by Megan Morgan
She didn't know if Micha wanted her, or merely comfort, but she didn’t mind either way.
One afternoon not long after, they were sprawled on the big white leather couch in Aaron’s living room. Micha was stretched out beside her and resting against her good side, so he was on the outer part of the couch, June wedged against the back of it. Dipity was curled on June’s stomach, asleep.
Micha was reading from the little blue tour book he’d gotten at the hotel, about Jay Pritzker Pavilion in Millennium Park and the architect, Frank Ghery. Jason, sitting in a chair nearby, listened raptly. Cindy was paying them a visit and had planted herself on a stool in front of Jason, his bare foot in her lap. Of all things, she insisted on giving him a pedicure. She claimed her sister went to beauty school and taught her a bunch of things about grooming other people. June could use that line sometime, though she didn’t want to play with anyone’s feet. She liked seeing Jason focus on something besides the news.
“Read some more,” June murmured, when Micha stopped reading. She played with his hair.
Micha turned a page. “The Millennium Monument.” His voice vibrated against June’s shoulder.
When he was through with that subject, he read about how the entirety of Millennium Park was funded by private donations.
“Just like the Institute,” Cindy piped up, breaking the mood.
June scowled at her back.
“But a lot less sinister,” Jason said. “I wish I could go see all of it.” His voice had gotten stronger, though he was still hoarse at times, especially if he spoke too loudly. “Even though I get chills thinking about that place, I loved the sculpture in the courtyard outside the Institute. It’s Harold Brenning’s third public work.”
“That’s it.” Cindy snapped her fingers. “I can never remember the sculptor’s name. I think I deliberately blanked it out or something.”
“You like sculpture?” Jason asked.
Cindy worked away with a nail file. “I went to college to be an art major. Dropped out, though. Couldn’t afford the tuition. Became a bartender instead. But someday, I plan on going back.”
“You want to hear some more?” Micha asked. “Crown Fountain was designed by Jaume Plensa…”
“Nah.” June shook her head. “That’s enough Chicago for now.”
“I went to the University of Southern California for a liberal arts degree,” Jason said. “Utterly useless. So I went to acting school. I wanted to make my mother happy by going to college since June had no interest in it.” He had given June crap about this before. “But I eventually had to follow what was in my heart. Even in college, I was into theatre. I knew acting was my calling.”
“You were in the right place for it,” Cindy said. “Los Angeles is full of stars, so I hear.”
“A whole sea of them,” Jason said. “Hard to get noticed.”
Cindy sat back. “I could give you a haircut, too, if you want. Slick you up a bit. You’ll feel better.”
“Can I have a makeover, too?” June asked sardonically. She hoped Cindy wasn’t using her sex magic on Jason.
“Jason has a classic handsome face, good for the movie screen,” Cindy said. “Shame to hide it behind scruff, even at a time like this. Your face is too unique, June. I couldn’t do much with it.”
“Are you calling me ugly?” June asked.
“I’m calling you unique. It’s not a bad thing.”
“Some of us weren’t born with luscious lips and huge boobs.”
“I didn’t say a word about your boobs!”
Micha stretched up and kissed June’s jaw. “You’re not ugly,” he whispered, “and I love your boobs.” He then rolled away a little and dropped the book behind him on the floor.
A pile of newspapers were scattered on the coffee table parallel to the couch. Micha snatched up the ad section from one and settled against her again. Dipity gave a rumble of protest.
“Shut up, Dip.” June patted her head.
“Let’s look at fun stuff,” Micha said. “I don’t want to read the news today. Look. One hundred personalized pencils for five ninety-nine. I bet they don’t have my name, at least not spelled right. I’ve suffered at the hands of the personalized crap industry all my life.”
“You tell them your name, and they put it on.” June snatched the ad and tossed it away. The paper fluttered to the floor behind him. She tugged at his shirt. “I got a better idea for fun stuff,” she said. “Come here.”
“Your chest.”
“Just be careful.”
Dipity angrily scooted off and cleared out. Micha got on top of her, delicately, not exerting pressure on her chest or side. June kissed him slowly. She didn’t know exactly where they were going, but it had to be better than where they’d been.
“Please,” Jason said, “don’t mind us.”
June waved a hand behind Micha’s head. “Go court her with your feet somewhere else.”
Jason sighed. “We better vacate. Otherwise we’re going to see something nasty.”
“Yes,” Cindy said. “And something nasty might happen to all of you.”
Left alone, their kissing intensified. June had learned from the last experience she probably needed to restrain from full-on sex for a while longer, but touching Micha, absorbing the warmth and weight of him, made her mind a little calmer. Being aroused and having the darkness driven back for a few minutes was bliss. They were lost in their own little, angst-free world.
That was, until she became aware of someone else uncomfortably close by.
June broke the kiss and glared at Sam kneeling next to the couch. He was like a dog under the dinner table, begging for a scrap, only a lot more aggravating.
“What are you doing?” June asked. “Get the hell out of here.”
“Can I take a number?” Sam asked. “Or just wedge in between?”
“Go away!” June snapped.
“We do have bedrooms in this place, you know.”
“What do you want?” Micha demanded.
Sam retracted and sat on the edge of the coffee table. His exaggerated pleading look disappeared.
“I thought you might like to know that Aaron and I have finally come up with a plan.”
This was mildly interesting, but June didn’t try to nudge Micha off her. Judging by what was pressing against her thigh, sitting up would be embarrassing for him. They didn’t need to give Sam more fodder.
“And it couldn’t wait?” June asked.
“It involves you, so we need to know if you’re…up for it.”
June rolled her eyes. “What is it? This better be really good. Better than what I’m doing right now.”
Smugness oozed from him like Stigmata. She thought he should try out for the role of Our Lord and Savior of the Oppressed and Aghast.
“Who are the angriest, most vicious paranormal folks in this city?” Sam asked. “The ones who don’t take shit and don’t take prisoners? I mean, besides my people.”
“I don’t know,” June said. “I’d love to meet them.”
Micha furrowed his brow and shifted away from her. “The militant vampires, you mean?”
“They don’t usually take sides,” Sam said. “But what if we could convince them? They’d be a hell of a force for the Institute to reckon with.”
Micha snorted. “They’ll never side with you or Aaron. They despise both of you. You stand for everything they hate.”
“They despise the Institute more than us. It’s not really their rage we’re hoping to bring on board, though it would benefit us greatly if we could get that too. They have certain connections. The FPS.”
“The FPS?” June said. “Is that like a delivery service? Do you need to send a package?”
Micha looked down at her. “The Freelance Paranormal Scientists. Paranormal researchers who never trusted the Institute, so they work independently. When Rose made her discovery, the militant vampires enlisted them to counter her rese
arch. I don’t think they’ve made much headway, though. I mean, Rose was right.”
“Yet they don’t like being thought of as bacteria-riddled disease factories,” Sam said. “But if we could put the information we have about the serum in their scientist’s hands, they might be able to do something with it.”
Micha lifted off June’s body. She wished he wouldn’t.
“So what do you need us to do?” Micha asked.
“Her. We need a liaison to talk to the vampires. Preferably one who’s been abused by the Institute. Sympathy points.”
June, surprisingly, found she wasn’t alarmed at the idea. She’d been shot, seen a man’s head explode, almost lost her brother, maimed people with her voice, and nearly had to drink Cabernet Sauvignon with fruit crepes. Talking to some vampires sounded like a party.
“She could get hurt,” Micha said. “They could make a snack out of her.”
“She’s proven she can hold her own.”
“I’m not afraid of the vampires,” June said. “I’ve seen a lot worse in this town.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it?” Sam asked.
“I don’t see any alternative. It’s better than rotting away here, waiting for something to happen. Just point me in the right direction.”
“You really sure?” Sam asked. “Micha has a point. Militant vampires don’t have a lot of morals about them.”
“We don’t have any other brilliant ideas, do we?” she said. “We’ve been here a month and it’s starting to get old. I want to move. I want to get things in motion.”
Sam got to his feet. “Aaron and I will talk to you later tonight. This can’t happen until you’re fully healed, of course. But in the meantime”—he reached down and ruffled her hair—“you crazy lovebirds keep swapping spit.”
June scowled and smoothed her hair as Sam walked away.
“Sam?” Micha called after him.
His footsteps stopped. “Yes?”
“I think if anyone might be able to help us, it’s the militant vampires. It’s a really good idea, despite how dangerous it is.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence. I’ll pass your approval on to Aaron.”
“Good.”
The footsteps started again.
“Oh, and Sam?” Micha said.
They stopped.
“If you ever put your hands on her again, or say some nasty perverted shit to her, I’ll break every bone in your body from the neck down. And Aaron isn’t going to care, because he’s wanted to kneecap you for years, and much worse. I’ll be doing him a favor.”
A smile spread across June’s face. Her arousal resurged with a vengeance.
“Noted,” Sam said.
His tone held a dark sort of mirth though, and June got the impression he was up for Micha's challenge. She didn't see Sam and Micha becoming brothers-in-arms just because they were in hiding together.
When they were alone again, Micha dropped his forehead against June’s, their breath mingling.
“Was that too much?” he asked.
“This whole damn city is too much.” She dug her fingers into his hips and drew them down flush against her own. Maybe she was fit enough for sex. “Now, kiss me like the Institute just blew up.”
“And chunks of it are falling down around us like rain.”
“And then we’ll bang in the ashes.”
Meet the Author
Megan Morgan is a paranormal romance, erotica, and urban fantasy author from Cleveland, Ohio. Bartender by day and purveyor of things that go bump at night, she likes her fiction scary and sexy. She's a member of the RWA and trying to turn writing into her day job, so she can be on the other side of the bar for a change.
