by Drea Roman
A wet tongue brushes against my cheek, waking me. Tilting my head up, I look into the almost black eyes of my wolf mate.
“Hi there,” I whisper as I struggle to sit up. Darren scoots back and sits up, his tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, making him look like he is grinning. From the twinkling of his wolf eyes, I believe he may be. I raise my right hand to his nose, and my wolf sniffs it thoroughly before gently nipping at my wrist, making me laugh. He ducks his head down, butting it against my palm, which I take as an invitation to pet him. Slowly, I stroke my hand down the length of his body, pausing a moment to scratch his rump at the base of his tail.
He thumps his tail against the bed, and I push myself up into a better position so I can run both of my hands through his soft and fluffy fur. “Your fur is much softer than it looks.”
Darren nods, nosing his head under my hand so I can scratch him behind his ears. He closes his eyes, and the expression on his face looks blissful. Well, blissful for a wolf. We sit like this for a few moments, me petting my mate and him relaxing under my fingers.
Suddenly, he shifts, and I find myself curled up next to a naked man with an unrepentant grin on his face. When my fingers still in his hair, he bumps his head against my hand just like he did in wolf form. Clearly, my wolf likes to be petted in both forms. He wriggles around until his much larger body is wrapped around mine. He nestles his head in my lap and looks up at me.
“Hi.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Hi, yourself.”
“Feeling better after your nap?”
I think about that a moment, taking stock of my aches and pains. Then I nod decisively, but my head objects to the bobbing motion, and I groan.
“Careful,” my mate admonishes, making me sigh. For the moment, I can’t do anything, which is unfortunate since I have a very sexy and very nude man wrapped around me.
“I’m okay. Shouldn’t bob my head though.”
“The ankle?”
“Hmm.” I think about it a moment. “Surprisingly okay. The cast is heavy and itchy, but the pain is dull for now. Guess they gave me some good drugs.”
Darren’s face is serious as he gazes up at me. “You are healing really fast, Tuck.”
It seems to me that should be a cause for celebration, but the way he says it makes me wonder. “That’s a good thing, right?”
He nods, and I run my fingers through the silky strands of his shoulder-length hair. “It would be better if we knew what kind of being you are. Is your memory any better?”
Frowning, I concentrate a moment, but my thoughts are too scattered to give me much insight. “Not really. I know I am not a shifter, but. . .” I trail off, unsure how to put my feeling into words.
“But what?” Darren asks softly, and I feel his fingers rubbing gently against my hip.
“But . . .” I shrug, momentarily unable to find the words. Darren watches me, the look on his face patient and caring. Sighing, I concentrate on running the strands of his dark hair through my fingers.
“I don’t remember much, and when I try, my thoughts slide away. It is a sickening feeling.” I pause, then look my mate directly in his dark eyes. “But having you with me helps me not to panic. Otherwise, I’m not sure how I would be feeling.”
Darren nods and smiles up at me softly. “I am here for you, mate. Whatever it takes.”
My stomach takes this opportunity to growl, and my mate laughs, the sound deep and husky. Damn it, I think, not for the first time, why do I have to be so injured?
“On that note, I need to feed you, my mate.” When Darren rises from the bed, I shamelessly watch his nude form, my hands itching to trace the lines of his body. He throws me a wink before grabbing a pair of jeans from the closet and leaving the room to fetch me food, like the loyal wolf mate that he is.
The next few days pass in a blur of eating, resting, sleeping, and snuggling. At first Darren seemed a little bit timid about sleeping in the bed with me, concerned about jostling my ankle or head, but I solved that right quick. “You are going to sleep in this bed next to me, mate. You don’t have a choice.” He chuckled and settled right in beside me, pulling me gently into his warm embrace.
We do not talk much about my memory as my body insists on nap after nap as it repairs itself. Darren helps me shower the day after my release from the hospital. But within a few days, I barely need the crutches at all.
After three days of nothing but naps, I am starting to feel antsy. We wake up to a light snowfall, the first of the season. Darren grumbles, but I insist we must build snowmen. I let him roll up a base for me. Then I shoo him away.
“I know how to do this. I’ve making snowmen my whole life.”
Darren snorts. “Fine, you’re on. Care to make a wager?”
“No need. I know I’m gonna win.”
We laugh and chat as we give our snowmen heads and decorate their faces with pebbles from Darren’s yard.
“I need some more rocks,” Darren says, searching the ground. I am propped up on my crutches as I put the finishing touches on my snowman’s face. When Darren looks back, his mouth drops open. “Where did you find those?”
My hands still in their work as I look at my snowman’s face in astonishment. A corncob pipe is nestled in the corner of his mouth, which is a row not of pebbles, but of hard, shiny pieces of coal. A carrot makes his nose, and large, black button eyes stare up at me from under a silk hat, set at a jaunty angle on his head. “I have no idea,” I breathe out, my words frosty in the chilly air.
Darren steps closer with a look of apprehension, which is quickly replaced with appreciation. “No fair. You cheated.”
Laughing, I sling a scarf of unknown origin around my snowman’s neck and tie it with a flourish. “Tada!”
The effect is sweet. A traditional snowman stands before us with his corncob pipe held tightly between his teeth.
“I don’t know where you got the hat, the pipe, or the scarf, but cheater though you are, you definitely win.” I cheer, knocking over my crutches as I leap into Darren’s arms for a hug. Darren looks over my shoulder at the crutches and then looks back at me inquisitively.
I can tell what is on his mind, but I would really rather kiss him than speculate why my ankle barely hurts at all. Leaning against his chest, my ankle still too weak to support my weight, I grab his head and bring his face to mine for a kiss. It is sweet, yet hot, and my heart fills with happiness and longing.
“Tell me a story about yourself, Darren.” I whisper against his lips before pulling back to balance on my one good foot, my arms still clutching his. “We haven’t done much in the way of getting to know each other in the past few days, unless you count feeding me and helping me go back and forth to the backroom, and this elf does not.”
“Elf?” His tone is light, almost sweet, like he is trying to lure a frightened kitten out from under his porch.
Closing my eyes, I try to shift something out of my brain, but my clearest memories are since the crash. My clearest memories are of Darren. I shake my head lightly, trying to shake something lose. Nothing comes, and I sigh sadly. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”
When I open my eyes, I find Darren smiling down at me tenderly. “It is okay, Tuck. You will remember.” A momentary pause, and then he changes the subject and I am thankful.
“Let’s go inside and have some hot chocolate.”
“Will you tell me about your childhood then? I feel like I barely know you yet, even though my soul sings out for you.”
Darren swings me up into his arms, and I laugh. Someone else’s deep chuckle resounds in my mind, bringing with it feelings of peace and longing. I try to send an impression of confusion back to the voice, but without another sound, it is gone.
A growly whisper in my ear draws my attention back to my surroundings. “My soul sings out for you, too, my little magic one.”
Darren carries me inside and deposits me on the couch before running back out to retrieve the forgotten crutches. Though he t
hrows me a curious look, he just leans them against the wall by the entryway closet instead of bringing them to me. Even though I still have the cast on and have not seen the doctor again yet, the ankle feels close to healed, with only the occasional twinge. My head, on the other hand, is another matter entirely. Though it feels okay right now, dizziness and a strange sensation of disorientation strike me at the oddest times. No, I frown as I think while Darren goes into the kitchen to make hot chocolate and I curl up on the couch. It hurts most when I try to figure out who I am and where I came from.
I am lost in thought until Darren comes from the kitchen with a tray bearing two steaming mugs of hot cocoa and a bowl in the middle full of mini marshmallows.
“Marshmallows! My favorite,” I exclaim as he sets the tray on the coffee table before handing me a large mug with a Christmas scene on the side. It is Charlie Brown and Snoopy standing next to their tiny Christmas tree. “Oh, I love this one.”
“Good, because this one is my favorite.” He lifts up his mug to reveal Rudolph and Clarice. His grin falters when I frown. “Is something wrong? Does your head hurt again? I will grab your meds.”
He makes a move to rise from the couch, but I stop him with a hand on his leg. “No. I’m fine. Sorry, the mug is cute. Rudolph was always so stuck up.”
Darren laughs at that. “What, did you know him in person?” he quips teasingly. For a second, I want to say yes. But I shake my head instead, unsure of what my thoughts mean. I take a drink of my cocoa to stop myself from saying something I cannot confirm, not even in my own mind. God, this memory loss is for the birds.
Darren senses my shift in mood immediately. “I am so sorry, Tuck. I shouldn’t have teased you about knowing someone. It was very rude and careless of me. I promise never to do it again. Will you forgive me?”
I cannot help but smile at his earnest, crestfallen face. Lowering my mug, I pretend to look at him sternly. “Only if you put a big handful of those marshmallows in my cocoa.”
He smiles in relief and scoops a handful of marshmallows and drops them into my drink as I hold it out to him.
“Thank you. Now you are supposed to tell me a story about your childhood, since I can’t remember mine at the moment.”
Darren takes a long drink of his cocoa and sets it down on the coffee table, not looking at me at first. “My father died ten years ago, leaving me this land and his horses.”
“Horses? You have horses? Is Eddie taking care of them for you?”
Darren laughs at my question, finally looking up, his expression full of old sorrow. “Good guess. I gave Eddie the last of my father’s horses after my dad’s death. They have all probably passed on at this point.” I set down my cocoa and grab Darren’s hand where he had it resting on his knee.
“You and your father were very close?”
He nods. “My mother died not long after giving birth to me, so my father raised me on his own. We were very close. I followed him around like a shadow. He taught me how to hunt, as a human and as a wolf. Everything I needed to know to be an honorable wolf shifter, he instilled in me every day. I always knew I wanted to be a fireman, and Dad supported me every step of the way, even though he was afraid of losing me in an accident.”
The thought of Darren being hurt in an accident sends a shiver through me and dings a faint bell in the back of my head. Fire. Smoke. But just as quickly the thought is gone, just like all of my important thoughts lately. Except for my thoughts of Darren, which seem to hold my being together.
My mate sighs, and I snuggle closer to him, trying to give him comfort.
“How did he die?” I whisper to him because it seems important to be solemn at this moment.
“Cancer,” Darren admits. “Pancreatic cancer.”
I gasp. Even my somewhat befuddled brain knows what pancreatic cancer is and that the survival rate past a few months is very low. I grab Darren’s hand and intertwine our fingers to comfort him.
“He survived nearly two years, but it took a toll on everything. I hadn’t been with the fire department long but was able to work my shifts around his treatment and care. Eddie and Colt were very fond of my dad, so they helped us out a lot. The end was so clearly inevitable, you know. Not like other cancers that can be cured. Most people die pretty quickly once they are diagnosed.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Come here.” I pull my mate into my embrace and hold him tightly. A few damp tears against my neck tell me how much Darren still grieves.
“We used to build snowmen together every year,” my mate whispers against my neck.
“I am so glad we built some together today, too. It can be our tradition now.” I feel his smile against my neck.
“What about you?” he asks without pulling away from me. I cradle his head against me as I close my eyes and try to come up with at least some memory worth sharing.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he leans back from our embrace but pulls me into his lap instead. “I forgot for a moment.”
“Shh. It’s fine. The thoughts aren’t clear, but I do remember making snowmen with my friends and decorating Christmas trees with garlands of cranberries and popcorn with my family.”
Darren smiles before pecking me on the cheek. “Then that is exactly what we will do this year.”
“Really?” I am thrilled by the idea of decorating my mate’s house for Christmas. “We can get a real tree, too? Those smell the best. Don’t tell me you have a dusty artificial one stuffed away in your attic.”
“Real it definitely will be. There is a tree farm not far from here, run by a couple of elves. Plus, I don’t have an attic.”
“Elves live here?” I’m shocked and delighted, practically vibrating with joy in his lap. “When can we go?”
Darren chuckles. “Saturday, because tomorrow the Vale Valley Christmas Festival begins, and I am sure you would love to go. You seem pretty fond of Christmas. Would you like to go to the town tree lighting with me tomorrow night? I didn’t think you would be able to attend, but since your ankle appears to be doing so much better, I think we can manage.”
I squeal with delight and hug my mate tighter to me. “I am so fond of Christmas. You have no idea. I am already making so many plans.” I laugh. “Hopefully I will remember them.”
Luckily, Darren takes the joke in the manner I intend it and laughs with me. All afternoon, Darren tells me stories about his father, Eddie, Colt, and all of the other shifters he grew up with. When it is time for dinner, he makes me lasagna, which reminds me of what Eddie said at the hospital.
“Your lasagna is great. Why would Eddie want to me to make it for him?”
Darren laughs. “Because he is banned from my lasagna after he ate three whole pans and left the entire crew without dinner one time last year.”
“Somehow, I am not surprised. He’s the one who leads all of the shenanigans, isn’t he?”
“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? He’s been my best friend since the third grade when I had to rescue him from a tree. For some reason, horse shifters can climb up trees, but they can’t get down, not even in human form.”
“And wolves can climb trees?”
“Better than a horse can.”
We spend the evening laughing and talking. The only sadness for me is my inability to tell him anything more about myself than he already knows. And that is not much. Except he is my mate, and when Darren looks into my eyes, I know he is happy I am here, even if I don’t know who I am.
6
Darren
The sound of splintering wood greets my ear as I race through the cold dark forest alone. Tuck, my soul cries out as I howl, frantically sniffing all four winds, desperate to find his scent again. Snowflakes fall, cold against my nose, and I toss my head to dislodge them. Where is he?
Another noise, this time closer. Heart-rending cries as Tuck screams for me, but the sound cuts off. I streak down the pine-lined lane, skidding to a stop in front
of a horrifying sight. My barn is engulfed in flames, and my mate lies unconscious on the hay-strewn floor.
“Darren! Darren!” Someone jostles my shoulder, and my eyes pop open to find Tuck staring down at me in confusion and concern. “It’s okay. It was just a nightmare. I’m here.”
Roughly, I grab him in my arms and pull him against me, tucking my head into his neck and breathing in his candy cane scent. “Oh, my God, Tuck. I thought I had lost you.”
“Shhh, I am right here,” he murmurs against my ear. “You’re fine. I’m fine.” He squeezes me tightly for a few moments before saying, “Let me up. I am more fine than you know.”
Reluctantly, I release him so he can sit up. Tuck pulls himself into a cross-legged position beside me and thumps his ankle down on my stomach.
“Umph.” The room is dimly lit, being only about six in the morning, but I can see quite clearly through my shifter eyes. Tuck’s ankle is completely healed. At first my mind cannot comprehend what I am seeing here. Gently, I touch my mate’s ankle to find it warm and soft, the skin smooth and unscarred.
“Where is your cast? Your stitches?” I sputter out, completely confused. Maybe I am still dreaming.
“No, you are not still dreaming,” Tuck says cheerily, as if he heard my thoughts, which should not be possible without our bond in place.
Tuck slides closer and holds up his leg for me to inspect. His ankle is bare, cast-less, without a single scar from the stitches that no longer mar the nearly snowy perfection of his skin.
“How did this happen?” I whisper as I gently stroke his ankle and foot. Tuck giggles when I touch his arch, clearly ticklish there.
“I snapped my fingers.”
Shock runs through me at his revelation. Tuck looks up at me shyly through his eyelashes before straightening up and smiling down at me. “In my dream, I wished to be completely healed so I could mate with you. I just snapped my fingers like this.” With a flourishing flick of his wrist, he snaps his fingers as if he were casting a spell in a Harry Potter movie, only sans wand. I thought he was merely demonstrating, but something heavy falls between us onto the sheets. I am too scared to touch it, but Tuck scoops it up and hands it to me. It is a brand-new Maglite flashlight, the exact kind we use at our fire station.
