But furthermore…these weren’t normal men.
When they smiled at him, fangs protruding in slow motion from their gums, that theory was set in stone. It was either a dream, a hell of a party trick, or these dudes were other. There was a word for them winging around in his skull, but even in those dire circumstances, he couldn’t bring himself to believe anything so absurd.
The men swapped places at a sickening rate of speed, leaving outlines of their silhouettes in the air, like smoke. Approached him without moving their feet.
Tucker’s whole body went cold. Instinct warned him he was in a point of no return.
I should have tried harder.
I should have made a home, grown up, done something better with my time.
Maybe this is it. Maybe this is all I can do.
“Run,” Tucker roared, loud as possible, making sure to lock eyes with the drivers who were helping each other to their feet now. “Run!”
And then Tucker took off toward the river as fast as he could, knowing he’d be caught, but if he could just draw them away from the crowd, even just divert their attention for a few minutes, he’d do it. He’d finally find a purpose.
It didn’t take long for them to catch up and set upon him, but the distant roar of engines and burning of rubber comforted Tucker when the fangs sank into his neck, rendering him paralyzed. His final breath—as a human, anyway—carried one word with it, mired in disbelief.
“Vampires.”
Chapter 2
Present Day
Why did there always have to be a quest?
Vampires and their endless drama.
Humans were out in the real world running around, trying to figure out ways to stay alive longer. Juice diets and squats and vitamins. Little did they know immortality was exhausting and they should count their lucky stars to be decomposing. They should really just relax.
What Tucker wouldn’t give to chill out with a cold one. Put his feet up somewhere, order a meat lover’s sub and not have to worry about retrieving some majestic item from one location and delivering it to another. God. Was the world ever actually ending? Or were immortals just bored? Could they put quests to a vote?
All those in favor of putting a moratorium on epic journeys, say aye.
Aye.
That vote would have to go on the ballot a different time, unfortunately, because tonight, he and his friends were on—you guessed it—a quest.
Tucker raked a hand down his face and followed the weird fae lady through Enders, a packed slayer bar in Coney Island, glancing back over his shoulder to make sure Elias and Roksana were being allowed through the angry mob without incident. Roksana wasn’t exactly popular among her colleagues at the moment, considering she was a slayer who’d fought on the side of the vampires last time they were in this establishment, thus betraying the slayer credo: Always be killing vampires.
Currently, Elias was pretending to hold Roksana captive. She was posing as an offering to Tilda, the fae owner of Enders, so they would be allowed entry. It was easy to see the ruse was wearing thin on Elias. Even the pretense of harming his mate was unacceptable.
What must that level of devotion to another being feel like?
Tucker would probably never know. He was as hopeless with females as a vampire as he’d been as a human. Both of his best friends had found their mates—human ones, at that—and he was the perpetual the fifth wheel. A role he’d become comfortable playing. The driver. The one who picked up the slack while his friends went around being lovesick idiots, volunteering him for quests and other bullshit when all he really wanted was a nap.
Damn. Remember naps?
Tucker sighed long and loud, but kept strutting, winking at a particularly angst-ridden slayer who took great pleasure in brandishing his stake. “Beautiful,” Tucker mouthed, slapping a hand to his chest. “Five stars. Great craftsmanship.”
The slayer hissed at him and Tucker chuckled.
Lord, the drama.
Tucker, Elias and Roksana were in Enders tonight to retrieve something called the game piece. In order to induce Tilda, the fae, to hand it over, they were exchanging a marriage decree they’d won at a poker game in Moscow. Did shit get any more complicated than that?
Oh, wait. The marriage decree was for Tilda’s daughter, Mary the Mad.
Mary. The. Mad.
Because sure. Why not?
Tucker was there tonight as backup. An extra pair of fangs and fists. No quest directly involved him, after all. He was a side player. A facilitator. The universal ride. He was on everyone’s speed dial when the shit went down.
Just once, he’d love his phone to ring so someone could pass on good news.
Hey Tucker, you won’t believe this. The world didn’t end.
Yo, T, vampires can taste sandwiches again.
T-man, did you hear? We don’t disintegrate in the sun anymore. Let’s go to the beach.
Those were calls he would love to receive.
Instead, when he hit talk, a calamity was befalling such and such, specifics were involved, the end was nigh. Sometimes he even had to do math. Not ideal.
To be fair, this quest was on the more serious end of the scale. Roksana needed to trade the marriage decree for the game piece and get it back to Moscow. Like now.
Otherwise she’d be killed.
That was the other thing about quests. Not completing them meant serious consequences.
“Oh!” At the head of their procession through the slayer bar, Tilda turned and clapped her hands twice. “I almost forgot. The vampires have brought you all a gift.” She sent a handful of dancing sparks over Tucker’s head, blowing and twisting their way toward Roksana. “The traitor slayer is all yours. I could tell you to be firm yet fair, but I’d rather save my breath. Paint the walls with her blood, if you must, just keep the noise down.” She added in a whisper, “Mary is sleeping upstairs.”
With that, the slayers converged on Roksana.
Predictably, Elias lost his ever-loving shit, dropping the pretense of being Roksana’s captor and roaring loud enough to shake the rafters, his fangs dropping into view, glinting ominously in the red bar light. But the threat of violence didn’t stop one of the slayers from grabbing Roksana’s arm and yanking her into the angry mob, their laughter gleeful.
Tucker pushed through the teeming pack of slayers at high speed, searching for blonde hair. Roksana being in danger was a serious problem, considering Elias had the ability to wield fire and this place was definitely not up to code—
“Mother?”
At the sound of the small, sleepy voice, Tucker’s progress ground to a dramatic halt. Everything inside him paused, really, which was odd since none of his innards actually worked anymore. In the matter of a split second, however, his entire being turned vulnerable. Sensitive. He felt a dust mote land on his shoulder, an electrical current pass through him, head to toe. Almost as if he’d stuck his finger in a light socket.
Had everyone in Enders stopped moving, too, or was he caught in a time rift?
Tucker turned and saw her.
A young woman in an old-fashioned nightgown, messy, dark red hair. Barefooted.
Holding a broomstick.
Light seemed to swarm and cling to her, illuminating sensual features, innocent curiosity—and Tucker’s mouth went dry as a desert. The nightgown she wore was extremely thin, and despite his best effort, he couldn’t help tracing the top line of her panties through the cotton, his gums beginning to tingle, signaling the imminent dropping of his fangs. If his palms still had the ability to perspire, it would have been necessary to wipe them on his pant legs. Who…was this girl? Why was someone so visibly fragile in the midst of such ugliness?
Protectiveness ripped up the sides of his throat and held, choking off his breath.
Hunger, too, surprisingly. That rushing whisper of vitality that seemed to caress his ears and slip down his throat, enticing him to drink…was her blood doing that?
He didn’t know. Th
is level of hunger hadn’t struck him in so long, maybe ever, and he barely recognized it. Suppressed the need with all his willpower.
She was so far beyond beautiful to him, it almost defied description.
Celestial. Not of this place. Too divine. Crafted with extra care by a higher power.
If she was a day over nineteen or twenty, he’d be shocked…and that made him a sicko, right? For noticing her so…thoroughly? He’d lost track of his age, but although he had the body of a twenty-six-year-old, he must be nearing goddamn forty in vampire years.
Did her head cock in his direction or was he dreaming?
“Mother?” called the young woman again.
“Mary, you’re supposed to be sleeping!” Tilda scolded the girl, hurrying in her direction. “Go on back up to bed now. Mummy is working.”
Mary.
Mary the Mad?
No. No, that was impossible. This girl could never earn a nickname like that.
Mary the Harmless, maybe. Mary the Stunning.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” The girl stared in Tucker’s direction, looking right past him. He was used to that—the opposite sex staring through him to the other side—so it didn’t strike him as odd, until he realized she was using the broom to feel her way forward.
Blind? Was she…blind?
“Is it the marriage decree?” Mary asked anxiously. “Have you found it?”
“Yes, dear. Yes.” Tilda patted the girl’s arm, attempting to pull her back toward the staircase, in the direction of the rear office where they’d been headed before the chaos broke out. Tucker’s hackles rose at the display of force, well-meaning though it seemed, and he took an involuntary step forward. “I told you I would take care of everything, didn’t I?” Tilda added.
“Yes, but…” Mary’s breath came faster, as if she was in distress, and Tucker experienced that panic in the deepest regions of his chest. No one moved. Everyone stared at her in quiet veneration. Tucker was caught in a state of suspended animation himself, but he had the overwhelming instinct to calm her down. Make everything right in her world. Immediately. “Yes, but now will I have to go away and marry the—?”
Tilda interrupted with a high-pitched laugh, a flush breaking across on her cheeks. “This should be a family discussion, dear. Not a public one.”
“Will you tell my future husband I’m blind or are we going to surprise him?”
Future husband.
Tucker bit down on the inside of his cheek, his knees twinging like they might drop him.
The marriage decree. It was for her. He’d known that, of course.
But she’d been faceless until now. Inconsequential.
What was she now? What was happening to him?
“Mary, please. Come upstairs.”
Mary’s head jerked to one side, like a woman home alone at midnight who hears a stair creaking. Wary, curious. Her nose wrinkled and she advanced toward Tucker slightly, her bare feet moving on the filthy, unworthy floor of the bar. Slayers parted like a book being opened as she got closer to him, her hand lifting slowly, reaching out. Was she going to touch him? Jesus. He started breathing hard, even though oxygen meant nothing to him.
Desire wasn’t exactly a word Tucker threw around, but there was no other description for the thick weight that stretched his loins just looking at the redhead. Soft. So soft and welcoming. A perfect foil to his ample size and coarseness. He would have begged just to press his mouth to her belly or inhale the scent of her from a piece of clothing. Anything.
He had one recurring thought that scared the shit out of him. If she touches me, I’m done. If she touches me, I’m done.
And she did.
And he was.
Her fingertips trailed sideways along the middle of Tucker’s chest. She traced his gold chains, branding the skin of his neck with gentleness, then carefully walked them over his features, a frown marring her brow. She felt her way along his nose, cheekbones and lips, disrupting his sanity wherever her touch traveled, arousing, while somehow comforting him at the same time. Giving him reassurance he’d never felt, not since becoming immortal. He would have closed his eyes and savored not only her touch, but the utter beauty of her up close, if he could have. If only he could stop staring. Absorbing the texture of her fingertips and imagining them much farther south. Unzipping his jeans and sliding her soft hand inside. Exploring.
Greedy. Be satisfied with her touching your face. Who knew when he might get this lucky again? This angelic creature seemed fixated on him—Tucker Moore—and he wasn’t budging for all the cigars in Brooklyn.
“Who is this, Mother?” Mary asked.
“You can ask him directly, Mary. He’s standing right in front of you.”
“I’m just Tucker,” he said, his voice far less firm than intended.
That line between her eyebrows deepened. “Just?”
Her confusion made his chest feel odd. Change the subject. Entertain her. Make her stay. “Why do you use a broom to guide you?”
Her perplexity cleared. “Because it serves a dual purpose. I’m not just walking around, I’m cleaning the floor behind me. I’m like a human—”
“Roomba,” they said at the same time.
“Yes,” Mary whispered, smiling. Happy red pinpricks came to life and whirred around the crown of her head, kicking up a hushed murmur around the bar, not to mention in his heart. Elsewhere, Tucker had far less admirable thoughts, though. Imagining those specks of light dancing on his thighs and stomach, the fly of his jeans turned even more restricting. But the swelling between his legs paused abruptly when she said, innocently as all get out, “Are you here to bring me to my future husband?”
Husband.
Husband?
Jealousy ripped through him. Was his throat caving in? “No.”
“Can you?”
“No,” Mary’s mother answered in his stead, once again seizing her daughter by the elbow and attempting to guide her away from Tucker. No. His muscles tensed, his feet jolting into action. He moved with the women, quickly, because distance between him and the redhead irked and rattled him. Pained him, even. Why? How? “No, he can’t, dear.”
Mary pulled out of her mother’s hold. “You haven’t even asked him.”
“I’ll do whatever she wants.” Tucker rasped, meaning every word. “Please.”
Just let me stay near her a while longer.
Tilda snorted. “Absolutely not.”
The red pricks of light doing a jig around Mary’s head started spinning. Faster and faster until each individual spark was indistinguishable and it looked like a halo. Fitting for an angel.
And this angel was pissed.
She sucked in a breath and screamed.
It wasn’t your standard scream. Oh no.
For one, it shattered eyewear and highballs throughout the slayer joint, sending glass shards every which way, some burying in skin, other bits tinkling onto the floor. The humans in the room went down on their knees, hands clapped over their ears, faces contorted in pain. Tucker’s own ears registered discomfort, but Mary’s obvious unhappiness was more upsetting to him than the supernatural sound. He stepped toward her, reaching out, unsure of what to do. Only knowing he had to fix it. Fix it now.
“Mary!” Tilda shouted, taking her daughter by the shoulders. “Enough of this—”
The scream only got louder, more intense.
Tucker could only stand there and marvel.
“Fine!” Tilda screeched. “Fine, yes…he can bring you. All right? Stop this at once!”
Mary’s scream died down, a quiet smile growing on her face. Above her head, the blips of light commenced a happy game of leapfrog, perhaps even glowing brighter than before, and Tucker’s shoulders wilted with relief. That is, until she reached down and threaded their fingers together and his Adam’s apple seemed to get stuck.
“Works every time,” she whispered for his ears alone.
He forced his feet to move as she pulled him through the parted crowd
toward the stairs.
“Well now,” Tucker heard Tilda say behind him, her tone betraying her shock. “Pleasantries are out of the way, I suppose. On with the meeting.”
Tucker stared down at the smiling, nightgown-clad girl, in quite a bit of shock himself. This was the closest he would ever come to being knighted. Having a sword tapped on both of his shoulders, some lofty title added to his name. Out of a whole room of people, Mary had chosen him. All right, so she wanted Tucker to drive her somewhere. Not unusual. Sometimes he wondered if he had the word chauffeur tattooed on his forehead.
And in this instance, his role as the wheel man was a blessing and a curse.
He’d get to spend time with Mary.
But apparently he’d be dropping her off at her wedding.
Who the hell was she marrying?
Obscene pressure weighed down on his chest, preventing him from speaking and the silence stretched. What are you doing? Make her laugh.
His almighty fallback. When unsure, be the clown.
“Speaking of Roombas…” Once again, he thanked God he no longer had functioning sweat glands or he’d be pouring the stuff. “I sold mine recently.”
“You did?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “It was just collecting dust.”
A gasping laugh bubbled out of her, so pure and beautiful, he almost stumbled on the step. What he wouldn’t give to hear that sound in the dark while he made her laugh and pleasured her at the same time. More than just a clown. A lover. The man who got to lift that nightgown, press her legs open and kiss the gasps from her mouth. “I’m glad I woke up or I would have missed you,” she said. “Is it very far to Ohio?”
Focus, pervert. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said that yet.” She chewed her lip. “Although you’re bound to find out sooner or later, right?”
“Yes. I’ll have to put the address in the navigator. That’s usually a dead giveaway.”
Smiling at the door ahead, she squeezed his arm. “You’re funny, too.”
“Too?”
“On top of being a guardian, I mean.”
Today, Tomorrow and Always Page 2