and stop her from leaving the planet.”
“No,” Quil said, slouching in a chair. “She is my mate with full access to our shared bank accounts and family heirlooms. The police will only consider this a nuisance and not theft.”
Georgia shook her head. “Fine. A single human female isn’t too difficult to track. A shuttle left Drac two hours ago for the province's capital. She was on it. Any clue where she would be headed?”
“To spend money,” Quil grumbled. Then his body snapped to attention. “I know where she would go. If I find her, I may be able to recover some of our funds. She would sell the music box, so you should look in pawn shops,” he told Talen.
If she transferred the funds to an anonymous credit account instead of spending every cent, they weren’t ruined. Talen cared less about their possible ruin than the recovery of the jeweled music box. An item like that would be difficult to fence, even knowing its history. Few pawn shops could offer anything close to the music box’s true value. Feeling out collectors would be better, but Fiona needed credit fast. She might be desperate enough to accept a pittance.
“Agreed,” Talen said.
Chapter 17
Georgia
The first thing Georgia noticed was the rare peek of winter sun glimmering on the river. The second thing was bridges, so many bridges. The provincial capital was a rusting industrial town seated at the merger of two large rivers.
They drove past shuttered factories and closed mills.
“What happened?” Economic depression could happen anywhere, which made it a ridiculous question in her mind, but the whole section of the city had such an air of abandonment to it that she had to know the culprit.
“It’s the labor shortage. It’s easier to ship raw material off-planet than process,” Talen answered.
“But that makes everything more expensive in the long run.” Listen to her, like she was an expert on economics. Georgia rolled her eyes at her own damn self.
“Yes, and modern factories use robotics. They’re more efficient than those old heaps.”
“And we’re here in the shadows of these old heaps why?”
He grinned at her turn of phrase. “Because this is exactly the type of neighborhood you could hock a priceless work of art and avoid too many questions.”
“What if she sold it to a collector, like you said?”
“Then the sale was arranged ahead of time. We’d have no chance.”
“Right.” The music box would go into a private collection, never to be seen again. “What makes the music box so special? Besides the obvious gems.”
“Ever heard of the jeweler Adoration? No? Adoration was a goldsmith, jeweler, and designer on Talmar. Very famous. Created intricate pieces, each one a masterpiece,” he said.
“And the music box was made by Adoration? Seriously? You kept it in a glass display case.”
“It was locked.”
“Which was circumvented by smashing the glass,” she retorted. He kept a priceless artifact out on a shelf like a trinket. Honestly.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me I should have locked it away? A security deposit box, perhaps?”
“Yes! Since you say it’s a unique, one-of-a-kind piece of art, then yes.”
The car pulled off the road and came to a stop in a parking lot. A squat building, covered in faded and peeling paint, had a light flickering in a window. Georgia recognized the characters meaning “open.”
He turned off the engine and turned to face her. “My father commissioned it for my mother. It was meant to be seen and heard. If I locked it away, then it’d be like locking them away.” The meaning was clear in the tone of his voice. He loved that gilded music box, not for its monetary value or famous maker, but for pure sentimentality.
“You’re such a marshmallow,” she said.
“I am no such thing,” he protested.
“All sweet on the inside. I can’t believe they didn’
t make fun of you in the Navy.”
He opened the door, visibly uneasy.
“They did!” Georgia bounced out of the car. “Was it Charl? He doesn’t say much but when he does, I bet it’s biting.”
Talen’s ears went back. “Enough. That trinket is all I have of my parents. I smuggled it off Talmar when I was a kit. I will not be mocked.”
“Oh.” She hurried forward and placed a hand on his arm. He did not speak often, or ever, about his parents. She knew they were murdered, and he had to leave his home planet as a child. All this had to be dragging up unpleasant memories. “I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing for me to say.”
“Yes, it was,” he grumbled, and then he ran a hand through his hair. Somehow, he looked better for the mess. “Fiona needs quick cash, so she’d try to sell the items she took.”
“She won’t get a fraction of the music box’s value if she pawned it.”
“Hopefully, neither she nor the pawnbroker will recognize what she has.”
Georgia saw no value in adding that they needed a lot of luck for that to happen, so she kept her mouth shut.
Fiona hadn’t visited the first pawn shop, or the second, nor had they heard of a human female trying to sell a gaudy music box. At the fourth shop, they found some of the silver serving pieces that Fiona took, but no music box. At some point, Fiona must have realized what she had, or at least thought she could get a better price elsewhere.
Georgia called jewelers, thinking maybe Fiona tried to sell the music box in parts. No human female with chestnut hair wandered in with flawless sapphires and diamonds that day.
By mid-afternoon, all they had to show for their efforts were sore feet, a cranky disposition, and zero leads.
“You take me to all the best places,” she grumbled, sliding back into the vehicle.
“We’ll stay the night. I’m too tired to drive back,” Talen said.
“We can try again in the morning.”
“No. She didn’t pawn the music box. Perhaps she did have a private collector lined up.”
His shoulders slumped with a look of defeat. She wanted to squeeze his hand, stroke behind his ear, the way he would never admit to enjoying but made his tail curl and comfort him. The words only a material possession were on her lips but she knew how crass that would sound. In the grand scheme of the universe, one music box wasn’t as important as a loved one, but that same music box represented all his lost family.
Fuck it. She could offer comfort and keep her mouth shut at the same time. Stranger things had happened.
“It’s a stupid thing to be upset about, isn’t it?” He leaned into her hand, eyes closing as her fingers worked behind his ear. “Did I tell you it was a courting gift from my father to my mother?”
“You said he had it made for her.” The jeweled objet d’art seemed a bit much to her, but she kept her snarky comment to herself.
“She hated it. Said it was a waste of good money.”
Georgia tried to swallow her laugh. “I think I would have liked your mother.”
“I believe she would adore you.” He pulled away, the light catching fire in his honey-amber gaze. “Enough chasing ghosts. Fiona can keep the blasted thing. Food first, I think, then there’s somewhere I want to take you.”
“Sounds good.”
Dinner was a simple meal at a riverside diner. They ambled down the boardwalk, past boutiques and specialty shops, eventually stopping at a narrow brick building painted blue.
“Here we are, my favorite shop,” he said, which turned out to be a rare bookshop.
“You really do take me to all the best places,” she said, genuinely meaning her words this time.
The clerk at the counter recognized Talen when they walked in.
The shop smelled of aged leather, dusty pages, and beeswax. With bookshelves crowding the floor, creating a maze, and the odd chair tucked into unexpected nooks, this was exactly the sort of place she expected Talen to love.
A familiar cover with two young Tal children caught her eye: The Lost Princes. This time, however, she could understand the tagline under the title which read, Talmar politics and the aristocracy. It looked interesting.
“This is garbage,” Talen said, plucking the book from her hand.
“Hey, you don’t get to tell me what to read. Maybe I like hot garbage.” The book just became a thousand percent more interesting because he disliked it. “I’m not leaving here without it.”
He gave a weary sigh. “It is gossip and speculation and holds little academic merit.”
“Stop. You’re selling it too hard,” she said, her tone sarcastic. She drank in the sight of him, such a massive man holding what seemed to be nothing more than a scrap of paper in his large hands. Even though he professed to despise the book, he held it with care. Even books of mostly gossip and little academic merit deserved respect, and she loved him for that. “You’re such a book nerd.”
“More sweet words of affection? Have mercy, my heart, for my ego cannot take the strain.”
He smiled down at her, the book between them, with warm affection in his eyes. All the reasons for rejecting his offer of marriage—the kit, coercion, future regret—fell away. She didn’t care. Those reasons were petty and this feeling between them was big. Important.
She licked her bottom lip. “Talen, I need to tell you something.”
“Yes.” He leaned down, the book-free hand cradling the back of her neck.
“I can’t wait to read this.” She plucked the book from his grip and danced away, snickering. He gave chase as she slipped around a corner, slowing to let him catch her. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tight, and this was where she belonged.
“Exciting news,” the clerk, a Corravian male, said, interrupting. “I finally sifted through all the damaged books you brought me, and most of them were beyond saving.”
“I wouldn’t call that exciting news,” Talen said, leaning on the counter.
“Oh, you’d be wrong. One of the books was thought lost.” The clerk took down a flat box from the shelf behind the counter. Inside the box sat a book badly swollen from water damage. “It is damaged, but you’re looking at a very rare copy of The Descendent of the Eclipse.”
“Is it notable?”
“The author was well known at the time but generally considered a hack.” The clerk removed the book and laid it on the counter. He gently opened the front cover. “This was published just before the Crisis and had not yet been distributed to the general public. The books were stored in warehouses until the release date, but the Crisis happened. From time to time, one will turn up.”
“Are there no digital copies?” Georgia asked. Talen’s obsession with physical books remained beyond her understanding. The words of the story interested her more than the book itself.
“Of course.” The clerk made a scoffing noise, clearly thinking little of digitized works.
“Is the condition a problem?” Talen asked.
“It’s not ideal, but it shouldn’t matter. A serious collector will want it, no matter the condition. I’d suggest not rebinding. The original cover may fetch a higher price. That is, if you were interested in selling.” He licked his lips, clearly wanting Talen to sell the book.
“I’m not sure. It belongs with the house,” Talen said. They could use the money, no doubt, but even Georgia knew not to appear too eager.
“I’ve already had buyers express an interest.”
“It is not a decision I can make on my own.”
The clerk nodded. “I was able to locate the book you want. One moment.” He disappeared into the back.
Georgia leaned against the counter, mirroring Talen’s posture. “You’re going to sell the book?”
“I don’t have a choice,” he said in a near whisper. “I’d sell the entire contents of the library if I thought it’d buy us another month in the house.”
“Wow.” He loved that library, even with the mostly bare shelves.
“Found yo
ur order.” The clerk returned with a stock of seven books. She recognized the series immediately. “Apparently these are quite popular. Never heard of them, myself.”
Georgia grabbed the top book, a blue cover she had stared at for hours when she was young. “They’re in English.”
“Is that a problem? I could get you a Tal translation but it’s not available in Corravian, unfortunately,” the clerk said.
“English is perfect,” Talen said. He opened the closest volume, flipping through the pages. “I wanted our kit to read your favorite story in the original language.”
Georgia hugged the book to her chest and launched herself at Talen, smashing into him with the book. “It’s perfect. Thank you so much.”
* * *
Talen
* * *
Brother,
I have given your mate several good suggestions for naming the kit and she refuses to take me seriously. Correction is a wonderful name. I can see how Unwanted is not fashionable, but it is traditional. Well, we just have the one great-great-and-so-forth called Unwanted, and by all accounts, he was a bastard, so perhaps that was not my best suggestion. Be that as it may, Correction remains a wonderful name.
-Quil
* * *
“How far to the hotel?” She turned up the collar on her coat. The air held a brisk, muddy smell from the river. Having lived her entire life never more than an hour from the ocean, the water smelled wrong. Sounded wrong. The gentle lapping of the river against the embankment had its charms, though. Her hand trailed along the top of the railing, all that separated the pavement from the water’s edge. Lights from the city reflected on the dark water. Further upriver, commercial shipping continued no matter the late hour.
“Tired?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Fortunately, it is nearby.”
Pulled by the Tail: Celestial Mates Page 19