“What a way to go, am I right?” he sighed now, about two hours later, flicking the top off the dusty shoebox marked Farah Moore, almost putting it right back on. Lying right on top of dozens of loose papers were the bright yellow Post-Its she used to slap on everything, labeling the house from linen closet to wrapping paper drawer.
Don’t forget to fill the ice cube trays, said the first one.
Tucker frowned. Now that he thought about it, Farah had done a lot more than label drawers and cabinets, hadn’t she? She’d put reminders everywhere on the same sticky yellow paper. Check milk for expiration on Tuesdays. Trash goes out on Thursday morning. The mailman’s name is Todd. Tucker’s pediatrician’s number is…and so on.
Note after note of the same messages sat in the shoe box. Hundreds of them.
A creak on the basement stairs brought Tucker’s head up, his heart throwing itself into a sprint when he scented his mate., even though he’d only seen her a matter of moments ago when she’d implored him to get inside, lest he turn to a puff of ash. The new blood in his body raced south and thickened his cock in the old pair of sweatpants he’d found in the drawer, the act of becoming aroused so much stronger and swifter now that his heart was functioning again. His momentary dizziness caused a split-second delay in helping Mary and he cursed his ineptitude, jumping to his feet and reaching her fast enough to blow the notes from his mother all over the basement.
“Did you sleep?” he asked, taking her hand and guiding her into the relative darkness.
“A little.” A smile curved her lips. That was the only warning Tucker was given before his mate let go of the railing, spread her arms and let herself free fall forward into his arms. Of course he caught her. Of course there was no chance of a different outcome when her safety ruled his actions, but his throat muscles closed up all the same.
“You woke up in a playful mood,” Tucker choked out, carrying her down the stairs smashed against his chest, her toes dangling somewhere near his shins.
“Yes.” She laid her cheek against his chest and grinned. “I was more relaxed knowing you weren’t hungry or…”
“Horny?” His laughter was pained. “I got news for you, that’s an ongoing problem.”
He was on the bottom step when their lips met in a melting slide of a kiss, her moan causing every nerve ending in his body to vibrate. “Let’s fix it.”
Tucker groaned, his palm raking down her back and stopping just short of her ass. His hunger demanded to be appeased, his fangs waiting eagerly on standby, pulsing in his gums. But the heart she’d brought back to life ached so fucking badly. The organ wailed pitifully in his chest at the uncertainty of their future together. He was a mated vampire that craved eternity with his fairy, but despite loving each other, their time together was dwindling.
His plan was still to drive her the remaining miles to Hadrian tonight.
That hadn’t changed, even if everything else had.
The unknown made him anxious. Fraught.
If he made love to her again in this state, he worried what he might say to keep her. What he might do. How his desperation might translate into him being too aggressive.
“It’s not your job to fix me,” he said gruffly, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ear. “To feed me and keep me satisfied. Your only obligation is to yourself.”
Her brow furrowed. “It doesn’t feel like an obligation. More like an…honor.”
Tucker laid his mouth across her much softer one, unable to resist tasting her with a slow sweep of his tongue. “I’m the one who is honored.”
The smile that crossed her face him caused such a devastating twist in his chest, he had to set her down, back away and gather himself, otherwise risk taking her too roughly on the closest piece of dusty furniture.
He ran a hand through his hair, pulling hard enough on the strands to divert the pain from his groin. “I, uh…” He cleared his throat hard. “I found this shoebox of notes from my mother. Pops must have saved them.”
Mary gave him an odd look at the abrupt change of subject. “Oh.” She rubbed her lips together, as if checking their kiss for clues about his weird behavior. “What do they say?”
“Nothing important.” Tucker stooped down and picked up two yellow notes, both of which were covered in his mother’s big, loopy handwriting. “This one says, Tip the garbage man at Christmas. Then, board games shelf.” A few seconds tucked by. “My father was always a little scatterbrained. Misplacing things, forgetting to perform the daily tasks. Weekly and yearly, too.” He started picking up the notes, taking better care of them this time around. “She was helping him get organized.”