Micah's Calling

by Donya Lynne

  There was so much about this mystical world she didn't understand, but she did know that she wanted to help Trace and that she wouldn't mind being involved if Micah ever had to work him over again.

  Micah smiled and hugged Mistress D, and she hugged him back. Clearly, the mind job was complete.

  "It was nice to meet you, Sam." Mistress Diamond turned toward her pleasantly.

  "Uh, nice to meet you, too." Sam gave those pearly whites one last, fixated stare.

  Micah joined her, took her hand, and began to lead her out of the room.

  "Are we set?" she said.

  "She now thinks Trace arrived at the party with us." Micah ushered her back through the basement.

  "So she won't think it's odd Trace is leaving with us, right?"

  "Exactly."

  Sam stopped and pulled him back. "Should we talk about this first?" She needed to know what Micah expected of her once they left here.

  "Upstairs." Micah motioned for her to come with him.

  Once upstairs, Micah pulled her into a quiet corner. Most of the party attendees were still downstairs watching the other scenes being played out.

  "Is Trace okay?" She kept her voice quiet despite the lack of an audience.

  "Yes. He's better than okay, actually." Micah looked a bit unnerved. Obviously, he hadn't expected to see Trace here either, and hadn't counted on having to help his friend get off.

  "No, I didn't," he said, answering her unasked question.

  Micah wasn't acting like himself. He seemed upset, which wasn't how he'd acted downstairs.

  Sam touched his arm. "Are you okay that I was involved?"

  Micah nodded. "Yes, oddly enough, I enjoyed that you helped. It was…sexy." His navy eyes darkened and flitted away from hers almost as if he felt guilty.

  "Then why are you so agitated?"

  Micah's gaze found hers again. "Because I didn't know how fucked up he is."

  "Fucked up how?"

  "His mixed-blood powers are stronger than I realized."

  So, Micah wasn't upset about the mindfuck — that's what he called it, right? — he had pulled on Trace or about what had gone on in the storage room. He was upset because Trace was more powerful than he thought.

  "That's right," Micah said, keeping his voice hushed.

  "Why is that a problem?" And then suddenly Sam remembered what Micah had told her about mixed-bloods and mutants. "Oh, God!" She covered her mouth and gazed up at him, suddenly scared for Trace. "You don't think…?"

  "No, Trace isn't going mutant." Micah smoothed his hands over her arms to reassure her, but he was obviously worried. "Being a submissive is how he keeps his power under control, though, so he doesn't tip the scale."

  "Is he going to be okay?"

  Micah shrugged. "I don't know. I hope so."

  She had only known Trace for a few weeks, but the thought of losing him was intolerable. "So, now what? After what just happened down there, what am I supposed to do?"

  Micah glanced over her shoulder as if looking for him then he looked back at her. "Actually, I think it would make Trace feel better for you to talk to him. I think he's relieved that you and I know his secret, now."

  "Okay. Do I pull him aside? Do I ask him questions?"

  Micah shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just be conversational. Can you do that?"

  She nodded.

  "Oh, and one more thing." Micah glanced over her shoulder again. "He's going to be tired. After he comes down off his high, he's going to be exhausted. And he needs caring for. I've never dommed him, and I take care of those I dom. If he had been anyone else, I would have turned him back over to Diamond to tend to. I would have sat with him for a while and made sure he was okay, but I would have let Diamond care for him. But since it's Trace, I'm going to do that. I want you to help. Do you mind? He seems to be as attached to you as he is to me."

  "No, I don't mind." No question about it. Sam would do whatever Micah needed her to do. "How can I help?"

  "Just reassure him. Make him comfortable. He needs to know he's okay with us and that we're okay with him…that his secret doesn't change how we feel about him."

  No problem. She could do that. This was Trace, after all. And Trace was already closer than a brother to her.

  Micah waved and Sam turned around. Trace had just walked into the room and was glancing around as if looking for them. He bobbed his head in their direction when he saw them.

  She and Micah walked toward him.

  "You ready, buddy?" Micah took his duffel bag.

  "Yeah." Trace looked at her and nodded in gratitude but said nothing further, the expression on his face saying everything he needed to convey.

  "Hi, Trace." She smiled up at him and took his hand. Doing so just felt natural.

  "Come on, let's go home." Micah led them out.

  She kept her hand linked with Trace's as they followed Micah outside. The valet took their ticket and hurried off for their car.

  "How you feeling?" Sam looked up at Trace's dark face, his pale eyes unreadable but heavy.

  "Tired, actually."

  "Yes, Micah mentioned you might be tired."

  Trace stretched. "Yes, but I feel good. You?"

  Sam squeezed his hand and smiled up at him as he glanced down at her. "I'm good."

  Trace nodded and grinned sheepishly before looking away.

  The Camaro pulled up and Micah headed around to the driver's side.

  "Um, when did you buy this fine piece of automobile?" Trace let Sam lead him down the steps.

  She let go of his hand and opened the passenger door.

  "Couple of days ago," Micah said. "It's Sam's."

  Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but he wouldn't let me drive it tonight." She waved her hand at Micah as if he was a big kid with a shiny new toy then gestured toward the inside of the car. "You want the front or back?"

  "Back's fine." Trace ducked down and climbed in after Sam pushed the front seat up for him.

  "It's a tight fit for a giant like you," she said as he got situated.

  "Yeah, but I can sprawl out a bit. Relax."

  Sam blinked and smiled at him then stood up and looked over the car at Micah, who gave her a look as if to say I told you so. Then they both climbed in, Micah put the car in gear, and they pulled away from the mansion.

  No one spoke the entire trip back to the apartment, but Sam looked in the back seat a couple of times to see that Trace had closed his eyes and was rocking gently with the motion of the car.

  He looks exhausted.

  Micah's gaze flicked to her briefly, and he reached for her hand.

  Here they were, the Three Musketeers of S&M. Well, Sam felt more like part of the Three Stooges for all her knowledge, or lack thereof, in what Micah and Trace seemed to be experts in.

  An amused expression swept over Micah's face, and he laughed quietly but didn't say a word. Obviously, he found her comparison to Curly, Larry, and Moe funny.

  With narrowed eyes, she huffed at him.

  Well, it's true. I can't hold a candle to you two.

  His expression softened and he lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it before turning toward her at a stoplight and mouthing, I love you.

  Okay, so Micah knew how to allay her trepidation and her fears, and he knew just what to say to make her all better.

  I love you, too.

  * * *

  Trace was exhausted. The combination of Micah's mindfuck and of the powerful orgasm afterward had him on the brink of sleep. The hum of the Camaro's engine, as well as the soft rocking as Micah navigated them through the streets of Chicago, lulled him even further.

  He knew Micah and Sam were having some kind of silent communication, but he didn't have the energy to question them. Were they concerned about him? Worried? Was Sam upset? She hadn't acted upset.

  That female never ceased to amaze him. She was a stalwart rock, unmoving and resistant to the hardest pounding anyone could give her. She'd been through a shit sto
rm in the past month, finding out vampires exist, almost dying from a dreck bite, saved from death by Micah's venom, and coming face-to-face with her abusive ex-husband who had wanted to drag her back to her former life with him.

  Maybe that was why she was taking all of this with him so well. After surviving what she'd been through, seeing a guy get mindfucked and then holding him through a monumental orgasm was child's play.

  The car slowed and turned, and when Trace blinked his eyes open, he saw they were in the parking garage at the Sentinel. Within moments, Micah parked, shut off the engine, got out, and pushed up his seat.

  "Come on, buddy. Time to get you to bed."

  Trace swatted away Micah's outstretched hand. "I'm fine."

  Fuck, he hated moving. He just wanted to stay in the car and sleep.

  "Yeah, uh-huh." Micah chuckled. "I can see that."

  Trace flipped him the bird then slowly peeled himself out of near-slumber to climb out of the car.

  Micah shut the driver's side door, and Sam joined them as they headed toward the elevators.

  "I'll make you some tea and fill a bath for you." Micah rubbed his hand affectionately over Trace's bald head.

  "No. I just want to sit and rest a bit."

  "Okay, I can do that, too."

  They rode up the elevator in silence, got out on the eighteenth floor, and Sam linked her hand with his as they headed down to Micah's apartment.

  "I love you guys." Trace looked down as they reached Micah's door.

  "We love you, too, buddy." Micah unlocked the door and let it swing open before wrapping his arm around Trace's shoulders. "Now, come on. Inside with your ugly ass."

  He grinned and flipped Micah off again as he trudged drowsily inside, feeling like he finally had a family again.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  "Go have a seat on the couch, Trace." Micah released him and extended his arm toward the living room. "I'll make us some tea and get you something to eat."

  Trace didn't protest and walked into the living room and grabbed the TV remote and clicked it on to ESPN.

  Sam rubbed Micah's arm to catch his attention. "I'm going to change. I'll be right back."

  As Sam slipped down the hall to the bedroom, Micah went to the kitchen and prepared a pot of chamomile tea and started making sandwiches. Turkey with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and mustard.

  His gaze lifted toward Trace, who sat with his back to him. For all Trace's toughness, the guy really was troubled. Micah would never have guessed it was so bad for Trace, but then he couldn't get inside that cranium to see whatever pain Trace was dealing with. Was it really so bad?

  Micah felt as if he was only just touching the surface of Trace's secrets. Tonight, he had revealed just one of what Micah feared were many secrets Trace kept snugly tucked out of sight.

  How surreal this was. Only a few weeks ago, Micah had been the one who was monumentally fucked up. But Trace and Sam had pulled him out of that fire, and the scars he had carried for centuries were finally healing. Micah was becoming the male he had been before Katarina's death.

  Unfortunately, one of his two saviors now seemed to be revealing that he needed saving, but Micah didn't know how to do that. How did you remove a threat that couldn't be removed? If what Trace said was true, his power could destroy him at any time. If he didn't subject himself or receive his fix of pain and degradation, his power could eat him alive like cancer.

  Was this why Trace needed him? Was this what Trace wanted from him?

  Micah wouldn't assume anything, but if Trace ever came to him and asked him to be his dom, Micah would do it in a heartbeat. In no way would he let Trace fall prey to his powers. Micah wouldn't lose his new and best friend — his brother — like that. No way. Trace had taken care of Micah, now he would take care of Trace. If that's what it came to, Trace would become his charge, just as Micah had become Trace's.

  They would find a way to overcome this together.

  * * *

  Sam changed into sweats and a T-shirt then returned to the living room, offering a smile to Micah as she passed the kitchen before joining Trace on the couch.

  "You look like you're about to fall asleep," she said.

  He nodded.

  "Does doing a scene always do that to you?" She might as well speak candidly. Micah had told her it might help him if she showed him what she had seen didn't bother her.

  Micah quietly entered and set a tray of sandwiches and tea on the large ottoman in front of them then sat down beside her.

  Trace chanced a cautious glance at her as he picked up one of the sandwiches.

  "Yes. Scenes are pretty exhausting."

  "How come?" She grabbed a sandwich and began eating as she looked at him.

  Micah's arm wrapped around her shoulders, but he kept quiet, almost as if he purposely wanted to stay out of the conversation.

  Trace shrugged and kept his gaze averted. "The pain is a lot to deal with." He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed. "And when I'm in a scene is the only time I can truly relax, so I guess that naturally makes me tired."

  "Go on." She was truly curious. After what had happened in the storage room, as well as how excited it had made her, she found fascination in what she had experienced, both as an observer and a participant.

  He turned and searched her face, his brow furrowing curiously. "Are you sure?"

  She nodded. She knew from what Micah had said that this wasn't the normal and usual way to react after a scene, but more seemed to be brewing inside Trace and she got a sense he wanted to talk about it.

  Trace glanced between her and Micah. "Well, it's my powers," he said slowly. "Being a submissive and putting myself through that is the only way I can…." He hesitated. "Well, it's the only way I can actually feel free."

  "Free?" she said.

  He nodded. "Most of the time, my powers keep me locked in a state of tension. But when I'm in a scene, the pain and humiliation push my powers back. For just a little while, I feel normal."

  Sam nodded. "And you can relax."

  "Yes."

  No wonder he was tired. It sounded like he spent most of his time tied in stressful knots until he endured a scene such as the one Micah had just put him through. With all the tension dissolved, he would probably sleep like a baby tonight.

  They finished their midnight snack, watching SportsCenter, and Trace seemed to grow sleepier by the second.

  "Come on, Trace, lie down." Sam tugged him toward her as Micah pulled a throw pillow from the side and set it on her lap.

  Trace didn't even try to fight his weariness and laid down, his head settling into her lap. Micah's hand joined hers as she stroked his face with her fingers. "Just sleep, Trace."

  "We've got you," Micah added quietly, scooting closer and caressing Trace's scalp.

  Sam laid her head on Micah's shoulder, and turned her face toward his. He kissed her then snuggled her against him as they lulled Trace to sleep with their caresses.

  An hour later, with Trace sound asleep, Micah shut off the TV, quietly got up, lifted Trace in his arms, and cradled him. Trace didn't even stir. The guy was out cold.

  Sam stood up and followed him to the spare room and pulled the covers back on the bed so Micah could set him down. She pulled off his shoes and set them at the foot of the bed, and then Micah tucked him in.

  "He looks so innocent," she said, watching Trace sleep.

  "Yeah, he does." Micah ushered her to the door and out into the hall before silently closing Trace in for the day.

  After going to their own bedroom, Micah went to the restroom and started getting ready for bed as she put on her pajamas.

  "So, is that what you would do to me in your dungeon?" she said as she joined him in the bathroom and grabbed her toothbrush.

  He rinsed toothpaste out of his mouth and looked at her in the mirror. His calling was all but finished, with only a lingering arousal that flared up about once a day.

  "No. I wouldn't be that hardcore with you
," he said.

  "Why not?" She started brushing her teeth.

  Micah slipped behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. "It would just be different with you, that's all."

  She recalled their earlier conversation about this topic. He had told her scenes with her would be more sexual than with others. With others, it would be about providing a service. With her, it would be more intimate. Just for them.

  She spit and rinsed as he loosened his grip so she could bend over the sink.

  After she wiped her mouth, he shut off the light and followed her to bed.

  "Why?" he said. "Are you having second thoughts?"

  She nestled in beside him. "No."

  "So, you still want to—"

  "Yes." She propped herself on her elbow and gazed down at him. "Yes, more than ever I want to play with you in your dungeon of depravity." She grinned.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely." She trailed the tip of her fingertip around his nipple, biting her bottom lip.

  "Come here. I'll show you depravity." He pulled her on top of him and shut off the light on the nightstand.

  Oh, Micah, Micah, Micah. What a bad boy he was.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Trace awoke feeling refreshed late in the afternoon. He could already feel his powers flowing back to life after the raw working over Micah had given him, but the restful sleep had done him wonders.

  With a stretch, he sat up and realized he was still wearing the same clothes he had worn last night.

  He spent the night here often enough that he had a few changes of clothes tucked into the top drawer of the bureau. Standing, he stretched again then pattered barefoot across the carpet, pulled open the drawer, grabbed out a pair of jeans, and hit the bathroom for a shower.

  Last night's events still rattled through his thoughts, and it would probably be a while before he fully grasped a level of comfort over what had happened, but after a good, long sleep he felt better about how things had gone down.

  After shutting off the water, Trace did a half-assed job drying off then yanked on his jeans commando-style and headed off to the kitchen for some coffee and grub.