Catch a Falling Tyger Read online

  CATCH A FALLING TYGER

  A sexy, sci fi romance novella

  By Cathryn Cade w/a

  CJ CADE

  Windtree Press

  Beaverton, Oregon

  COPYRIGHT

  Copyright © 2019 by Cathryn Cade

  The L.S. Quantum and its world was originally created by author Jayne Fury for the SFRShootingStars.com anthology, Cosmic Cabaret, published October 2017 - April 2018. Catch a Falling Tyger was first published as part of this anthology.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  Contact information:

  Windtree Press

  Beaverton Oregon USA

  http://windtreepress.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout © 2017 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Catch a Falling Tyger / Cathryn Cade. — 2nd ed.

  ABOUT THE STORY

  Author’s Note: This story was first published in the Cosmic Cabaret SFR Anthology, 2017

  She has a star in her grasp, but this one will burn her…

  Chaz Jaguari, inter-galactic singing star, is in trouble.

  As he hides from his adoring public and the paparazzi on the luxury spaceship LS Quantum, the great ship detours close to his home planet, Bryght… and into the pull of his mating moons. Now the Tyger is in mating shift—mad, bad and dangerous to anyone but a willing female Tygress.

  Lucky for him, there's one available.

  Roxie Fellura, failed holovid journalist, is in trouble.

  As she goes about her PR duties on board Quantum, she's beguiled into a tryst as shift-mate to a virile, handsome male of her race. A Tygress' sensual dream come true.

  If she doesn't help him, he'll have to be tranqed until he can be transported off the liner.

  But if she does… she'll have the liaison of her life. There's just one, big, snarling problem… he's the reason she ran from their home planet in disgrace. The celebrity she humiliated before the entire galaxy.

  And if he finds out who she really is…she may lose more than her job this time.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Chaz Jaguari, inter-galactic singing star, was hiding out. Not only from the ever more merciless spotlight of the galactic paparazzi, but from his agent, his family, and the beings who called themselves his friends.

  He'd chosen to hide aboard L.S. Quantum, because a luxurious spaceship the size of a small city was the last place anyone would think to look for him.

  Everyone knew that when he'd had enough of fame and adulation, he sequestered himself at one of his homes, or the home of a wealthy acquaintance.

  He had no doubt that on Tygea, both his Rawr City penthouse and his country estate were being surveilled round the clock. Likewise his vineyard estate in the wine country of Pangaea, and the more recent of the many resorts at which he'd stayed in between tours.

  Let them look—let them all look, and send their spy-bots and drones and robo-holovid cams after him.

  They wouldn't find him.

  He'd been smuggled on board Quantum in a privacy pod, and delivered to this private suite on one of the platinum level decks. Hells, Quantum PR should call this an iridium-level suite, it was certainly luxurious enough.

  He rolled his head on the exquisitely soft airpillow of his chaise lounge, just enough to look out at the miniature arboretum area, fashioned after a Pangaean tropical garden. Clever placement of foliage and flowering plants including plumquot and gremel-fruit trees in front of mirrors made the garden seem nearly endless, as if he could wander until he lost himself in a jungle of green.

  Glow-lamps floated around the edges of the area, their soft golden glow like that of dusk on planet. There was even the occasional warbling trill of a bird, and the soft sound of water splashing into a pool.

  And he had it all to himself.

  The crew of Quantum knew only that a wealthy, unnamed being occupied the suite for the next two, possibly three lunar weeks.

  And that he wished to be left completely alone, served only by his own robo-concierge, unless he invited a living being to wait on him.

  The resort supplied live concierges, of course, but it was too easy for them to smuggle in tiny spy-cams. After being holovided in the lav on his first big tour, he'd learned to be very, very cautious. Better to be alone than to have his urine stream replayed across the galaxy.

  Or worse, a sexual liaison.

  And for the most part, when he wasn't rehearsing, performing or interacting with his few close friends and associates, alone worked just fine for Chaz.

  But right now, he didn't want to be alone. In fact, he couldn't bear his solitude for many more hours. He wanted, needed, craved with nearly every fiber of his being, another of his kind. A female Tyger.

  Any attractive, adult female of his race would do. But she'd better arrive soon, or he wouldn't be responsible for the damages.

  In a surge of restlessness, he bolted upright off the divan, and paced across the suite, into the perfumed shadows of the foliage.

  In fact, if they didn't find him a female soon, he was going to begin shifting without her, and that would not be good... for the suite or for his public relations.

  Because the slashing fang- and claw-marks of a lust-maddened Tyger were difficult to disguise as anything else.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Roxie Fellura dashed along a narrow back passageway of L.S. Quantum, and skidded to a stop before a door.

  Not one of the sleek, glamorous portals used by passengers, this was a plain, unadorned barrier separating plebeian staffers from the mighty.

  A door which would open only with the proper credentials.

  Which for this visit only, Roxie possessed. She placed her fingertips on the response pad beside the door. It lit up in response, inputting her data.

  She'd been summoned by her boss.

  Well, as the CEO of L.S. Quantum, he was everyone's boss on the space station resort, except the guests.

  And, if he really wanted a guest to do something, he had uniformed and armed ship guards to back him up. So, he was definitely top of the food chain, for everyone.

  While Roxie was somewhere near the bottom, maybe one step above the glo-carp swimming under the transparent floor of her favorite dining room on the ship.

  The shimmering orange-and-gold fish were there to be decorative until someone decided they wanted fresh fish for dinner.

  Roxie was on board to make sure their guests thought that an expensive fish dinner, or game of holo-shuffleboard, or a luxurious spa treatment, or a shopping spree in a high-end boutique was the best idea ever, and that the guest simply must have every luxury their credit rating would allow.

  In other words, she was in Public Relations. And when the CEO summoned, PR came at top speed.

  And if Roxie was the PR summoned, she came even faster.

  Because she could not afford to lose this job.

  She'd been lucky to get it, and she knew this. Losing it meant returning home to planet Bryght in even worse disgrace than she'd left.

  Thus, her tummy was tied in a knot, and her throat was so dry she felt like she had to cough up a furball.

  Being a Tygress, usually confident and buoyant, she was not used to being nervous.

  Although in the last months, she'd experienced it often enough. She was a feline pretending to be a bird, and by now even the CEO ha
d probably heard about her latest mistake.

  She fervently hoped this summons was not about her tangle with the Pangaean First Husband, who'd demanded she model sex toys for him, or even worse, her debacle with the Serpentian courtesan who Roxie sent to escort to an Aquarian diplomat.

  How was Roxie supposed to know Serps and Aqs hated each other?

  In her nightmares, she still heard the Serpentian hissing about cold, slimy fish-eaters while the Aquarian retorted that he refused to be seen with a scaly snake-creature who dined on dune-creepers. The Aq then promised to see that Roxie and the Serp lost their positions on Quantum.

  They were both still employed...so far.

  But as the identi-mech unit on the door chimed its acceptance, Roxie struggled to keep her feet planted on the floor, when her instincts snarled at her to run away, as fast as she'd arrived.

  For reassurance, she ran one hand down over her hip, where under her clothing, the gossamer lace of her favorite undies cradled her. The red spider-lace panties had been a gift from her maternal grandmother when Roxie came of age.

  Gran Fellura had promised, with a wicked twinkle in her eyes, that the panties would give her little Rouge the courage to go after what she really wanted...and when the right Tyger saw her in them, she'd get the male she wanted too.

  The panties were gorgeous, and when Roxie wore them, she swore she felt braver, more sensual, more comfortable in her own skin.

  Like a Tygress who could take on the galaxy and win.

  She'd even found a matching bra in a consignment shop in Rawr City, worn once by a wealthy Tygress and discarded. Even at that, the bra had cost more than she could afford, but she'd been unable to resist.

  Right now, shaking in her sensible shoes, Roxie was glad she'd spent the credits. She needed all the courage she could get.

  She knew many of her co-workers on the ship relied on stims and relaxants, but both made her feel sick as a canine.

  "Enter," said a saccharine, AI voice.

  The door slid open, and Roxie straightened her shoulders and walked into the CEO's office.

  As she did so, she expected to be met by the grave, even reproving gaze of the slim, silver-haired CEO of Quantum, always garbed in pale gray with a blush tanga blossom in his lapel.

  Instead, she found herself the cynosure of two new gazes—Tygean, like herself.

  The two males were virile, athletic, and bold of eye, like nearly all Tyger males. They looked to be her age, too. The larger had golden brown hair and broad shoulders, the other's hair was so pale it had to be enhanced, and he was slim as a whip.

  The Quantum's CEO sat at his very large, gleaming desk. He watched with apparent disinterest as the larger Tyger prowled around behind Roxie, while his companion looked her over from head to toe.

  "Uh, sir?" Roxie said, cocking her head in an attempt to meet the CEO's gaze. "You summoned me?"

  "We called you, kitten," the slim Tygean said, giving her a smirk. "Whaddya think, Burl?"

  Roxie stiffened as the big Tyger moved close behind her and sniffed, loudly.

  She whirled, giving him a narrow-eyed glare, which he returned with a smirk much like his companion's.

  "Now, don't get your fur in a ruffle, puss," he drawled. "Just gotta make sure you aren't reeking of some male."

  "I beg your pardon?" Roxie didn't reek of anything, thank you very much. She'd shower-dried only a few hours ago, and donned clothing fresh from the cryo-cleanse unit.

  Burl merely winked at her, before turning to his partner.

  "She'll do, Ives," he pronounced. "Though we'll need to get her into a decent ensemble. No offense, puss, but that suit's a real woofer."

  She snarled under her breath.

  Her trim flight-suit was standard issue uniform for Quantum executive staff. Fitted tights of dark gray and a matching sleeveless top under a pale gray jacket, with comfortable shoes.

  So gray wasn't one of her best colors—to be honest, it was her worst color.

  With her tawny skin, golden brown eyes and mane of brunette curls, the uniform made her look sallow, even with cosmetic enhancements.

  Also her ass was too big to be parading around in tights and a short jacket. That didn't mean these alley cats had to insult her appearance.

  To her utter shock, instead of frowning back, the Tygean reached out a long arm and gave her a friendly smack on her ass. "No worries, doll. With those lips, and these tits and ass, we'll soon have you looking hotter than Lola McKitt in full mating shift."

  "Yep," Ives agreed smugly. "All she has to do is give the boss that 'I'm gonna burn you up' look she's giving us right now, and he'll be all over her like Tyger-nip candy."

  Hands clawed to fend off any further physicality from either of them, Roxie backed toward her boss's desk, keeping both Tygers in view. "Sir?" she asked urgently. "Would you please explain to me what is going on here?"

  "No, no, it's their show," the CEO said, in a tone that said he was as distant from the proceedings as a holovid.

  "But who are they?" she demanded. "And why do they seem to think I am a—an escort?"

  The slim Tygean smiled at her, and sauntered toward her. Since his friend—or partner in crime, whatever—was circling the desk the other way, almost as if the CEO, the most powerful being on this station, wasn't even in the room, Roxie backed against the desk, and glowered at both of them in turn.

  "Kitten," the slim Ives said, moving in toe-to-toe with her. "For the next one hundred lunar hours, give or take, you are."

  "I am what?" Roxie was now leaning back as far as she could over the broad desk—which, since Tygeans were strong and very flexible, meant her hair, twisted neatly at the back of her head, brushed the desk behind her.

  But even this did not put her out of Ives' reach. He loomed over her, giving her a look glittering with cheerful menace. "You are an escort. A courtesan. A concubine. Call it whatever you like. You shall be a vessel of relief for our employer."

  "A 'vessel of relief'," Burl repeated. "That's near poetic, Ives."

  "Thank you." Ives preened, smirking at Roxie. "Y'see, puss, this cruise wasn't supposed to—well, at least, we didn't know when we set up the cruise that we'd be lingering here in home territory. And now, one set of our Cattarus system moons have risen to their male phase, inciting the predictable hormonal reaction in—er, Charlie."

  "Yeah, so the poor guy's shifted," Burl put in. "You gotta help him out."

  Fury, molten hot as lava on the surface of a new planet, coursed through Roxie's veins.

  It wasn't her fault these Tygers were too mouse-brained to predict this would happen to their employer if he boarded a cruise ship when his mating moons were ascendant.

  She drew herself up, planted her hand on Ives' shoulder and shoved him away from her.

  She gave a hiss of warning that any Tygean knew meant violence was imminent. "I am not a prostitute! Not for any being—I don't care who he is, or how wealthy or powerful. And you can't make me—none of you can."

  She'd already been forced to take a massive detour from her chosen career in journalism to take this job.

  No matter what, she refused to sink so low as to sell her body. And since this was a free Federation vessel, they could not make her do anything.

  That is, until Ives did something so treacherous, so unfair, so under-handed that he deserved to freeze in the coldest, deepest level of the 7th hell.

  With lightning swiftness, he drew a piece of cloth from his pocket and waved it under her nose.

  "You sure about that, pussy-cat?" he crooned.

  A delicious, beguiling scent wafted from the cloth. Roxie froze, her eyes nearly crossed as she peered down her nose at it.

  Unable to help herself, she reached up and grabbed the cloth from Ives' hand.

  It was a cream, lii silk handkerchief, soft as a sigh.

  And it was imbued with the musky, spicy pheromones of a male Tyger in mating shift.

  Burying her nose in the scrap of silk, Roxie drew in a
deep breath.

  She shivered with longing, wishing it was the skin of the Tyger male himself—whoever he was.

  Oh, great God beyond, he smelled absolutely delicious. She wanted him now. She wanted to sniff and lick and bite him all over, give him a tonguing he'd never forget. Then she'd... no, wait. What was happening here?

  "No," she said, but her voice emerged as a low, rasping purr. A needy rowl of desire. She fought to throw the scrap of lii silk back at Ives, but her hand wouldn't seem to let go of it. In fact, her hand was fisted around it so tightly her nails dug into her own palm.

  "No-oo," she repeated, disbelief, horror and animal lust warring inside her.

  "Ah," Ives breathed. "Burl, I do believe we have a match. Our Tyger kitty is taking to his scent like a dose of hyper-nip ."

  "Excellent," Burl replied. "Let's introduce the happy couple."

  "Wait, wait," Ives held up a hand. "There is the little matter of the non-disclosure clause."

  Non-disclosure clause? If their mysterious boss required one of those for a mating shift partner, that was very, very bad.

  Roxie took a step back and and shook her head. "No. No, that's it, I'm definitely not going near your mysterious boss, no matter how good he smells. No Tyger is going to claw me and get away with it."

  Ives shook his head and Burl grimaced. "No, no, puss. He's not into violence. No more than any other Tyger in shift, that is. No, this is, uh..."

  "Let's put it this way," Ives put in. "You know him—you know his face, that is. You know his, uh, his roar."

  "He's a celebrity?" Roxie took another step back, her nose wrinkling in revulsion. "Oh, no, now I really want nothing to do with him. No celebrities, whatsoever."

  They gaped at her. "Whaddya mean, no celebrities?" Burl demanded. "Why, every female—and plenty of males—between the ages of puberty and senility would give their fangs to be with this guy."

  Everyone except her. She'd had her celebrity exposure, and gotten burned—so badly she still hadn't recovered. So badly her pride might never allow her to return home to Bryght.