Chapter Thirty–Six

CHAPTER THIRTY–SIX

A s Mahrci re-formed, her heart was pounding. All things considered, it was kind of a miracle she’d managed to dematerialize without a trazodone on board. But she’d been so determined to get Hemmy off her father’s property—

The male became corporeal beside her, and as he turned to the house, his eyes went wide. “Oh . . . wow.”

Taking a deep breath, she, too, pivoted to the old converted barn. “So this is . . . my home. Where I really live.”

Not that she came very often, although that was going to change now.

“Come on,” she said as she took his hand. “I want you to meet the female who raised me.”

For some stupid reason, she was all aflutter as she pulled him up the walkway. Then again, she had been delighted by this place since the moment she’d bought it. The barn was painted, well, barn red, and had white piping at all its corners, along its roofline, and around its windows. Set in its snowy field, the structure, with its attached grain silo that had also been converted, made her heart sing.

And maybe a little part of that cardiac a cappella was the male who was with her—

The arched-top door—which had always reminded her of what a hobbit entry might look like—swung wide.

As the older female appeared, Mahrci felt tears flood her eyes. “Crawlyn!”

She skipped ahead, and the instant she felt those familiar arms come around her, she nearly lost it. After everything that had happened, this was the only place she could go. The only person she trusted.

Pulling back, she glanced at Hemmy. Well . . . there was another one now.

“I’d like you to meet . . .”

While she trailed off, Hemmy stepped forward. “Ma’am, it’s a pleasure. My name is Mayhem—but that’s not a descriptor, I promise.”

As he put out his palm and met Crawlyn right in the eyes, Mahrci knew he’d won the older female over. Hell, he’d had her at “ma’am.”

“Well, I am most pleased to meet you.” Crawie wiped her hands on her granny apron and smoothed her graying hair. “I am Miss Mahricelle’s nanny.”

Hemmy’s bow was so courtly, so respectful, Mahrci had to blink her eyes quick. Or maybe that was from the sense that they were both safe out here: She’d done it. She’d gotten free of not just Remis, but her sire.

“Come, come.” Crawie stepped back and motioned into the homey living room. “I prepared the spare guest room for your friend, as you requested.”

Although given the twinkle in her eye, she knew that “friend” was a loose term of art.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he squeezed through the door with the two bags.

Walking in the main living area, Mahrci looked around with fresh eyes, and hoped that Hemmy liked the cottage style. She and Crawie had decorated the whole place together over the last year, picking up comfy sofas and chairs, folksy art and rugs, and handmade furniture from some humans who still lived as they had centuries ago.

As Mahrci entered the kitchen, she frowned at the purse and coat that were on the table.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “It’s bingo night.”

“It is. I shall be back in about three hours.” Crawie pulled on her red-and-cream wool coat. “I left plenty of food in the refrigerator. Do help yourselves—and, Mayhem, I must say, I’ve heard only good things about you. I look forward to sharing Last Meal and learning more firsthand.”

He bowed at the waist again. “Ma’am, I can’t wait.”

“And you know, it’s nice to have a male in the house—it makes one feel safer, and I shall not apologize for my old-fashioned beliefs.” Crawie gave Mahrci another hug—and this one lingered. “Are you well enough?”

“Yes, mahmen .”

As the older female pulled back, there was a gloss of tears on her eyes, too. Then she put her hand on Mahrci’s cheek. “It’s going to be fine.”

Is it , she wondered. She wasn’t totally sure, although this was an important first step.

On the way to the exit, Crawie paused. “Oh, and I taped all your game shows. I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d had a chance to watch them.”

“Oh, I haven’t! Thank you.”

The older female raised a hand, and then departed. After which . . .

Mahrci looked at Hemmy. “She is everything to me. Everything .”

“I can see that, and it makes me happy. You need someone like her in your life.” He frowned. “But—taping shows? Does anybody do that anymore?”

“Oh, she takes that job very seriously. She has backup VCRs for parts, and a closet full of blank tapes she got off eBay. She doesn’t want to learn any new technology. Says there’s no room in her brain for it—and when you have her chicken pot pie, you won’t want any of her memory replaced with how to work streaming services.”

Hemmy laughed. “Sounds good. And you like game shows?”

“Oh, I do! I love a good puzzle, especially the word-search kinds like Wheel of Fortune. Come on, let me show you to our”—she winked at him—“ your room.”

The door to the basement stairs was not far—because nothing was far in the little barn. And at the bottom, there were three bedrooms: a primary suite, which Crawie had always refused to sleep in, and then on the far side of the living area two others that shared a bathroom.

Mahrci hesitated in front of the door to the suite.

Then she looked up at Hemmy.

That was all it took.

No telling who kissed who first. But they squeezed through the narrow doorway together, the duffle bags grabbing on to the jamb until Hemmy dropped them both. The next thing she knew, he was dragging the luggage in with his foot and then bumping the door closed with his hip.

Over to the bed. On the bed. He was on top.

She went for his pants. He went for hers.

And then came The Great Shoewear Debacle.

The entanglements were epic because of their impatience, and they were both laughing as they tried to get each other’s laces undone.

Screw what they were wearing on top. When the pants were off on both sides, with his boots and her trail shoes kicked all over the floor, she pulled him back onto her. Arching up, she split her legs and reached down—but he was already there with his touch.

As she met him in the eyes, it came out, even though it probably would have been better to keep it to herself, given how early it was.

But at least he also said the words:

“I think I love you—”

“I know I love you—”

They both laughed as she got a little teary. And then he became very serious. “I know this is spur-of-the-moment, Mahrci. I know . . . I know all the reasons I should hold back. But I go with the flow—and you are who and what I want.”

Mahrci stroked his face, a brilliant flare of happiness making her feel incandescent. Except then everything that was really going on nearly wrecked her.

“We need to talk,” she said gravely. “Before you—”

“If you think there is anything that will change my mind about you, you’re wrong. I’m here, I’m down for whatever, and I’m serious about staying. I can handle myself, I’m not scared of anyone or anything . . . and I’ve spent a lifetime looking for you, even though I didn’t know your name or your face.”

“B-but—but—”

“No buts. If you feel differently, fine. That’s okay. But there’s nothing you need to tell me on my side.”

With sadness, she exhaled. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Yeah, I do. I’ve lived through prison. For fifty years.” He assumed a wry expression. “Although honestly, that’s just because I had nothing else to do and I thought it would be a fun challenge to see if I could survive it.”

Now she blinked for a different reason. “I’m sorry—you just . . . went to prison?”

“Yeah, the bakery was getting a little boring. I figured I’d spice things up, so I just walked on in. Think of it as adventure tourism at its best. That’s how I met Apex.”

“You . . . well, I’m a little bit surprised. But better than you being a criminal.”

“You know, that’s what everybody says. And it’s the God’s honest. Just ask Apex.”

“I suppose you have seen a lot of . . . things.”

“When I tell you I can handle myself, I’m quite serious.” He shook his head. “But we can stop talking about that. Let’s stick with four-letter words that start with L .”

She took a deep breath. “I won’t hold you to this. You know, if you wake up tomorrow night and we’ve had sex twelve different ways—”

“Made love.” He slipped his hand under her shirt and kept it on her stomach. “This is not sex, at least not for me.”

“Me, neither.”

“And I accept your doubts, but I’m a bonded male—it happened quick, just like they always said it would. So I’m just going to hold us together until you find the faith in who we are. Take your time. I’m good.”

“I really think I love you,” she whispered.

“And we’re going to keep talking—afterward.”

“Afterward, yes,” she said as he started to kiss her again.

There was more unclothing, and then he was running his lips down the side of her throat, and onto her breasts. Arching up into his mouth, she moved her hands into the long hair at his nape.

“Now . . . I know . . .” she gasped, “what mullets are for—”

As she gripped those blond waves, the joining was everything she had ever wanted, deep and complete. And as they started moving together, she did what he had taught her worked best. She went with the flow.

Which in their case, was another word . . .

For true love.