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You always were a stress-eater.
It’s 11 in the morning, and even with the blackout curtains drawn, you’re finding it difficult to sleep in this lonely old house. An autumn breeze is picking up outside, sending the branches of the massive oak tree in the yard scraping against the wrought-iron windows in an irregular rhythm. October has arrived in all its chilly glory, and while you usually relish fall weather, you’d much prefer to enjoy it in the comfort of the night.
With a weary sigh, you roll out of bed, stomach growling in encouragement. You pull on a sweater and some thick socks, more of a comforting habit than a precaution against the cold.
Making your way down the dimly-lit corridor to the stairs, you feel as though every painting and artifact crammed together onto the high walls is watching you, mocking your ceaseless sense of worry.
Jack’s been gone for over a week now.
Of course you had attempted to talk him out of the whole affair—the Bloodstone family is notoriously vicious, after all, and walking into a den of esteemed “monster hunters” was the definition of a suicide mission for a man like Jack Russell. As you’d expected, though, your argument fell on deaf ears… And you weren’t too inclined to put up much of a fight, either.
You’ve been a part of Jack’s life long enough by now to know how much he cares for Ted… And just how stubborn he can be when he’s determined to help somebody. Hell, you even host a dangerously soft spot for Ted yourself, at this point.
You’d floated the idea of accompanying Jack, of course, but you both knew from the get-go that you weren’t up to it. Despite everything, violence and subterfuge have never been in your nature—
And so, here you are, in your pajamas, standing in the kitchen like it’s just a regular day.
Like your heart isn’t out there somewhere, walking around outside your body, throwing itself into harm’s way.
You know, of course, that there’s likely no reception where he’s going, but you’ve been checking and rechecking your phone ever since he left all the same. Pocketing the device once more, you suppress another shaky exhale as you open the fridge… Perhaps another day in an empty bed will be easier to bear on a full stomach.
You snatch up a blood bag before pivoting to search for a cup. When you tear the package open, your every sense comes alive in response to the coppery smell.
Unbidden, memories of the night Jack left flood your mind…
With his bag packed and coat half-buttoned, something in your expression had made him pause in the foyer. By that point, you had already turned on the kitchen radio to fill the house with comforting white noise; a lilting old melody was drifting through the arched doorways.
Jack had taken you for a spin about the room before thoroughly kissing you goodbye.
I’ll come back to you. I promise .
The recollection of that night still warms your cheeks, and you run your tongue over your fangs absentmindedly as you empty the contents of the blood bag into your favorite mug. Sticking it in the microwave, you hum what you can recall of that song as you wait for your late-morning snack to heat up.
Pacing anxiously about the room, your gaze drifts to the wall calendar—and you bristle.
Two days until the next full moon.
And Jack is still—
The microwave beeps demandingly, and you retrieve its contents with unsteady hands. A quiet sigh escapes your lips.
“Jack…” Speaking his name into the empty room feels like a summons; perhaps if you whisper it into the bleak light of day with enough reverence, the autumn winds will bring him back to you.
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You’re awoken with a start… By what , you don’t yet know.
The clock on your bedside table tells you that it’s not yet sunset; you eye the curtains warily. You weren’t having a nightmare—you sleep like the dead, after all. So what…?
Your sharpened senses detect a thud somewhere on the floor below, and you shoot upright in an instant. You nearly trip over yourself trying to pull your socks on as you dart down the hallway.
From the top of the stairs, you see him: Jack, standing in the foyer, bag dropped haphazardly to the floor as he runs a palm down his weary features.
Jack Russell has never looked well-rested in all your acquaintance with him, but right now he looks especially… Haggard. Your grin falters the slightest bit. Your suspicions were likely correct: his trip was extended because something must have gone wrong .
“Jack?”
You hate how nervous your voice sounds… But then he’s tilting his head up to you, a matching smile warming his sharp features.
“Ted is safe,” he reassures you upon seeing the hesitancy in your features. Then: “Hello, querida .”
Before you know it, you’ve flung yourself into his open arms. Wrapping him into your embrace, you run a palm along the nape of his neck as he breathes you in with a contented sigh.
“I’m sorry. I know you were worried,” he concedes, genuine remorse lacing his tone. “But I thought of you every day.”
Your eyes squeeze shut against an onslaught of emotion.
You love him.
And you missed him so damn much.
“You came back to me,” you murmur against his stubbled cheek. “And that’s what matters.”
Jack pulls back just enough to press his forehead against your own. This close, the heat of your shared breath is tantalizing; that beastly part of you wants to run your teeth along his skin, to taste the very scent of him. Thankfully, though, you have your impulses under control—for now.
“Darling…” Jack’s whispered entreaty carries the weight of his affection for you; you can bear what little distance remains between you no longer.
You surge forward, pressing hungry lips to meet his own.
Welcome home .