“It most certainly is.”
“I could be persuaded on Erection.”
His mouth fell open. “No.”
She smirked and then bit her lower lip in an effort not to laugh, a battle she quickly lost. “I think it sounds rather noble.”
“You can’t even say that with a straight face.”
She cleared her throat but couldn’t utter the words without giggling. In that moment, the universe did not exist outside the space they shared. He could live there forever. Her joy, pure and simple, filled him with such devotion. They would have a lifetime of laughter, of teasing and smiles. They would have tears and pain, too.
He wanted it all. Every moment. Every smile. Every tear. Forever would not be enough.
Chapter 20
Georgia
Freema,
If I have to swallow one more cup of herbal tea, I’ll scream. I want caffeine. I want sugar. I’m prepared to throw a tantrum if they try to take away my dark chocolate.
Please, please, please, use your medical knowledge for good and tell them one cup a day is fine.
-G
* * *
Six months pregnant was no joke. Her slight baby bump grew, seemingly overnight, and now nothing fit. Not her black pants, the professional suit jacket or white blouse she planned to wear for the Isteimlas party. The gray-and-blue-striped wrap dress would work, even if it felt too casual.
She fussed with the belt and the fabric gapped at the front of the dress. Her boobs were definitely bigger. A safety pin kept her modesty in check, but she disliked the gleam of metal against the fabric. Maybe she’d grab a flower and make a boutonniere or whatever the equivalent was on a dress.
Rubbing her hand over her belly, she dreaded how big she’d get in the coming two and a half months. She had a few maternity dresses of Corravian design, super cute with an A-line that allowed the fabric to swing over a massive belly, but she stubbornly wanted to wear pants as long as possible. The spring air still held a chill, and her bare legs did not appreciate the cold.
Time to suck it up, buttercup.
She drained a cup of tea and smeared some jam on toast. The tea tasted like lawn clippings and mangoes. She hated the brew but drank the vile stuff because Bright cut off the coffee when she learned that caffeine could be bad for the kit. No amount of arguing that one cup a day was safe would sway the woman.
Downstairs, the house hummed with activity. Construction finished on time and on budget. The newly renovated rooms sparkled with the gold leaf detail in the ceiling and the smooth polish of the floor.
The ballroom had been opened to the terrace, to take advantage of the mild weather. Talen and Charl set up tables and chairs outside, and a long buffet table for dining. Inside, plush rugs and pillows had been artfully arranged for seating around the perimeter of the room. Guests would lounge in the Tal fashion. A wuap had made itself at home, napping in the sunshine. Georgia didn’t think she’d be able to sit down or get up gracefully from the pillows if she tried, but she wouldn’t have much time for sitting today.
Flower arrangements arrived. She directed the deliveries to the terrace. Quil created a photo backdrop with specimens from the conservatory. She checked on the flower arrangements and found a goat nibbling on a centerpiece.
“What the ever-loving hell is that?” she shouted.
There was a goat. In her ballroom. Eating the centerpieces.
She stared at the animal and it stared back at her, its flat black eyes empty and chewing on green leaves.
“That’s a goat,” Quil said helpfully. “A very common domestic animal.”
“Here? What’s it doing here?”
“Oh, well, now that it’s spring, I thought Consumption would be useful to clear out all the overgrowth on the grounds.”
“You named the goat Consumption.” Of course he did.
“Clever, yes? I am good with names,” he said.
“Just get it out of here before it messes up the floor.” Her perfect, pristine floor. As he led the goat away, she shouted, “And I’m still not naming the kit Tranquility!”
The caterer arrived, using the long counters in the butler’s pantry to set up along with the ovens in the kitchen. She ducked into the kitchen to make sure they had everything they needed.
Dare trotted up, wearing a crisp white apron emblazoned with a moon violet, the logo for the house. “You look like you’re about to fall over. Have you had anything to eat?”
“Um, toast for breakfast,” she answered.
“Hours ago. Right, sit.” He pulled out a chair and gave her a pointed look until she sat down.
He was a child—okay, technically an adult but still so young—but he barked orders with a commanding presence. She dared not disobey.
“Anything in particular you’re craving?”
“Salt. Mountains of salt,” she said.
“Rest your feet, have a cup of tea, and I’ll make you a batch of chips.” He moved about the kitchen with efficiency, pulling a container of already cut fries from the cooling unit. He drained them and patted them dry while the fryer heated.
Her instincts about needing an event venue proved true and they had enough bookings to justify hiring staff. Dare had been the first. For his interview, he made french fries, even though he called them chips. She’d been impressed with making fries from a local root vegetable. The moment the salty fries, still hot from the fryer, touched her tongue, she groaned with delight and hired him on the spot.
Best decision ever.
He seemed charmed by the historically preserved kitchen, was bossier than Bright when it came to his domain and was forever feeding her. It was amazing she hadn’t ballooned up already, honestly.
“Oh, good. Dare’s got you taken care of,” Bright said, carrying a stack of freshly laundered linens. She sat at the table and rolled silverware and napkins into neat bundles.
“More tea,” Georgia said, accepting the cup. “Yay.” Keenly aware that Bright watched her, she took a sip and forced a smile. Lawn clippings and mangoes. Delicious.
The fries arrived, salty and still sizzling, and delivered her straight to greasy food heaven. Before long, the birthday girl arrived and would need a room to change into her outfits. Plural. Apparently, the zasten celebrated a child’s coming of age and required at least two wardrobe changes. Understood. She never had a Sweet Sixteen party herself but if she had, she would have wanted half a dozen different dresses, all as flouncy as possible.
She set the Isteimlas family up in a guest suite on the ground floor and checked the schedule once again. The pieces fit smoothly together as the setup finished and the first of the guests arrived. In the foyer, Quil directed guests.
“Where’s Talen? I need him to keep people off the second floor,” she said. She stood at the foot of the stairs, blandly smiling as guests tried to climb the steps, before redirecting them to the party.
“I was changing,” Talen said, from the top of the stairs. He wore a white suit made of an expensive fabric. Fastened with closures trimmed with golden thread, the coat front cut away over the abdomen, revealing a navy sash tied tight and low across his hips. The same rich navy fabric lined the coat. Knee-high boots in a soft white leather over tight tan trousers completed the look.
“Do you approve? It is my naval dress uniform. This is the only formalwear I have,” he said.
“I approve.” Very much so.
“There’s also a cloak that goes with it but that seems a bit much.” He brushed the front lapels, smoothing an imperceptible wrinkle.
She climbed a few steps and they met halfway. “I need to see your butt in those pants. Right now. It’s super important.”
With a chuckle, he turned. Coattails covered his ass, sadly, but the vent at the back allowed his tail free range of movement.
“I guess there’s always room for improvement,” she said, sighing dramatically with disappointment.
“That’s a strategic military decision,” he said. “My ass i
s the perfect weapon, so it’s covered until the moment it’s needed.”
“Can’t have civilians become desensitized to the mighty military ass? I really don’t think that’s a problem. Show me.”
“Alas, it must remain shrouded in mystery.” He stepped back, climbing a step.
“Talen, please. I need to see.” She laced a comedic tone into her voice, exaggerating the whine.
“Hmm. I am intrigued by the design of this garment.” He tugged lightly at the belt at the side of the wrap dress. Georgia knew nothing stood between her nude body and him but a layer of knit cotton held in place by one belt and a single tie on the inside of the dress. He played with the edge of the dress, pushing back the fabric to reveal her thigh. Her breath caught in her throat.
“You will show me later,” he purred.
“I think that’s a good idea—”
A familiar voice called out at the entrance, drawing her attention away from the shameless flirting. Fiona stood in the foyer, wearing a large sunhat and sunglasses, luggage at her feet, like she returned from a holiday and had not run off with a priceless family heirloom.
“She can’t be here,” Georgia whispered, clutching Talen’s arm. The event needed to be perfect, the house needed to be perfect, and Fiona could ruin everything with a single tantrum.
Torn between the need to ensure the event ran smoothly and finding out what the hell Fiona was playing at, she glanced around the room. The Isteimlas family greeted guests and music poured from the ballroom. The occasional server with a tray of beverages or appetizers wandered through the crowd. Everything appeared to be under control. Even the damned wuaps behaved and watched the crowd calmly. No one would miss her.
“Take her to the library. I will bring Quil,” Talen said. He planted a reassuring kiss on the top of her head before vanishing.
“Fiona—”
“Where’s my honey bear?” Fiona untied the scarf under her chin and removed the hat.
“We weren’t expecting you.” To come back after you ran off with their money. Ever. Georgia kept the second half of the sentence unspoken.
“You sound like you’re not happy to see me.”
“You have no idea.”
Fiona gave Georgia’s outfit a scrutinizing look. “You got fat.”
“I’m pregnant.” Christ on a cracker. This bitch right here. “I know where we can find Quil. Follow me.” She turned down the corridor to the library.
“Actually, there’s something outside I need to show you.” Fiona tossed a glance toward the open door to the ballroom. Music and laughter spilled out.
“Outside?”
“It’s important, okay? It’s why I came back.” She grabbed Georgia’s hand and tugged. “I’m not stupid. I know everyone thought I ran off with the family jewels or whatever, but this is important, so will you please stop being a stubborn bitch and follow me?”
Georgia glanced down the empty corridor. If Talen didn’t find her in the library, he’d go searching for them. It shouldn’t take him too long. “Okay. Let’s go to the workshop.”
“Perfect.”
They exited through the kitchen. Dare gave her a curious look as she opened the door to the garden, pointing in the direction of the converted stables. There. Talen would find them quick enough.
She pushed open the door to the workshop, the scent of varnish and wood dust heavy in the air. A Tal male stood leaned against the far wall. His head was down, superficially conveying casualness, but the tension in his body confessed that nothing escaped his attention. He looked familiar but Georgia had met so many people new people in the last few months, she couldn’t place him.
“What’s going on?” Georgia asked, turning to Fiona. She realized her mistake a heartbeat later, but it was too late to help her.
* * *
Talen
Secrets always find a way to claw their way into the light.
-Persistence and the Secrets of the Shadowed Hill
* * *
The females were not in the library.
“I do not believe we have time to discuss literature. Your mate is very insistent that we be available to serve the whims of our clients,” Quil said, tail swaying with delight.
“You’d think that as much as you enjoy spending money, you might be interested in earning it,” Talen replied.
“Why did you bring me here?”
“Fiona returned.” He could not bring himself to honor that thieving female as his brother’s mate.
Quil’s ears moved forward with interest. “What does she want?”
“I did not ask. Money, no doubt,” he said, nearly growling with frustration. Despite the carefree facade Quil fronted, Fiona’s departure wounded him. Talen heard a few frantic voice messages that Quil left, asking for a reason, for some justification for him to bring her home.
Talen sighed. No matter what Fiona said, Quil would welcome her back, if she were here to stay. He couldn’t imagine why. She had already robbed them of their most valuable possession.
“Fiona would not wait in this room. She would want to be the center of attention,” Quil said.
They found no sign of Fiona in the ballroom or mingling with the guests. Dare, in the kitchen, sent them outside, claiming to have seen them head toward the old stables.
The situation felt off. Fiona had no reason to drag his mate to the stable. That female craved an audience.
Despite Talen’s jest that his time in the Navy was mostly reading in his bunk or scrubbing the ship for inspection, when bad shit happened, it happened fast. He learned to listen to his instinct.
“Go to your female,” he said, pushing his brother toward the building. “Have her send out my mate.”
Quil mumbled about not being a messenger but entered the building.
Five minutes later, no one had exited.
Chapter 21
Georgia
Quil sat on the floor next to her, his hands and feet tied with rope and covered in thick, silver tape. He scooted over to Fiona, where she was similarly bound. “You did not return any of my messages.”
“Is now really the time?” Georgia hissed.
“I just needed a little me time. I was always coming home, honey bear,” Fiona said.
“You emptied our accounts.”
“What’s the point of getting away from everything if I’m scrounging for pocket change? I wanted a break from stress, not to be stressed.”
“Will you two shut the fuck up?” Georgia snapped.
“I’m having a private conversation with my husband,” Fiona said, indignant.
“Really? Right now? We’re in peril, Fiona. Peril. This is fucking perilous.” She lifted her hands and wiggled her fingers, drawing attention to the rough rope binding her hands together. “Maybe you can cut the bullshit and just admit that you’re a gold digger.”
“Better a gold digger than knocked up and fat.” Fiona tossed the glossy tumble of chestnut locks over her shoulder but the rope binding her hands marred the dramatic effect.
“Fiona, stop being petty,” Quil said.
She frowned and pouted, sticking her lower lip out. “I see what’s going on. I was gone for two minutes and you replaced me!”
“You were gone for two months,” he retorted. “No contact. No indication you ever planned to return.”
“Will you be quiet!” The unknown Tal male picked up a well-used mallet and slammed it into a wooden post. The timber shuddered and bit of plaster from the ceiling rained down, stunning his captive audience into silence.
The male crouched down in front of Quil. “You’re him, aren’t you? Tranquility? It’s an honor, Your Grace.”
“No, you’re mistaken.” Quil sneezed lightly in the male’s direction.
“You’re as rude as a royal.” He tilted his head to the side as his tail lazily waved behind him. “Your Grace? That’s how you address a duke, yes?”
“I’m not that male. I’m not royal.”
A silver knife flashed
and blood trickled down Quil’s cheek from a small incision. “Huh. You bleed as red as the rest of us.” The male looked to Georgia, his gaze lingering on her belly. “And the next generation.”
“Oh, honey bear, is it true? I knew it!” Fiona practically bounced with excitement, ignoring the fact that the psychopathic male sliced up Quil.
“This male has told you falsehoods,” Quil said.
“I want to be a duchess,” she whined. She glanced at the unknown male and licked her lips. “He said he needed proof. He said the music box wasn’t enough; that he needed DNA.”
* * *
Talen
* * *
Patience.
The assassin had his back to the window.
Amateur.
He lined up the scope on the rifle, waiting for a clear shot. At that precise moment, he was upset enough with Quil and all the trouble he brought along, that his finger might slip and hit his brother.
Tempting.
Perhaps too tempting.
He took a deep breath and counted the virtues, forcing himself to be still even as his body screamed to take action. Patience would ensure his mate’s safety.
Patience was difficult to muster.
Music from the ballroom spilled into the spring night. He listened and waited for the assassin to move away from his hostages. Soon he realized that would never happen.
“I’m going to draw the assassin away.” He handed the rifle to Charl. “Try not to murder my brother,” he said.
“You are rusty,” the four-armed mail said, accepting the weapon.
“I’m not rusty. I’m furious.” Quil’s female brought an assassin to their door and now his mate, heavy with kit, sat on a dirty floor with her hands and feet tied like an animal waiting to be slaughtered. Rage pounded in his ears and his top lip curled back with a hiss. “If you must sacrifice Quil, I’ll forgive you.”
While Fiona and Quil squabbled like cranky kits, Georgia grew agitated, shouting at them to be quiet. The assassin said nothing, watching with sharp eyes.
Pulled by the Tail: Celestial Mates Page 21