Micah's Calling

by Donya Lynne

  They walked arm-in-arm toward Trace, who didn't turn or retreat back to his room. Hell, he didn't even look away. It was as if he didn't realize he wasn't actually a shadow and that they could see him.

  As they got closer to Trace, Micah let go of Sam and held out his arm as she ducked shyly behind him. Trace took his arm, his expression calm but wary, joining their hands together as if they were about to arm wrestle. But Micah just leaned slightly and clapped him on the back of the shoulder with his free hand.

  "Night, bro."

  Trace seemed to be in a state of dismay or confusion and nodded feebly. "Night."

  Micah let him go and looked around at Sam, who smiled bashfully at Trace before her gaze flickered away. Micah could tell her face was flushed. Apparently, the reality of their actions was dawning on her as the passion of the moment ebbed.

  "Night," she said softly.

  Trace's gaze darted to Micah's, and he looked almost fearful.

  If Micah could read Trace's thoughts, he would probably hear a lot of why hasn't Micah killed me, yet? bouncing around.

  "It's okay, Trace. Don't ask me why or how, but I don't mind if you look at her." He paused and shook his head in disbelief before huffing out a burst of laughter. "Fuck, but I don't even think I'd mind if you touched her." The notion was just as shocking to him as the look on Trace's face conveyed he was.

  Sam's hand slid around his waist from behind, but she remained silently hidden behind his body.

  "I don't know what to say," Trace said, fidgeting.

  "I know." Micah looked down, an odd sense of comfort and contentment coming over him. "If you were anyone else, Trace, you'd already be dead for laying eyes on Sam."

  Trace fidgeted again and Sam's grip tightened on Micah's waist.

  "But…" Micah looked up. "I can't explain it. I don't mind with you."

  Trace's eyes darted to his in surprise, and the two stared at each other.

  "What are you saying, Micah?"

  Micah looked back at Sam, who was still grinning, then turned back to Trace. "I think what I'm saying is that Sam and I wouldn't mind having you over more often. Right Sam?"

  She nodded bashfully. "Yes. I'd like that." She squirmed and her slender fingers curled so that her nails scratched Micah's stomach.

  Trace glanced back and forth between them, his expression making it clear he wasn't sure if he had heard them right.

  "Would you like that, Trace?" Micah's eyes narrowed. Would Trace agree to do again what they'd all just done, or had this been a one-time act of spontaneity he didn't want to repeat?

  After considering Micah's question, Trace finally nodded once. "Okay. Sure."

  Trace's tone indicated to Micah that he was more interested than his lackadaisical demeanor implied. Trace was just as hot for an encore as Micah and Sam were. Maybe even hotter.

  "Well then. That's settled." Micah turned away from Trace and pulled Sam in front of him to protect her sudden modesty. "Good night, Trace."

  Trace didn't immediately respond and Micah looked over his shoulder. His friend looked positively stymied, staring at the floor.

  "Trace?"

  Trace looked up. "What? Oh…yeah. Good night."

  Despite Trace's befuddled expression, one thing was clear. Whatever had just happened among the three of them was a good thing. A very good thing. And Micah got the feeling it was another piece of the puzzle he was slowly putting together about mysterious Traceon.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Trace stood in the hall for at least two minutes after Micah closed his bedroom door.

  He was still alive. Micah hadn't killed him for watching them, or for seeing Sam naked. In fact, it seemed as though Micah had actually approved. Had he somehow slipped into Micah's inner circle without knowing it? Did Micah even have an inner circle?

  Seems he did now. And Trace had just been inducted.

  How many others did Micah let in? Besides Sam? And she didn't count since she was his mate. In all the time Trace had known Micah, he had never seen that male be anything but a hard-ass to everybody. The Lone Ranger, some called him, because he was supremely independent and followed no one's rules but his own. The guy didn't do friends. Yet, suddenly, that's exactly how Trace felt: like Micah's friend.

  Trace wondered over what Micah had just said to him. Did Micah want to replay the events of the evening at some future date? It sure sounded that way, and it sounded like Sam wanted to, as well.

  Trace swallowed and leaned his head back against the wall. Why did the thought of voyeurism with those two excite him so much? To the point of dimming his oppressive powers enough to get an erection no less. Could this be part of the solution to controlling his inner beast without succumbing to total submission as frequently as he had been?

  He looked down and saw that he was still blessedly hard after torturing himself with the show Micah and Sam had given him, and he breathed out a soft snort. He needed to take advantage of the moment before his power reawakened and overtook him again.

  No sense letting all this wood go to waste.

  Trace turned on his heel and went back into the spare room, closed the door, and got ready for a little personal time.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Sam quickly cleaned up in the bathroom then joined Micah. He was already in bed and held the covers open for her, and she wasted no time climbing in next to him. His arm slid around her waist and pulled her close as he settled onto his back.

  "What just happened out there?" She caressed his chest and stomach as she rested her chin on his shoulder.

  The look in his eyes was absolutely stunning. Content, yet wanton. Sublime yet humble. His lips twitched into a whimsical grin.

  "What do you mean? We had great sex."

  He truly was incorrigible.

  "Well, yes, but that's not what I'm talking about."

  "Oh, you mean with Trace?" His eyes twinkled. Of course he knew that's what she meant.

  "Well, yeah. I mean, hell, Micah. I've only known you a short time, but even I already know that if another guy even so much as looked at me, you'd kill him." She searched his face, but he was giving nothing away. "Trace just saw me naked. He watched us having sex." She smiled sweetly. "And you didn't lay a hand on him."

  Micah kept his gaze on hers for several seconds then shifted and stared up at the ceiling as he took a deep breath. Sam couldn't be positive, but it sure seemed as though Micah was as perplexed as she was over the events of the past half-hour.

  "I don't know," he said, "but there's something different about Trace." Micah rolled his head back toward her on the pillow. "I don't feel threatened by him. I know that sounds odd, but I actually liked it."

  The way Micah's brow furrowed as he said it emphasized just how strange all this was even for him.

  "You liked it?" Sam lifted up on her elbow, inspecting him more closely.

  "Yes." He seemed on the tip of some revelation. "Didn't you?"

  Sam bit her lip. "Yes. I loved it."

  Micah turned onto his side and faced her. "Would you do it again?"

  Hadn't they hinted as much to Trace in the hallway?

  She nodded. "Absolutely."

  This was so weird for her. She had spent a year dancing at the Black Garter, hating every minute of it. She'd had to wear those masks and fall into a role just to be able to get up on stage every night and take her clothes off for those perverted men. And yet the moment she had seen Trace standing in the hall watching her having sex with Micah, the most amazing feeling of decadent arousal flashed through her, making her come almost instantly.

  She had enjoyed the exhibitionism of being seen in such an intimate, lascivious moment. And when she looked up and saw him enthralled with the orgasm she'd just had, she came undone a second time, her multiple orgasms blistering her with excitement.

  "I can hear what you're thinking," Micah said.

  "I figured." She smiled, getting used to his mind-probe nature. "Do you have any answers?"

  "You
mean, why would you hate dancing for a room full of men and yet find being watched by Trace while having sex so exciting?"

  She nodded.

  Micah cleared his throat and sighed heavily. "I'm not sure, but you seem to have exhibitionist tendencies, Sam."

  "But then why would I hate dancing?"

  "Was it the dancing you hated? Or the perverted men and the looks they gave you?"

  Sam thought about that a moment. She did enjoy dancing. When she had first discovered exotic dancing when she was eighteen, she had really liked it. It excited her. But, little-by-little, it began to lose its charm because the men creeped her out. Some of them scared her. Those who did looked at her as if they wanted to do horrible, nasty things to her. She remembered leaving the club every night feeling as though one of those guys, or even a group of them, would attack and rape her. So, yeah, it wasn't the dancing she had hated.

  "It was the men," she said.

  She could see by the look on Micah's face that he had been following along in her head as she came to the answer.

  He nodded. "So what makes Trace different, baby?" He caressed the back of his fingers over her cheek.

  She recalled the look on Trace's face. He had been aroused, yes, but he hadn't been lewd. In fact, Trace had looked more enthralled, maybe even a little scared, but certainly grateful, as if she and Micah had given him a gift. For Trace, what had happened hadn't been about lust. It had been about something else. Relief, gratitude, something Sam couldn't put her finger on. But a measure of surprise had shown in Trace's eyes as he'd watched them, as if he was learning something new about himself.

  The way he had behaved afterward, so sweetly and platonically, also impressed Sam. She'd been naked, and yet Trace hadn't stared lustfully, despite his obvious erection. Trace had actually seemed…respectful. Maybe even somewhat apologetic.

  Sam's gaze met Micah's, and he grinned knowingly.

  "That's why he's different, Micah. Because…well, because he is different."

  "I know." He tenderly brushed her short, blond hair off her forehead. "I don't think Trace has had many lovers, if any at all. I'm beginning to think this power of his has robbed him of something he desperately wants."

  "I wish you could see inside his head." Sam sighed sadly.

  She liked Trace. A lot. Between Micah and Trace, she felt like the safest person on the planet. These two seemed ready to live and die to save her life.

  "Me, too," Micah said. "If I could see Trace's thoughts, I could know better how to help him." He hesitated. "And I get the feeling somehow that I'm supposed to. Help him, that is."

  "What do you mean?"

  He laid his hand over hers on the short span of mattress separating them, weaving their fingers together.

  "I'm not sure," he said, frowning subtly. "But I feel like he found me for a reason. Like he needs me or something."

  Sam didn't know what to say to that. What could Trace possibly need from Micah?

  "I don't know," he said, reading her thoughts.

  They lay staring at each other for a couple of minutes, and then the blinds and drapes kicked on and began to close over the windows.

  "Here comes the daylight," he said, smiling.

  "Yep." Her eyes adjusted to the darkness as the small night light plugged into the bathroom socket cast a faint glow into the bedroom.

  Daylight. Something Micah had never known.

  "Oh no. I knew it as a child," he said.

  Sam's eyebrows popped with surprise. Micah had been a child?

  He laughed. Just threw his head back and laughed. "Of course I was child. Where do you think vampires come from? Didn't I already tell you we have babies?" He placed his hand over Sam's stomach and gently pushed her to her back, rising up on his elbow to look down at her.

  He kept his hand on her belly, almost as if he was trying to feel a tiny life moving inside of her. As if he wanted more than anything to feel that.

  "I just can't imagine you as a child, Micah." She smiled up at him and brushed his long hair out of his face before tucking it behind his ear.

  He leaned his head into her hand and closed his eyes briefly.

  "Well, I was. A long time ago."

  "How long?" He still hadn't told her his age.

  "I can't remember exactly, but over a thousand years."

  She gaped.

  "Don't look so surprised," he said.

  Still holding his face in her palm, she made an appraising sound that embedded deep in her throat.

  "You look good for a thousand-year-old man."

  "Male."

  "Whatever."

  He laughed. "And I'm older than that, I just can't remember exactly. You know, you kinda stop counting at a certain age."

  Sam shook her head. "Well, can you take a guess?"

  Micah blinked with appeasement. "It's just driving you crazy not knowing how old I am, isn't it?"

  "I'm just curious is all." She patiently caressed his cheek with the pad of her thumb.

  He took a deep breath and looked to be thinking back over his life, adding up the years in his head. Finally, he said, "It was after the collapse of Rome in 410, I know that much. Drecks used barbarian hordes to hide within and attack vampire villages." Micah seemed lost in thought for a moment then smiled at her. "Let's call it fifteen hundred years."

  Sam planted a sweet kiss on his lips. "Well, like I said, you look good for being an old fart."

  "What can I say, I age well." He kissed her back.

  "Very well. I daresay you're the best looking fifteen hundred-year-old man I've ever seen."

  Micah rolled his eyes. "As if you've seen many."

  "Hey, how do you know?"

  He tapped her temple. "Because I can see all, remember?"

  "Not if you're staying out of my memories, as you promised you would." She raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him.

  "Difficult female." He bent down and kissed her neck.

  "Incorrigible male."

  "Touche," he said against her nape.

  "What kind of child were you, anyway?" She wrapped one arm around him as he nibbled away at her and slid one of his long, powerful legs between hers.

  "Rowdy."

  She giggled. "Why do I sooo believe that?"

  "Because it's true."

  "Seriously, what else. If I'm going to have your children, I want to know what to expect."

  The mention of children practically melted Micah against her as he snuggled even closer and rubbed her stomach. She had to admit, she loved this calling thing and how it affected him. He was so attentive and reverent toward her body.

  "I was an active child," he said. "Curious about everything."

  "How did your parents raise you if they were vampires and you could go out in the sun?" She turned her face into his and kissed the side of his mouth.

  He kissed her back.

  "We had human caretakers. The humans raised us during the day. Our parents raised us at night."

  "Us?"

  "The children of the clan."

  "Oh. Do you have brothers and sisters?"

  He shook his head. "Only child."

  "So humans cared for you?"

  "Only during the day." He settled in closer against her, his hand skimming up the side of her body.

  "Are your parents still alive?" She dreaded the answer to the question.

  "No." He laid his cheek on her shoulder.

  "What happened?"

  "The war. Drecks killed them."

  "I'm sorry." Sam kissed his forehead as he looked up at her.

  "It's okay. I grieved for them a long time ago. I've accepted what happened."

  "Still, it must be hard. Do you have any family left?"

  "I'm not sure. My father had a brother, my Uncle Rory, but I haven't seen him in centuries. We lost touch after…well, after everything happened."

  She could only assume he was referring to the death of his first mate, Katarina. From what little he had told her, Sam knew that
Micah's life had fallen into despair after Katarina's death, and he hadn't fully recovered until…well, until she had come along.

  What a life Micah had lived. She couldn't imagine what it must have been like for him growing up. Hell, what did kids do for fun in the Middle Ages? She didn't even know.

  "What kind of games did you play as a child?"

  Micah laughed, and she felt the low rumble through her rib cage, right into her heart.

  "You'd be amazed at how active we were, Sam." He propped his chin on her chest and the whiskers from the goatee he was growing tickled her skin. "We played all kinds of games and got into all kinds of trouble."

  "Really now?"

  He nodded, making her giggle as his soft whiskers teased her.

  "I got very good at Chess, and while I prefer knives and guns today, my archery skills were the best of anyone in my clan. At the age of twelve, I was doing most of the hunting." He gave her a look that indicated she should be impressed.

  She was.

  With a quirky smile, he continued. "We played hide-and-seek, dice games, card games…we wrestled and had foot races. And we learned how to fight and protect ourselves."

  "When did you get to the point where you couldn't go out into the sun, anymore?"

  Micah settled in beside her again and pulled her back so he was spooning her, both of them on their sides and facing the heavy drapes over the windows.

  "I started becoming sensitive to the sun in my early twenties. By the time I was in my late twenties, when I went through the change to an adult, I couldn't endure it, anymore."

  "Do you miss it?"

  "I did at first. But now…" he paused. "I'm used to it."

  "I'm not sure I could ever get used to being without the sun." She played her fingertips up and down Micah's forearm. "I enjoy it too much."

  "I don't want you to ever be without something you enjoy." Micah's breath warmed the back of her neck then he kissed it.

  "You do take good care of me, don't you?"

  "I plan on it, Mrs. Black."

  She felt him smile against her skin as if he was waiting for her reaction.

  "Um…we've discussed this," she said.

  "Yes, we have, and you know you're mine, so why can't I call you Mrs. Black?"