Sol: Intergalactic Dating Agency (Beast Battalion Book 2) Read online

  He inclined his head at her demurral, but Devon clicked their tongue. “Can’t you open up just for a minute? Brin here doesn’t believe in UFOs and doesn’t like Sunset Falls, and I want to prove her wrong.”

  The guy, Sol, was watching her even more closely now, a keen focus in those dark eyes that sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. “Sunset Falls isn’t the place for you if you don’t like small towns or UFOs.”

  Finally she managed to purge the rasp from her throat. “That’s not true! Er, well, the not believing in UFO parts is true. But I don’t dislike Sunset Falls. I’ve only been here an hour.”

  “You dislike small towns in general,” Devon amended. “You think we’re all gullible hicks—or cheaters scamming gullible tourists.”

  Well, she might’ve ranted about something like that in an episode or three. “Cities have urban legends too,” she said weakly.

  “I don’t believe in UFOs either.” And he smiled.

  Ohhhh wow, he was pretty when he smiled. That hidden lightning she’d sensed pierced her, would’ve struck her down if she’d been even a teensy bit less guarded. Luckily that sip of coffee had given her strength. “Then I won’t need to talk to you about the rumors of an Intergalactic Dating Agency.”

  He didn’t move. “Sounds interesting.” He glanced over at Devon. “Thanks for the buns. I’ll get your payment from Evens.” He glanced back at Brin. “And I think I can open up for you after all.”

  Chapter 2

  Fynix Sol knew a catastrophe when he saw one. Usually he was looking in a mirror, but just to keep things interesting, this time it was a curious Earther poking around.

  She didn’t know—yet—what she was talking about. He was sure of that, at least. If she’d had any proof, she’d be howling it. That was what closed-worlders did when they discovered there was other sentient life in the universe and, more pointedly, other sentient life hanging about on their precious planet. He’d been born and raised on an open world, and had always known he wasn’t alone, so aliens weren’t a shock.

  It had been more of a shock to discover just how alone he actually was.

  As he led the Earther female out—after she grabbed her slice of cake and got cool permission from the uncharacteristically reserved Devon to take the coffee mug—onto the sidewalk, he considered his options.

  The sun had descended behind the trees, leaving long bars of shadow across the pavement, the buildings, his body. Lately, he’d been grateful for the early nightfall in this region since the cold dark tamped down his beast. But now it twisted restlessly within him.

  Did it sense danger from this Earther?

  Sullen and agitated at the dying of the day, the fynix refused to answer him. So he concentrated on the female beside him.

  She was above average height and weight for her kind, but still slight beside him, even with the added bulk of her heavy sweater knit in all the natural hues of this blue-green planet. Her tawny skin hinted at a heritage with more and stronger sunlight than was currently available, but her hair was as black as the coming night. An aesthetically pleasing contrast.

  The beast twisted again, making a hollow inside him as if it planned to eat all three of the buns instead of sharing them with his crewmates.

  Or eat something anyway, with the same enthusiasm she was gulping down the bright yellow cake.

  He tightened his hold on the fynix. The leader of their beast battalion, Wyvryn Cross, had brought them here to find the mates to contain their beasts. But their benefactor had gone missing, and now their quest was essentially suspended until they found Evens. Cross’s should-be mate was still working on the matchmating algorithm that was meant to be the heart of the revived Big Sky Intergalactic Dating Agency, but if they couldn’t launch the program across a wide and willing audience, what were the chances of them finding what they so desperately needed?

  It would be all but impossible.

  He forced himself to slow his steps to match the Earther. “You say you were robbed? Not in Sunset Falls, surely.” Surreptitiously, he triggered the datpad on his wrist. The device would record the conversation and send a memo to Cross.

  She shook her head, the fall of her black hair whispering around her hunched shoulders. “I stopped for coffee. Got to talking with a local, not more than half an hour probably, and when I got back to the van, it was all but empty.” She sighed. “They were so thorough I suppose I should be glad I still have tires.”

  “Authorities weren’t able to help?” He gestured her around the corner toward the shop.

  “Beyond implying I shouldn’t’ve been in a place to get in trouble?” Her slurp of coffee projected annoyance. “But I admit I got distracted by the incredible story I was hearing. I was too busy taking notes to watch my back. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  He paused. “This incredible story—about UFOs?”

  She laughed. “Yeah, get this: an alien invasion of lovelorn ETs. It’ll make an amazing episode of my show.” Her grin faded. “Which better go viral if I’m going to replace my gear.” She glanced up at him with a faintly guilty expression. “Uh, but I have enough to pay for a toothbrush and whatever else you have.”

  He had his hand on the door, but he found himself captivated by the swift changes of her emotions. He would have to find these broadcasted episodes she’d mentioned, but he could guess why other Earthers would enjoy watching her and listening to her.

  Not that he was susceptible to such enticing charms. He’d lost his chance to wish for anything like it.

  But he did need to find out what she’d been told—and by whom. How far had the speculations spread? When Cross had taken the IDA security job for their crew, their research had indicated that the Big Sky outpost had a notorious past in the intergalactic community but that it had been properly concealed—more or less—from its unwitting closed-world hosts. Had something changed under Evens’ questionable management?

  He unlatched the door under the flaking gilt of the Evens’ Odds & Ends Shop paint and reached inside to flick on the light. “After you.”

  She hesitated, peering in. “Uh. I did just mention that I’m watching my back from now on, didn’t I?” The look she slanted at him was less guilty and more accusing now.

  The whiplash startled a rusty sound of amusement out of him. “So you said.” He walked through the doorway first, leaving her to follow. “Evens does not permit the sales of weapons on the premises, so that should reassure you.”

  “Well, not so much as if I had a weapon,” she muttered. “I guess I’m a little more shaken than I thought.”

  Although a deep part of him objected, he took a few steps away from her to give her space. “Maybe less coffee?”

  To his gratification, the wariness in her expression shifted to an arch dismissal of his suggestion. “A girl has deadlines.” Again her eyes narrowed. “Oh, why did I say dead?”

  As fascinated as he was by her mercurial moods, he needed answers from her, and he wouldn’t get them if she was afraid of him. “Devon would not have sent you to be—what do you actually think I might do to you?”

  “Devon was pretty mad that I said I didn’t believe in UFOs.” She peered at him. “But you said it too.”

  “I don’t believe in the U part,” he clarified. “Just because we don’t know what’s flying past us doesn’t mean it’s unidentified.”

  Brin stared at him. “That is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard, and I talk to people who’ve seen incarnations of various deities in funnel cakes, garden produce, and dryer lint.”

  At least she wasn’t afraid of him anymore. “Why did you come here if you don’t believe it’s true?”

  “Because…” When he continued deeper into the shop to start flicking on more lights, she sputtered out. “Oh wow. The door says odds and ends, but the oddity is basically endless, isn’t it?”

  Sol followed her bemused gaze around the walls, floor, and ceiling—every corner stuffed with stuff. “Mister Evens has a
very specific outlook on life.”

  “And that outlook is…chintz and mercury glass?”

  “He says everybody needs something, and he’s proud when he has exactly that.”

  “I need a toothbrush, actually.”

  He waved to the first aisle. “He focuses on more unique finds, but everybody needs a toothbrush.”

  He kept a respectful distance while she looked through the sundries offerings. Not that an oblivious closed-worlder could know, but since Evens would be hosting guests at the Big Sky IDA outpost—if it ever opened—he’d started stocking the shop with anything a newcomer might’ve forgotten in their eagerness to find true love.

  While Brin filled her hands with small packages, Sol collected a shopping basket from near the front door and returned to her, holding it at arm’s length.

  With a sheepish smile, she took it. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be all suspicious.”

  “I suppose that’s part of what makes you good at questioning reality.” He needed to know what else she suspected—and what she hoped to find.

  She shrugged one shoulder as she dumped her choices into the basket and took it from him. “Or maybe I’m just a cold-hearted skeptic.”

  The fynix stilled in its restless roving. Must be on the verge of sunset, lost behind the mountains and trees. Sol let out a slow breath. “I’m sure you have your reasons.”

  She gave him a look. “I do.” Despite the sharpness in her stare, the corner of her mouth quirked. “It’s called reason.”

  For all her self-proclaimed cold heart, the brown of her eyes held a warmth like the bark on the pine trees here that grew up twisting through the snow, always reaching for the sun. Light from the eclectic array of lamps in the shop—some practical sconces on the walls, some fanciful chandeliers with teardrop crystals like snowflakes that never fell—flashed across her gaze, transmuting the brown to gold and black on a whim. And the quirk to her lips…

  He jerked his attention back to her eyes. “Where are you staying tonight?”

  She glanced away. “Ah, I was just going to find a place,” she hedged.

  Curse the Changeling God, his fumbling question had brought the wariness back. “There’s a campground just outside town,” he said, “if your van is converted for sleeping through freezing temperatures. It’s not supposed to snow tonight, at least. But might be tough to get a spot since there’s a tree-peeping photography tour in town.”

  She laughed. “Who peeps pine trees?”

  Since he’d had to ask Tyler about the Earther tradition, he knew the answer. “There are stands of more colorful trees around Sunset Lake. Also, we have a waterfall. Have you heard of Firefall at Yosemite?”

  She tilted her head. “Where the waterfall lights up? Happens for, like, a week in the winter when the setting sun is angled just right.”

  “Sunset Falls isn’t quite so high but it brings in a small crowd.” Which they’d be keeping an eye on lest any of that crowd wander toward the IDA outpost still under reconstruction, with security measures not yet completed and tested. “Sunset Firefall is at its peak next month. But this month is the town brewery and distillery fest, which I’m told makes up for the cold.”

  She grunted. “I won’t be drinking and driving to keep warm. Maybe I should get a couple of those blankets.” She wandered toward the display of antique quilts.

  He followed her. “Or I was going to say, I’m renting a house nearby.” When she pivoted to face him, one hand on the brilliant colors of the blanket, her eyes narrowed to slits, he explained hastily, “You could park your vehicle on the side and use the facilities if you wish. Since you are only here for a few days.”

  An awkward silence dropped over them, broken only by the uncoordinated ticks of the many antique clocks tucked around the shop, as she stared at him. “It’s…interesting of you to offer, but—”

  She was going to reject him, but he needed her close to find out how much was known about the IDA. “I shouldn’t offer at all,” he interrupted. “I don’t even know you. And you could be an alien in disguise or something, coming to abduct me.”

  She laughed. “What? Of course I’m not!”

  “That’s exactly what an alien in disguise would say.” He smiled at her, and though he meant it to be a smile to put her at ease, the bright sound of her laughter actually delighted him.

  His beast roused at his intense focus, and that should’ve redirected him, but when the fynix didn’t yank at his control, he just waited for Brin to huff out a last chuckle.

  “Okay, that’s nice of you, but I’m not sure—”

  “I could probably also make a call to the sheriff’s office about the theft,” he continued. “I know some of the deputies, and might be able to find out if your belongings are recoverable.” Cross had assigned him to familiarize himself with the Earther authorities; maybe that effort would prove useful now.

  Her lower jaw jutted in a way that told him she was still conflicted, so he abruptly changed course. “Also, I have all these cinnamon buns that will go stale if someone doesn’t eat them.”

  She lifted one eyebrow. “You obviously had a plan for them before I showed up.”

  “Questionable plans,” he agreed, since sharing with the other aliens in his beast battalion probably counted as beyond questionable in her estimations. “Luckily you’re here to save me from them.”

  She chuckled again, a little more resigned this time. He might’ve felt bad about tricking an innocent closed-worlder, but whatever knowledge she had—or sought—could endanger his battalion. And if the intergalactic authorities that protected her world believed she was revealing secrets that might destabilize Earth, they’d deploy far less enjoyable methods of debriefing her than a sweet pastry bribe.

  She gazed at him another long moment, and though he saw the instant she made her decision, it wasn’t that she suddenly trusted him; it was more like she’d decided to add him to her basket. “You know, it would actually be really helpful. Thank you. I’m a little low on ready cash, and if there’s any way of getting back my stuff, that would be great too.” Her grin flashed again. “And I would totally eat one of those buns.”

  With a nod, he took the shopping basket from her and carried it to the counter where he solemnly wrote up a receipt by hand, as he’d seen Kailani do, and accepted the paper money Brin held out. While he deposited each chit in its proper slot in the register, she wrote numbers on the receipt and handed it back to him.

  “My phone number,” she said, tucking all the rest of her purchases into the embroidered satchel that she’d bought

  He pocketed the note. He gather any useful technological data he could from her primitive device. As importantly, her scent was now imbued in the paper. Zenith was the best tracker on their crew; maybe he could find out more about her.

  Even as this practical thought occurred to him, the beast in Sol snarled awake.

  He clamped down at once, these periods of intense testing having become more common of late. After his last tragic mistake, he’d sworn never to lose control again. But that taste of freedom had only whetted the fynix’s appetite for the sky. It slipped away from him and fled deep inside, leaving his pulse racing and the ends of his nerves tingling as if scorched.

  Brin hadn’t noticed his distraction, rifling delicately through a small, deep box on the counter labeled “Meteorites!!! Love letters from aliens!!!?!”

  She plucked out one of the rounded balls of rock. “This looks more like a thunderegg to me,” she said. “But I’ll take this one. I like to have some show-and-tell for each episode.” She tossed the rock lightly in her palm. “Add this to my total.”

  “We’ll say that one’s free,” he murmured. “Since I’m fairly sure you are correct those are indeed not meteorites, and we wouldn’t want Mister Evens accused of false advertising.”

  “Especially since it’s definitely not a love letter from aliens.” She slipped the rock into her pocket, humming under her breath. “If it was, though, what would
it say?”

  Something twisted inside him again—not the beast this time. But a warning or a longing nonetheless. “I can’t imagine,” he said honestly. “Still, seems like a bad idea to send a message rocketing across the mesosphere via such an evanescent medium, where the whole thing could burn up before it lands.”

  “Ooh, I like that. Can I use that in the show? I’ll give you full credit, of course.”

  Just what the closed-world authorities would want to see: a non-Earther doing a broadcasted show about an alien dating agency. “Don’t mention me at all,” he said wryly. “I know nothing of love, alien or otherwise.”

  She snorted, though he couldn’t imagine why she’d doubt his statement.

  “Leave the mug here,” he told her. “I’ll make sure it gets back to Devon when they open tomorrow to spare you the disapproving looks.” And after he’d pulled a DNA-loaded fingerprint and any other samples available.

  Tucking the mug next to the suspect meteorites, she gazed at him. “You’re not mad that I’m not instantly enamored with Sunset Falls?”

  “Some people need time to love.” The beast battalion didn’t have that time, but she couldn’t know that. He dredged up a smile. “And a reason, as you noted.”

  She followed him out of the shop, pausing as he locked up. “But aren’t reason and passion mutually exclusive?”

  He turned with a questioning frown, but she was staring upward. The clouds had broken into silvered mountains tumbling across the sky, but sunset hues as bright as the blanket she’d just bought filled the patchwork spaces in between. He couldn’t move, but it wasn’t because of her—couldn’t be. The fynix was just yearning toward those last beams of light and she was standing in the way.

  He might’ve stood there until the silver turned to black, but she twisted to look at him again. “Sorry, normally I have as much time for philosophical musings as I do for werewolves and mermaids. Maybe this place is getting to me after all, just like Devon warned me.”