by Zoe Chant
“Something about melted wings,” Tiffani said in between the clacking of the keys. “I don’t remember for sure.”
She sounded more awake now. Intrigued. And she hadn’t pretended to already know exactly what he was talking about, the way she had once pretended to have been anywhere her husbands’ friends mentioned at parties. She was trusting him with her dignity.
He wasn’t going to let her down.
“They were father and son and they were imprisoned together. Daedalus, the father, was an inventor, so he made these wings that the two of them could strap to their arms. They’d be able to use them to fly away.”
“Right,” Tiffani said. She turned around to face him. There was a pleased smile on her face. “I remember now. The wings were held together with wax. Icarus had too much fun flying, so he went higher and higher. He got too close to the sun and it melted his wings. He fell.”
“And died,” Martin said.
“Not exactly an uplifting story about following your dreams.”
“Right. Very few motivational posters came out of it. And by now, everyone thinks of it as a cautionary tale about not getting too ambitious. But back then, according to the story, it was really about something else. It was about how Daedalus’ wings were made with pegasi feathers and Icarus’s were only made with regular bird feathers. Icarus didn’t fall because the wax melted, people said. He fell because people can’t fly—unless they have pegasus feathers. It wasn’t about ambition. It was an advertisement.”
“I think I see where this is going. Poor pegasi.”
“Poor pegasi is right. Suddenly, everyone was a lot more interested in whether or not they were real. And, unfortunately for them, they were. Once you started looking for them, they weren’t even that hard to find. So people hunted them for their wings. They killed them and plucked them bare and when the people still couldn’t fly, even with all those feathers, they decided they just didn’t have enough. Time to find another pegasus.”
“Some people never have enough,” Tiffani said.
Martin knew she was thinking of the same parties where she’d felt so uncomfortable. About her old house, which had been immense and cold and had certainly never looked or felt like a garden.
About how her ex-husband had been a millionaire who had still felt like he had to steal.
“No. Some people never stop taking. And soon nearly all the pegasi were gone. They came from the ancient civilizations, the ones my parents studied, but they didn’t stay in them—they scattered out across the world. They had help, of course, from other shifters... other people who were sometimes animals. Dragons, werewolves, stags, lions, bears. Unicorns, even, although the rivalry between unicorns and pegasi was always a little intense.”
“I prefer pegasi,” Tiffani said.
Of course she did.
Our mate has excellent taste, his pegasus noted.
“All shifters have a little in common with each other,” Martin said. “The obvious turning-into-an-animal habit, of course, but also instincts that regular humans don’t have. When a shifter meets the person that they’re going to spend the rest of their life with, when their eyes meet, they know. Quick as a snap of your fingers. They recognize the person who’s always going to be perfect for them.”
Tiffani studied him. He let her do it, let her take in his silence and what it might mean.
He wanted to see what her initial reaction would be—whether she would pretend to not see where he was going with this, whether she would think he was crazy, whether she would run screaming for the hills.
She said, “That story needs a little work, plot-wise. It kind of changes horses midstream, so to speak.”
“So to speak.”
More silence.
“I don’t like being made fun of,” Tiffani said, and although her chin was set and her expression was decided, her face was crumbling despite it, her eyes shiny with tears. He knew she felt like the rug had just been pulled out from under her.
He knew she felt that he had been a nice guy—right up until the point where he decided that it would be funny to play a little joke on her, to see if gullible Tiffani, who had once fallen for a sleazy crook, would believe that he was a flying horse. It was a little out there for a prank, but was it any harder to believe than the truth?
Her eyes seemed to ask him what trick would come next.
But when she spoke again, it was to make a decision. She might be gun-shy, but she was choosing, right then, to trust him.
“But you wouldn’t do that,” Tiffani said. “You’re not like that.”
No, he wasn’t.
And luckily, as far as tricks went, Martin had a good one. He stood up—he felt awkward standing there naked, but at least he knew he wouldn’t be like that for long.
“I’m not making fun of you,” Martin said. “I promise. Look.”
He closed his eyes and thought about the wind.
Chapter Ten: Tiffani
At first, she saw nothing but Martin’s closed eyes. The sudden shut-off of his attention was so total it almost seemed like he’d fallen asleep standing up.
She was supposed to be watching his... narcolepsy?
Then he began to change.
It was like watching a candle burn. She couldn’t see all parts of it—the flame, the shortening wick, the melting wax—all at once. She couldn’t follow the process. It was just what it was. A transformation as stunning as fire and as natural as fire, too.
Deadly. Beautiful. Life-saving, under the right circumstances.
What stood before her was something more than a stallion in the way that any horse was more than a picture of a horse.
For starters, there were the wings.
The stallion’s coat was a glossy dark chestnut, so brown it was almost black except for where the light hit it just right. There was a blazing white star on his forehead. His mane was long and as black as midnight. His wings were the same color, but so glossy that there was a luminous look to them. They shone with little rainbows, like puddles of oil.
Even folded, they were magnificent, and she couldn’t even start to guess at their full span.
She whispered, “Martin?”
The horse inclined his head and gave a soft, horsey snort of agreement. For some reason, that made her laugh.
I had a lunchtime quickie and a romantic dinner date with a man who turned out to be a flying horse. After my workplace had a bomb threat and I got reamed out by a judge. On my first day of a new job.
She was having one hell of a day. If court had to go back in session right this minute, she’d lose her job for sure, because she’d just type “horse” over and over again. Horse. Martin.
Pegasus.
“I may still be a little brain-dead from the sex,” Tiffani said slowly, “but I’m ninety, ninety-five percent sure you just turned into a flying horse. If you just turned into a flying horse, um... toss your mane twice?”
Two mane tosses.
“Right. A pegasus. A flying horse.”
Well, I guess he was hung like a—
The stallion dissolved back into Martin.
Now that she knew about the other half of him, she could see it in this one. The dark, dark brown of his hair. His complete grace and stability.
Though now he looked so nervous. It was like he was worried she would run away from him.
She stood up without even thinking about it and went to him and wrapped her arms around him.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m not scared. You’re... beautiful.”
As if it would ever have been possible for her to think anything else. Some of the honesty must have come through in the throb of her voice, because he looked at least a little relieved.
Then she remembered the glory of his wings, which had been like nothing she had ever seen before, and a chill set in despite the warmth of his body against hers.
“All those pegasi you said were hunted for their feathers...”
He nodded. “We don’
t lose them naturally. If they’re ripped out, they don’t grow back. No shifter would give them up willingly—you’d be giving up flying forever if you did. The hunters knew that it wouldn’t do any good to ask nicely. So they didn’t.”
Tiffani thought about whole herds—whole families—of winged horses, of people, falling under arrows and swords and spears. Midnight gallops through forests would have ended with blood on the leaves.
She couldn’t even imagine Martin, as glorious and proud as she’d seen him a moment before, laid so low and hurt so badly.
Killed.
She tightened her embrace and felt his lips against her hair. It was the most reassuring kiss she’d ever had.
“It was a long time ago.” Martin ran his hand down her back. “Long enough ago now that it’s hard to say if it’s even true. But no, there aren’t many of us. It’s been a long time since there were. It means we feel more kinship to other shifters than we might otherwise, because if we don’t, we’re too spread out from our own to have any community. And I’m glad of that, at least.”
That was something. “So you know other shifters?”
“So do you.” Martin grinned at her. She was glad to see him smile again after the darkness of his story. “There’s your almost son-in-law, for one.”
“Theo?”
“Scout’s honor.”
He actually did hold up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute, which was, even in the midst of her surprise, the cutest thing Tiffani had ever seen.
She couldn’t picture anyone less animal-like than Theo. “What does he turn into?”
“A dragon.”
“A dragon! Does Jillian know?”
She recalibrated. Of course Jillian knew. Theo couldn’t have brought himself to lie about whether or not he’d taken the last pudding cup out of the fridge.
“What about Gretchen and Colby? Wait—Theo arrested Gordon, you brought back Gordon. Was Gordon a shifter?”
“No,” Martin said firmly. “Gordon was all human.”
“Gordon was all rat.”
“That too. Gretchen is human, but she’s from a family of lynx shifters. She’s their odd girl out. Colby is a werewolf.”
She felt surprisingly comfortable with that last part. Okay, werewolves, sure. She knew werewolves.
Martin’s mind was clearly on a different track, though. He wasn’t going to move on from here to explain silver bullets to her.
“Tiffani, all this... you have to know why I’m telling you.”
But she didn’t.
Yes, you do, a little part of her whispered. You know you do. He told you.
They recognize the person who’s always going to be perfect for them, Martin had said. Quick as a snap of your fingers.
But that couldn’t have anything to do with the two of them. No way.
“We’re compatible, aren’t we?” Martin said.
There was something so sincere in his eyes. It made her need to be sincere in return, even if it meant exposing herself, looking and feeling stupid. Vulnerable.
“Yes,” she said simply. “Very.”
It was like light poured in around him when he smiled. It made her feel like her life had been a dark and dusty room until he’d come along to pull back the curtains and show her what all she’d been missing.
“My perfect match, the one I would recognize as soon as I saw her... it’s you, Tiffani.”
Tiffani felt her breath catch in her chest. “It’s me?”
“It’s you.”
And she suddenly deflated.
No, it couldn’t be her. He turned into a winged horse, the most majestic thing she had ever seen. He fought crime. He was a man whose friends and coworkers spoke about him with respect, even with reverence. He was a widower surviving the loss of a woman he’d loved. He had a family history that went back to Ancient Greece, and he came from parents who were professors and antiquities dealers.
She was Tiffani Marcus, a cocktail party joke with a blonde dye-job and a criminal ex-husband. She was an ex-hairdresser turned aging trophy wife turned court reporter. Someone who had skipped out on her first day of work to have a fling in a hotel with a virtual stranger.
They didn’t fit. They were compatible, sure. They had chemistry. They’d had terrific, mind-blowing sex. She was probably in love with him.
Maybe they could have something terrific someday.
But they couldn’t be what he was saying they were.
She shook her head. “No.”
His smile faded a little at the edges. “No?”
She started getting dressed so quickly she put her blouse on inside-out at first and had to fix it. Her hands were shaking too badly for her to get the buttons straight and she knew she was ending up with gaps and a crooked shirt. The cardigan would cover it up.
She didn’t know where she was planning on going. This was her apartment, not his.
Martin just watched her in shock. “No, Tiffani, wait—”
“I can’t. I can’t do this. I’m a mess.”
“You’re not a mess. You’re perfect.”
The laugh was so harsh it hurt her throat. “I’m perfect? I’m doing everything I can just to hold my life together! Just to get my feet back on the ground again! You’re perfect! You’re... you! And where the hell is my cardigan?”
He caught her wrist as she passed by him but let go the moment she spun around again.
He was still naked, she realized. No one could have a good argument while they were naked. He didn’t have his feet under him either, and his eyes were... broken.
I hurt him. I’m hurting him.
I’m being the bad guy.
It wasn’t all about how she could screw up her own life. She had the power, she realized, to mess up his too. Maybe she hadn’t asked for it. But love gave you big responsibilities.
She took a deep breath. It was all she could do to keep from running. To keep the courage she’d spent so long trying to find.
Martin said, “Please don’t go. I take it back. You’re not perfect.”
“I’m not,” Tiffani said. “I’m just a person. That’s my only achievement.”
“That’s not your only achievement.”
“Are you arguing with me while trying to convince me to stay?”
“I am if you’re saying that. You raised Jillian, and I met Jillian, so I know you did something right there. You can come up with believable cover stories on a moment’s notice. You told on-the-fly fairy tales to scared kids until they weren’t scared anymore. You got the judge to walk away and be convinced it was his own idea. You’re smart and funny and brave.”
“Yeah, well. You’ve only known me for a few hours.”
But she was weakening, she could feel it. Who could resist all that?
“That’s true,” Martin said. “Imagine what I’ll know about you by the end of the week.”
That time the laugh didn’t hurt.
“You’re only seeing the good parts of me, though,” Tiffani said. “Because you want to. And because I was trying to impress you because you’re very, very good-looking.”
He looked absurdly flattered. “I am? You probably just think that because of... this.” He waved his hand back and forth between them.
“I do not think that because of this. That is objectively true. Jillian said you were, and I quote, ‘a silver fox, only not literally’... and I just now got what that last part means.”
She pushed her hands through her hair. She needed to clip it back again: a reminder to keep herself and her life under control.
He hadn’t said anything about her hair. Or her body. He liked both—he’d been very obviously and flatteringly appreciative—but he hadn’t listed them as reasons why he liked her. He’d looked beneath both the glitzy, shallow image of her past and the self-consciously prim image of her present and seen her.
Or at least the version of herself that she would like to be.
“All I’m asking for right now is to be with you,” Mar
tin said. He must have sensed that her mood had shifted, because he was no longer playful. He meant every word. “You deserve a little romance in your life. Let me give it to you.”
She couldn’t make herself walk away from him. From this man who looked at her like no one else ever had.
And she wanted to give him the same kind of happiness he had spent the whole day giving her. For once, she thought about the ways in which she could be fun, and it didn’t feel like she was selling herself short. She thought fun could be really important sometimes.
“Romance,” Tiffani said, and she held out her hand.
They shook on it.
Chapter Eleven: Martin
Martin wanted to walk the courtroom with one of the bomb-sniffing dogs before the trial started up again. That didn’t give him much time to do any of the ordinary morning debriefing.
That was a little bit of a problem under the circumstances, since his team was preoccupied with his personal life. All they wanted to discuss was Tiffani’s reaction to finding out about shifters and perfect matches.
Theo, who was almost as much in love with proper etiquette as he was with his mate, had placed a chilled bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice on Martin’s desk.
“And homemade cookies from Jillian.” He pointed to a foil-wrapped plate. “She said to tell you you’ll need all the edible baking you can get if you’re going to spend the rest of your life mated to Tiffani. Her words, sir, not mine.”
It was a quick reintroduction to how things worked in the world of in-laws and significant others. Tiffani had understandably told her stepdaughter about some of the events and revelations of the previous night, Jillian had told Theo, and Theo, being Theo, had sprung for champagne. So now the whole office already knew Martin’s news.
He would have told them anyway, of course. He just would have done it at an ordinary speed, not the lightning-quickness of the grapevine.
Martin sighed. “If you did all this for me, I hope you sent Tiffani something.”
Theo looked unspeakably offended. “Of course we did. Flowers on her desk—”
“Theo has a florist,” Colby said.
“Of course I have a florist,” Theo said, with a streak of draconian snobbery. “Every adult should have a florist, and mine is very reliable. Jillian sent Tiffani some cookies, too. The champagne seemed too risky, since I didn’t want her to get fired for having alcohol at work. But you should certainly invite her to share yours.”