by Donya Lynne
For the past eight hundred years, she had prevented anyone from getting close enough to hurt her the way Gideon had, but now Trace threatened to do just that.
Part of her wanted nothing more than to let that happen.
Another part of her simply wanted to run the way she’d run away from the cabin in the woods when she found Gideon with another female.
Her whole life ceased to exist that night. Now Trace threatened to resurrect her heart. She was stuck between fight or flight. Should she fight for what she wanted, or should she flee before he could destroy her completely?
She didn’t need a Magic 8 Ball to tell her the outlook wasn’t good.
* * *
Sam sighed irritably as Micah closed the door to the upstairs bedroom. A small, dim lamp on the nightstand served as the only light. The blackout blinds and curtains were secured over the windows, shutting out the sun.
“How long has she been here?” Micah said quietly, almost as if he were hissing.
Sam brushed her hands over both sides of his neck, massaging his pulse points in a continual effort to keep him calm. “About an hour. Maybe a little longer.”
Micah purred and leaned his head into her right hand before turning and kissing her palm. “I’m sorry I left you with her.”
“She wasn’t so bad. I, uh . . . I actually kind of—”
Micah’s eyes shot open, and his gaze spun toward hers before she could get the words out. Obviously, he had seen in her thoughts what she was about to say. “You like her?”
She still wasn’t used to having her mind read twenty-four seven, but she was beyond chastising him for it. It wouldn’t do any good, anyway.
Sam huffed and crossed her arms as she took a step back. “Yes, I like her. Have you got a problem with that, Mr. Bossy Pants?”
He raked his fingers through his hair as he let out a frustrated growl and looked away. “Whose side are you on here, Sam?”
Now it was her turn to get frustrated. “I’m on my own side. Look, I know you and Trace don’t like her, but I think it’s because you’re both too close to the situation. I—” Micah began to pace away, but she grabbed his arm. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you.”
His gaze burned into hers. “I can’t believe you would take her side over ours.”
She bopped him V-8 style on the side of the head. “You aren’t listening to me.”
He blew out an irritated breath. “Fine. I’m listening.”
She took a step toward him and caressed his cheek, which was covered with black stubble. She loved how he looked when he hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. “Hear me out.” He rolled his eyes, but some of the steam had left his chimney. “You and Trace are looking at Cordray all wrong.”
“And how would you suggest we look at her?” Then, under his breath, he added, “Especially when neither of us wants to look at her at all.”
She fought back a grin at his flippant tone. Micah was so damn stubborn, but part of her loved that about him. “You’re the genius, Micah. You’re the one who can see all, remember?” She tapped the side of his head.
“Yeah, but I can’t see inside her mind. She’s got a wall up, same as Trace. You know that. I’ve told you that before.”
“You are such a man.”
He narrowed his eyes as he slinked closer and placed his hands seductively on her hips. “I’ll remind you again, I’m not a man. I’m a male. All male, baby.”
“And don’t I know it?” She trailed her index finger down his jaw to his neck. “But right now, you’re being a total man. Because men can be total douche bags when it comes to females.”
“Okay, fine, baby. What’s your point?” His hands slid up the sides of her hips, and then inward to the robe’s sash tied around her waist.
“My point is, if you can’t see inside her mind, then open your damn eyes. Think. Use your common sense.” She leaned in and kissed the side of his neck as the robe fell open and his hands slipped inside. “Baby, your mind probe abilities are your greatest strength, but they’re also your biggest weakness. You depend on them too much to tell you what you can easily see for yourself if you just look.”
“Mmm, what are you telling me, baby?” He nuzzled the side of her neck. “That you’ve figured Cordray out in less than an hour, and I haven’t because I’m too hung up on being pissed off at her . . . and because I can’t see her thoughts.”
She nodded. “Something like that.”
He backed her toward the bed and eased her down. “Look who’s the smarty-pants now.” He crawled over her as she lay back against the pillows.
“Damn straight, Skippy.”
He chuckled and nibbled her collar bone. “Okay, I’ll bite.”
She giggled at his double entendre and pushed her fingers into his long hair. “I hope so.”
His fangs teased the side of her neck. “So, what have you figured out about Cordray that I haven’t?”
She wrapped her legs around his hips as he slid the thin strap of her nightgown off her shoulder. “That she’s seriously misunderstood.”
“Okay?” Micah licked her shoulder. “And . . .?”
“That she’s been hurt before and has a wall up to protect herself from getting hurt again.”
Micah pushed himself to a sitting position and tugged her onto his lap. “What makes you say that?”
“Women’s intuition.” She straddled his hips and brushed her palms over his shoulders as he nipped the side of her neck. “She reminds me of the way I was after I left Steve.” Micah tensed at hearing Steve’s name and pulled away to look in her eyes as she continued. “Until I met you, I pushed everyone away when all I wanted was to pull them closer. I was so alone. I desperately wanted a friend, but I couldn’t risk letting anyone get too close for fear of Steve finding out.”
Micah caressed her cheek, his gaze intensely protective. “You don’t have to worry about that asshole anymore, baby.”
“Thanks to you, but I still feel the effects of what he did to me. I still fear letting anyone get close.”
“You let me get close.”
She smiled and ran the backs of her fingers down the side of his face. “You’re different.”
“Damn straight I am.” He reached around and patted her on the rump. “But what’s this got to do with Cordray?”
“I think she’s been through the same thing. Or at least something similar. Which is why she’s so abrasive.”
Micah’s eyes narrowed as his brow furrowed. Sam had seen that look before. He was processing Sam’s logic and running through everything he knew about Cordray to validate what Sam had just told him. A moment later, he pursed his lips and raised one eyebrow as he sighed. “Okay, I’ll concede you might be on to something.”
“So, do you think you and Trace can cut her some slack?”
Micah grinned. “Not a chance.” He dove in and sucked a mouthful of skin at the top of her breast into his mouth, causing her to shriek and fall into uncontrollable giggles.
“Micah! Stop it! I’m trying to be serious here.”
He released her and lapped his tongue over the place he’d just given a love bite. “So am I.” A lusty growl broke inside his throat. “God, I need you so badly right now.” He lifted his face and hit her with a gaze fiery enough to burn down Chicago.
“I take it things went well with Trace.” She tugged his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.
“Mmmm, yes. Very well.” His fingers hooked the other strap of her gown and drew it down her arm. “So no more talk about Cordray. She’s killing the mood.”
With that, he claimed her mouth with enough steam to push all thought of anything but him from her mind.
The atmosphere in the room grew thick with arousal. Heavy waves of it pulsed from his body like ocean surf as he continued to undress her. His fingers trembled with such force as he unfastened his belt that the metal prong vibrated against the buckle, and the more time that passed, the more urgent he became.
>
Whatever had gone on in the dungeon had definitely worked Micah’s sex drive into a frenzy. She hadn’t felt such heady surges of energy from him since his calling.
When he finally entered her, he held her wrists over her head with both hands as he devoured her body with his, until finally he sank his fangs into her shoulder and shuddered through the most earthshaking, mind-blowing climax he’d spent on her in months, sending her body into the stratosphere as she blew apart beneath him.
* * *
In the afterglow of what had been the strongest orgasm he’d had since his calling, Micah held Sam against his body, drowsy, lazily caressing her arm with his fingertips. He wasn’t finished. Sexual need still vibrated up and down his spine, the lust-filled tide already rising again. He would have his mate once more before falling asleep. Maybe even twice.
Sam kissed his chest, and he could feel her eagerness for more as her hand traveled south along his abdomen.
“One more thing about Cordray,” she said softly against his chest, somewhat distracted.
He didn’t want to talk about Cordray. Maybe Sam was right and Cord was hiding some awful, painful past that turned her into a bitch with devil horns to keep people away from her, but he didn’t care about that right now. At this moment, he only cared about the female in his arms—his perfect, sexy mate—and Trace.
Undeterred by his silence, Sam continued. “I think she likes Trace.”
Micah’s eyes shot open, and he sat up, pushing Sam up with him. “What?”
Sam frowned. “Oh come on, you can’t tell me the thought hasn’t crossed your mind.” She stared at him then gaped. “Oh God, it hasn’t.” She straightened and crossed her legs so that her knee rested on his thigh. “It’s so obvious, Micah. I can’t believe you didn’t see it.”
“No. I . . . how . . . no way.” His brain rejected the possibility that Satan’s mistress had set her sights on his bestie.
“Think about it.” Sam pushed to her knees then straddled his lap, hanging her forearms over his shoulders.
“I don’t want to think about it,” he said under his breath, cupping her ass in both hands. “Cordray with Trace makes my stomach turn.”
Sam laughed. “Will you grow up for two seconds. You’re not Trace’s father. You can’t prevent women from being attracted to him.”
“Cordray is not a woman.” He voiced the sentiment with a little more bite than was necessary.
“Fine. Female. Whatever.” Sam rotated her hips, teasing his erection.
He relaxed and gripped her hips, churning her more forcefully against him. “I was thinking she was more like an ogre.”
She rolled her eyes and giggled, grinding against him again. “My point is, if she likes him, you can’t force her not to. Not everything in this world must bend to your whim, you know.”
Micah yanked her against him, thrusting to strengthen the friction between them. “Why would you think she likes him? She does nothing but insult him and give him grief.”
Sam’s eyelids fell erotically to half-mast, and she smiled. “How does a grade-school boy show a little girl he thinks she’s cute?”
Micah frowned then smirked. “I haven’t been a grade-school boy in a while, so I wouldn’t know.”
“He pulls her pigtails and teases her, silly,” Sam said coyly. “Don’t you see? Cordray is pulling Trace’s pigtails and teasing him . . . all to get his attention.”
Micah refused to believe that, because Trace went after Cordray as much as she went after him. The two were like bickering children on a playground.
Bickering children.
His heart stopped. Oh God. Sam was right. More right than she knew. Because not only was Cordray pulling Trace’s pigtails, he was pulling hers.
“No,” he said aloud, pulling Sam closer, as if by wielding his possession over her, he could do the same with Trace.
“Yes.” Sam nipped his neck and clung to his shoulders. “Face it, baby, Cordray likes Trace.”
He set his jaw and shook his head.
Sam threw her head back and giggled. “Cordray and Trace, sitting in a tree. K-i-s-s-i-n-g.” She pecked him on the lips. “First comes love”—peck—”second comes marriage—”
Micah placed his hand over Sam’s mouth before she could say the last line of the song he’d heard kids sing from playgrounds for decades. “No more talk about Cordray, or Trace, or how they’re k-i-s-s-i-n-g in a tree.” He flipped Sam to her stomach, and she arched her back so that her hips raised to meet his as he fell in behind her and forced her legs apart with his knees. “We really need to work on your pillow talk, baby.” He smoothed his palm over the cheeks of her ass then gave her a swat. Her supple flesh rippled and bounced back.
She squeaked then sighed, her body drawing in as if she were preparing for him. “Why?” She moaned as he positioned himself, using his fingers to spread her slick labia. “I think we have some of our best conversations when we’re fucking.”
He thrust into her, making her gasp and fall forward.
“No more talking.”
She nodded, mewling for more. “Okay. No more talking. Fine. Just”—she moaned—“don’t stop.”
This time as he took her, he not only claimed his mate, but willed himself to claim Trace, as well. Sam was his surrogate to connect him in the most intimate way possible to his best friend.
He couldn’t lose the most incredible submissive—a piece as vital to his soul as Sam—when he had only just found him. In just a few hours tonight, Trace had become critical to Micah’s survival, and hormonal heat suffused the air around him as he poured his mind and heart into keeping this new element of his life intact while pouring his body and soul into his beautiful, exquisite female.
He wouldn’t lose Trace. Not to Cordray. Not to anyone. As he shattered into another mind-numbing orgasm more powerful than the first, Micah forced into the universe his will to keep Cordray away from his best friend. As much as Sam was his, so was Trace. Trace belonged to him. Beware all who tried to take him away.
Chapter 8
Brak stood on the back patio of the house Micah had set him up in, gazing at the sliver of crescent moon hovering over the dusky western horizon.
God, he had missed this. Watching the sun set. Feeling the cool breeze on his face. Hearing the birds sing at twilight. All of it.
He still wasn’t fully recovered from the events of the last week and should have been resting, but he couldn’t bring himself to stay in bed. Not when there was so much to see and experience now that he was free.
His body protested, though. His muscles were achy and weak. He always suffered after using his power, especially to kill, which wasn’t what his mother had intended for his gift.
In the past week, he had exhausted his abilities and, as a consequence, his body. Not only had he saved a life—Gina—by bringing her back from death after pulling deadly poison out of her, but he’d also killed two drecks and the two vampires who’d held him and his father prisoner for almost two hundred years. He needed about a month in bed, but he refused to remain indoors just because he was tired and ached from head to toe. He’d spent two centuries locked in a basement cell. The last thing he wanted was to remain inside, especially when the weather was so benevolent. Unlike this morning, when cold rain had forced him back into the house while he’d been lounging, tea in-hand, in the patio chair with a blanket over his lap. Even so, he’d stood at the patio door and watched the lightning streak the sky and the wind whip the tops of the trees to and fro.
While his body cried for recovery, his spirit needed healing, too. Watching the storm this morning, and now feeling the refreshing breeze lift his long hair away from his face as the birds sang their good-bye to another day, was like a balm to his soul.
Closing his eyes, he lifted his face skyward, letting the long-forgotten sounds of nature provide the soundtrack for his evening.
A few minutes later, the sliding door behind him opened. “Brak?”
He glanced ov
er his shoulder to find his friend, Cynthia, standing on the shallow concrete step just outside the door. She’d been the one to care for him while he’d been imprisoned. She’d sat by his side and cleaned him up after he returned from his godforsaken killing missions and vomited all over himself. She’d been the one to lift a glass of cool water to his lips so he could drink, to cook soup for him once he could eat again, to help him bathe, dress, and even walk when he was too weak to do those things for himself.
Cynthia was also the one who’d helped him learn about the new world. She’d shown him how to use the Internet, how to invest online, how to use computers to create his music, how to surf the Net and learn how the world had changed.
But even though he’d seen pictures of cities, cars, and storms, nothing could compare to the real thing. The exhilaration of seeing a storm with his own eyes, of feeling its energy, of riding in a car for the first time, and of standing in the heart of Chicago, where he could feel the pulse of every living entity in the city beat against his skin, was beyond compare to a two-dimensional image.
He was no longer an observer of life. Once more, he was a participant, and he had a lot of ground to make up before he was comfortable with the changes the world had undergone without him.
“Can you hear that?” he said, facing the trees again.
Cynthia quietly joined him and wrapped her arm around his reassuringly. “What? What do you hear?”
He breathed in as if he could inhale twilight’s essence. “The wind. The way it rustles the young leaves on the trees and bids the sun farewell until tomorrow morning.”
Her arm squeezed his. “I’ve taken for granted so many things.” She sighed. “Spending the last few days with you and watching you discover the world again has made me realize that.”
He slid his hand around hers. “You’ve seen all this every day.” He waved his other arm as if to encompass the backyard and beyond. “For me, it’s a novelty.” A slow smile blossomed on his face as he drank in the ochre colors of the western sky. “It’s been two hundred years since I experienced any of this.”
