His Christmas Magic

by Drea Roman

  “Verdomme! Who changed the names? Dunder and Blixem, you idiots!”

  “What?” I ask, stunned to hear what appear to be curse words coming out of my mate’s mouth. Hell, I’m not even positive they are curse words. He might be having a fit.

  “Gatverdamme! I knew those damned reindeer! They deserve to be called by their real names!” He yells at the radio and then bangs a pair of stainless-steel baking sheets together to emphasis his point. He looks absolutely hilarious as he stomps around the kitchen making what I can only guess are ugly gestures and exclamations in Dutch.

  When the song and my mate’s strange tirade finally end, I haven’t stopped laughing.

  “What are you laughing at?” Tuck yells from the kitchen, which just starts my fit all over again. Since I am sitting on the floor, leaning against the front of the couch, it is easy to stay upright until he stomps in from the kitchen with flour all over his hands and face. Then I roll to the floor laughing and consider hiding under the coffee table to escape his Rudolph-induced wrath, when he comes to stand over me with his hands on his hips.

  “What is all this about?” he demands, and my laughter redoubles to the point I can’t breathe.

  “You. . .” I manage to stutter out. “Cursing at the radio.” I give up then and laugh until my sides ache and tears stream down my face. Tuck’s expression softens, and he gives in to a chuckle as he sinks down on the couch.

  “It was funny, wasn’t it?” He reaches down and pats me on the cheek, purposely smudging my face with flour. “There, now you look better. Flour always improves a wolf’s looks, I say.”

  When I can breathe again, I sit up. “What were you saying about ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer?’”

  “Typical lazy Americans,” he grumbles, “changing the poor reindeers’ names just because they are little bit hard to pronounce and don’t rhyme perfectly.”

  I just nod, mesmerized by his flare of temper, which I have never seen before. Tuck continues his thoughts on the song, almost as if lost in memories of long ago.

  “Clement Moore got it right, though how he knew is still a mystery. It’s not like he visited the North Pole as far as we could tell. Poor Thunder and Lightning. Everyone calls them silly made-up names now that don’t even mean anything. Christmas songs are sacred, so you shouldn’t change the names of the reindeer just so they are easier to sing.”

  Again, I nod, fear and excitement tripping through me. The emotion I feel through the mating bond is one of contemplation, and I am barely breathing for fear of interrupting Tuck’s new flow of memories. But he seems to have no more insights to offer and pecks me on the cheek before rising from the couch and returning to the kitchen and his baking, leaving me to contemplate what all these new memories mean for my mate and me.

  9

  Tuck

  As the days pass and the Christmas season in Vale Valley gets into full swing, I find myself more and more anxious. Darren is wonderfully supportive, but my slowly returning memories are more tantalizing and frustrating than helpful. Highlights of events and conversations long past flit through my mind, and I still hear the mysterious voice of Nick on occasion, usually laughing at me in the way only the closest of friends do. Yet I am still unsure who he is and why I am hearing his voice. I have not mentioned this to my mate, not wanting to worry him, though the situation becomes more difficult for me every day.

  I am missing a part of myself, and I have a strange feeling that though Darren and I have mated, something special is missing from our bond. But what bothers me almost more than the uneasy feeling that my mate bond is incomplete is the declaration of the little witch we met on the first day of the Christmas festival. Though Darren and I have returned to the avenue of booths several times, we have not seen her again, and the opportunity to chat with Ren, the reindeer shifter, for more than a handful of minutes has not presented itself.

  I woke up this morning with a dull throbbing headache. Darren kissed my forehead, brought me some ginger tea, and went out for his daily run. As a firefighter, he has to keep in tip-top shape, and I cannot say I don’t appreciate the resulting physique of my sexy wolf mate. I stay swaddled in the covers of our bed as I sip my tea and try to remember every single detail of my encounters with the little witch and Ren.

  Ren’s reindeer side appears quieter than those of the shifters I grew up around, I think as I stare out the window as a few snow flurries fall from the sky. A large storm must be due soon. The sky has turned grey, and the wind is picking up. I shiver and pull the covers tighter around me, wishing Darren would return. Since I am alone for the moment, I close my eyes and try to concentrate on the memories I do have. I start with the night of my crash. New impressions come to me every time I revisit the memories. Laughter, wine, reindeer jingling their jingle bell harnesses, and a booming laugh that makes me miss home. Home. I don’t even know where home is.

  Time passes, and the throbbing in my head increases. At first, I ignore the rising tide of pain, pushing at my mind to produce memories that seem clear enough until I try to touch them. Then they glide out of reach. Frustration mounts inside of me, and I find myself crying.

  “Tuck,” Darren’s voice is a whisper, and I open my eyes to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at me with concern in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  “My head.” I somehow manage to murmur before a wave of nausea hits me, and I groan, clutching my stomach.

  “Honey, you are trying too hard. The memories will come back in time. Don’t push.”

  “How did you know what was wrong?” I gasp out as Darren softly pets my hair. Reassurance softly flows into me, and I sigh as the pain and nausea start to recede.

  My wolf smiles at me softly. “Because I am your mate. I came back from my run early because I could feel your anxiety and pain. I’ve already called the doctor. We have an appointment in a few days for that checkup, but he says if you feel any worse, we should go in immediately. Do you need to see him today?”

  I shake my head slightly. “No, I’m better now that you are here.”

  “I think we’ve been doing too much. You rest, and I will make you something to eat. Do you think you can handle toast and some more tea?” At my nod, Darren kisses me on the forehead and leaves the bedroom. After I make myself eat the buttered toast and drink more of the ginger tea, I decide that today I will stay in bed, and tomorrow I will face the world. Darren fusses over me, and I fall into a peaceful slumber knowing one thing, at least. My mate loves me, and that fact soothes, for the moment, my lack of the ultimate knowledge of who I am.

  Napping cures my headache but does not squelch the anxious feeling spiraling inside of me. I don’t leave the room all day, and when Darren brings me dinner, I pick at it and eat little.

  “What is wrong, Tuck?” Darren asks as he pushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his finger lingering at the top a moment before he takes my hand and kisses the back of it.

  I sigh. “I don’t know who I am,” I respond dryly. “Makes a man grouchy.”

  Darren smiles at me tenderly and kisses my forehead.

  Suddenly, the only thing I want to do is feel alive. “Darren,” I whisper, and my mate looks at me with a worried expression. “Make love to me.”

  He looks surprised but shakes his head. “Honey, you’re not feeling well.”

  “In my head and heart,” I respond. “My body is fine. But I need to heal my heart. The mind I can’t fix. But you can help me now. I need my mate.” Not allowing him a moment to protest, I wrap my arms around him and crawl into his lap.

  “Now,” I demand as need courses through me.

  “Are you sure?” Darren asks in a voice threaded with concern.

  But I shut him up by kissing him hard and thrusting my tongue into his mouth. His sage and wood smoke scent envelopes me, and I sigh as my body finally begins to relax, even if my mind does not. Finally pulling away from the kiss, I slide out of Darren’s arms and pull his much larger body on top of me. I need h
is closeness, his skin against mine. It feels like his body’s heaviness holds me to the earth, grounding me and keeping me safe.

  “Tuck,” he whispers into my ear as he settles himself between my legs.

  “Yes,” I respond as I kiss his neck and bite at the strange mating mark I left on him. It feels both right and incomplete. That feeling of unfinished business with my mate is driving me insane. The only way to make it go away is for my mate to make love to me. “Please, Darren. I need you.” My voice quavers, and Darren responds to my anxiety with a wave of calm through our mate bond. I can feel him there, even though I could swear that something intangible is missing.

  When he pulls out of my embrace, I whine and almost start to panic. “Shh, my love. It’s hard to make love to you if I am fully clothed.”

  “Hurry,” I murmur, and he smiles as he throws off his clothes in record time. I am wearing pajamas, so he pulls my pants off like a magician pulling the tablecloth out from under dishes on a set table. I raise my arms, and he removes my top, tossing it over his shoulder.

  When he leans back over me, I grab his shoulders and yank him down so his much larger body is blanketing mine. “Darren,” I rasp out, “I love you.” He answers me with a searing kiss as he props himself up on his elbows as he kisses his way down my body. By the time he reaches my dick, I am whining and panting.

  “Please.” It is all I can say as my entire world has shrunk down to a single focus on Darren, my wonderful, strong mate.

  He kisses the tip of my cock as his fingers softly massage my balls. I feel like fireworks are sparking off inside of me as he licks me all over, before sucking me tightly into his mouth. Through the mating bond, I can feel his pleasure as well as my own. When Darren finally releases my cock, I can feel his fingers probing my ass as my slick slides out. My body is calling for my mate, just like my soul is.

  As he thrusts his fingers inside me, he slides over my body, taking my mouth hard, kissing my breath and my fear away. All I can feel is Darren, and my soul swells with the rightness of us, together like this.

  “You need to be on top,” he murmurs against my mouth. “I’ll crush you.”

  “No,” I pant out. “I need you like this.” I tug at his broad shoulders, pushing him up as I wrap my thighs around his hips, urging him to join us together.

  Holding himself up on his elbows, he watches my face as he finally pushes himself inside of me. I cry out, clenching my legs around him harder, urging him on. I’ve never felt so cherished in my life. Darren’s eyes are dark as he watches my face while sliding in and out of my body, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity and speed.

  I demand a kiss by pulling his head down, my hand fisted in his long hair. When one of his hands slips between us to stroke my cock, I feel the wave of orgasm rise within me. I scream into his mouth as I come, my orgasm triggering his own. His knot swells inside as he comes.

  Darren rolls over on his back, taking me with him. He pulls the covers up over us, and I cling to his chest as I kiss him deeply, slowly, savoring him, cherishing my love, my mate.

  “I love you, Tuck,” he whispers against my lips when I finally release them.

  I love you, too, I send to him along the mate bond, and he sighs in my arms. Darren drifts off to sleep long before I do. I lie on top of him, arms crossed over his chest, my chin resting on top of my hands. I may not know who I am, but I have my Darren, my beloved mate. For now, it is all in the world I need.

  10

  Darren

  A week and a half and one doctor's appointment later, Tuck’s magic continues to grow as does my trepidation. My mate is magical. There’s absolutely no denying that. Not that one could ever deny his magic. It’s too obvious. It flows through him, and the only question now is what is the source.

  My teammates have been on my ass about us visiting. One would think that recovering at home would be easy, but it seems like we've been busy with one thing right after another. Earlier in the week, Dr. Loomis thoroughly examined my mate and declared him as healthy as possible, except for the memory gaps. But the doctor was pleased to hear that memories are returning. Though, for my wolf’s opinion, he seemed far too interested in Tuck’s stories about Dutch cookies instead of the bigger picture: what my mate’s returning magic and memories mean for our future.

  I never knew my wolf would be the jealous or anxious type, especially since Tuck and I have already mated. But instead of making me feel comforted, every new memory and flash of magic increases my concerns. What will I do if Tuck turns out to be as magic as I am beginning to believe he is?

  But I keep my fear trapped inside because I adore the happy look on his face when he remembers something new. Or rather, when he remembers something old about himself. Like the fact that his family comes from the Netherlands originally and that his grandmother is his favorite relative. Almost every new story he shares features her, and I can tell by the tone of his voice how much he loves her.

  Tuck insisted on making lasagna for the whole team, so when we arrive for dinner, we have six large pans ready for delivery, along with a salad and a large container of the cookies Tuck has been baking practically nonstop for the past few days. Eddie, Colt, and several other members of our team rush out to greet us. I have barely put the Jeep in park before the back door is yanked open, and horse shifters start grabbing pans.

  “Hey! Slow down, you stupid horses.”

  Tuck laughs at their haste and jumps out of the vehicle to help them carry in the food. “Hold your horses,” he admonishes when he gets pushed back by their bustling.

  The guys snicker at that, and I realize just how much I have missed my team. I am scheduled to return after the New Year, Avi insistent that I take the time to settle my mate into our home.

  “Where is Eddie?” I ask Colt, who ended up with the last pan of lasagna.

  “Inside, baking some rolls to go with dinner. You know how much he loves lasagna.” The last is said with a laugh as we walk through the station house door. I bring up the rear of our company as we enter the kitchen area, only to be greeted by a large cloud of smoke pouring out of the oven.

  “Goddamn it!” Eddie yells as he waves a dishrag in front of the open oven door. “The fucking rolls burned. What the fuck, you stupid oven.”

  Setting down the container of cookies, I step toward the window to open it, when the smoke completely vanishes as if it were never there to begin with.

  I hear Tuck’s laugh and the astonished gasps of the horses as he snaps his fingers and points to the island. Next to the container of cookies now sits a large tray of enormous yeast rolls with brush-buttered tops. “No worries,” he exclaims as he claps his hands in happiness.

  Eddie turns toward me slowly, the incredulous look on his face almost hilarious as it slides into a wide grin. “Magic!”

  The other horses stand there astonished for a moment before they get down to the business of grabbing plates and utensils. One thing about firefighters: we always eat no matter how astonishing the circumstances of the meal are. No one else says anything, and for that I am grateful. Tuck has been performing magic in front of me since the moment when he pulled Colt’s favorite candy from thin air, but somehow knowing he can perform such feats any time and any place has me feeling a bit weak.

  Tuck must sense my unease as he comes over and slips his arms around me for a hug. “You okay?” he asks.

  “I’m fine, just a little shocked about the rolls.”

  He shrugs. “We needed rolls.”

  And that is the end of the conversation. Tuck joins the horses in filling his plate. Eddie slides up next to me. “Dude, I know I’ve said it before, but your mate is a Christmas elf.” He elbows me in the ribs, far too excited about this turn of events for my taste. I just shake my head at him and join the end of the line for food. We all sit down at the long dining table in the next room, eating Tuck’s lasagna, which even I will admit is a smidge better than mine.

  “Did you hear about the benefit going
on at Incubus in a day or two?” asks Colt.

  “Oh, yeah,” responds Chase. “Xander and I were planning to go.”

  “No fair,” Philippe chimes in. “I’m on shift.”

  “So am I,” Eddie responds.

  “What is the benefit for?” Tuck asks as he puts more butter on his roll.

  “I think it is a sick kid who needs physical therapy,” Xander provides before taking a big bite of lasagna and moaning obscenely. Colt gives him a look, which Xander chooses to ignore.

  “Oh, poor dear,” Tuck responds. “Does he have family?”

  “No,” Colt says, sounding sad, “but from the sounds of it, he does have some people who are taking care of him.”

  Tuck looks at him thoughtfully. “I should make him a present. It’s never fun to be sick or injured, especially when you don’t have family around to take care of you.”

  With a snap and flick, Tuck performs another bit of magic. In the middle of the table sits an old-fashioned rocking horse made of smooth and polished wood. The body is a shiny black, and the eyes are bright blue. The horse’s mane is snowy white, as is his tail. His dark hooves sit on the golden gliders, and his red saddle forms the perfect seat for a small child.

  “Well, fuck me sideways,” declares Eddie, which makes everyone at the table laugh, except for Colt, who blushes and looks down at his plate.

  “Though it is a nice invitation,” Tuck responds dryly, “I’m gonna have to pass.”

  Even Colt laughs this time as we all marvel at the beautiful toy my mate created with his magic.