by Donya Lynne
God, she was beautiful. Full of fire, strong, courageous. Micah's kind of woman.
He caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers as if she was made of fine porcelain, and her warmth rippled through his hand.
He couldn't do it. Micah couldn't strip away her memories of him. He wanted her to remember him, so the next time he saw her, she would know him. The bite memories would have to go, though. He quickly dashed anything that had to do with fangs and him biting her, but left everything else.
The healing bruises of his body protested as he lifted her off the floor and laid her gently down on the bed then stood over her for a moment to memorize her. She had short – almost boy-short – blond hair that stood out in stylish, feminine spikes like she'd combed and plucked it with her fingers. With a heart-shaped face and a daintily-pointed chin, her skin was smooth and flawless, her body slender and athletic. She looked like a runner, her stomach flat and her breasts small but perky under a rose-colored, long-sleeved cotton tee.
"That's a good color on you," he said quietly, staring at her a little longer before checking the clock. He had to hurry.
"Sleep, Sam," he commanded her. "And remember me."
On his way out, he paused as her duffel bag caught his eye. A gun was poking out through the top. He reached down and pulled out a nice looking Beretta. That was some hardware for a pretty thing like her. He glanced back at her prone form on the bed and smiled then put the Beretta back in the bag and pulled out her wallet. Samantha Garrett. That was the name on her driver's license. He looked at her again. "I'll be seeing you, Samantha Garrett." He dropped her wallet back in her bag and hurried out.
After gathering his bearings, he dematerialized to his apartment. He hated dematerializing. It always left him disoriented afterward, so he only used the nifty vampire trick when he had to.
As soon as his feet hit the balcony and he stepped inside, he realized that thoughts of Jackson no longer filled his mind. Jackson's memory was still there, and Micah still ached, but those thoughts no longer chained him to a cannon ball that was dropping into the depths of hell. Micah actually felt okay. He felt like things were going to be all right. The agony seemed to be lifting. He no longer felt the need to mar his flesh to take away the pain, because, well, the pain was merely an echo compared to what it had been just a few hours ago.
In a stunned daze, Micah wandered into the kitchen as the computerized timers engaged the double set of heavy, opaque drapes to close along the dual tracks over the windows.
Standing with his hands pressed against the counter, head down, Micah thought back over the last couple of weeks and wondered what he was supposed to do now? With an angry rumble, his stomach answered. Eat. Fuck, he was famished.
* * *
Down below, the guardian materialized into the shadows and looked up at the eighteenth floor. Back at the human woman's house, he had been ready to bust in her door and yank Micah out when Micah had walked out on his own and dematerialized back home. The guardian didn't know what had happened between Micah and the woman, but whatever it was had been good, because the guardian could feel Micah finally eating again, which was something he hadn't done in two weeks.
One thing was certain: The human female was a spitfire. The guardian had just come across Micah's trail, which led into a parking garage, when he heard gunshots. Five drecks took off out of the garage then the blonde dragged Micah to her car a couple minutes later. She was strong, both in body and spirit, that much he could tell. Micah had been in and out of consciousness, but that woman had muscled him to her car like a pro.
The guardian could have interfered, but his curiosity had held his hand. He had been intrigued and wanted to know more about this woman, so he had followed her home, where she slung Micah over her shoulder like a soldier and hefted him inside. The guardian had felt her caring hands inspect Micah, then all hell broke loose as he felt Micah take her blood.
And thank God for that, because Micah hadn't fed in two weeks, either. To know he was eating and feeding eased the guardian's mind, and he grinned for the first time since his watch over Micah had begun. Whatever had gone on in that woman's apartment had changed Micah for the better. The feel-good emotions coming from the eighteenth floor told the guardian that much.
As the first rays of sun kissed the eastern horizon, the guardian bundled his coat collar around his neck and dematerialized to his own home. Micah would be fine. Now maybe the guardian could think about working on phase two of Project Micah.
CHAPTER SIX
The next night, Arion and Severin went to Jackson's apartment.
"I hope he's home," Arion said, walking side-by-side with Severin down the hall of the luxury apartment building where Jackson lived.
"Or that he hasn't moved." Severin folded a stick of gum into his mouth.
"Got a piece for me?"
"Sure." Severin held the pack of gum out for him so he could swipe a piece.
Arion checked the door number as he bit down on the stick of spearmint gum and stopped in front of apartment 9-D. "Yeah, I hope he hasn't moved, too." The address was a year old, after all.
They had scrounged Jackson's address out of the database at AKM the night before, but had to delay the trip over because the sun was coming up and, unlike Severin, Arion couldn't go out in the sun. Since newbies like Sev weren't allowed to hit the field without a veteran along for the ride, they had postponed their outing until tonight. Tristan hadn't been pleased about that, but what could they do?
Sev's gaze automatically ranged the hall as if he was looking for traps or hidden dangers. Decades pulling military duty alongside the humans as a day walker had likely created a few habits that would never be broken. Ari could only imagine the life Severin was rumored to have lived fighting alongside humans in generation-after-generation of wars.
Giving the heavy door some knuckle action, Arion leaned against the doorframe, sizing Sev up.
"So, you were a SEAL?" Ari said.
"Yep."
"Impressive. And you can really go out in the daylight, huh?"
"Yep."
Ari wondered what a specialist like Sev was doing at AKM if he had spent his life fighting with humans. "Fuckin' A. Trace says he can, too, but I've never seen him do it, or heard tell of it. He says it's because he just doesn't like to. Hurts his eyes or some shit."
Severin chomped on his gum and flicked his long, wavy hair off his shoulders with a shrug. "I don't mind it. Keeps me nice and tan." Sev lifted his arms, showing off the golden glow of his skin.
Rolling his eyes with amusement, Arion knocked on the door again, louder this time. "Fuck, I hope we didn't waste a trip for nothing."
Severin nodded toward Arion's inked up left arm. "Nice tats."
With a glance at his arm, the corner of Arion's mouth quirked upward. "Yeah, Io and I got 'em done together about five years ago. He did the right arm, though. I went with the left."
Sev's brow lifted. "So, you and Io…?" His voice trailed off curiously, as if he was trying to imagine Arion and Io together.
Arion chuckled. "No, man. Io and I are like brothers. Just friends, but no sweat. You're not the first to think he and I have something going under the sheets, but we're just tight. I've known Io a long time. But if you knew Io, you'd know he doesn't swing that way. Not even close." Io was the biggest homophobe on the planet, truth-be-told, so getting with a guy was the last thing on Io's to-do list.
Severin looked away. "Hey, it's your biz if you swing like that. Nothing wrong with it."
Arion was about to answer when he heard rustling inside the apartment and glanced at Sev before pushing away from the wall. Clearing his throat, he pulled his formal demeanor back into place.
After a pause in which Jackson had probably checked the peephole, the door swung open. Jackson adjusted his robe, an erection evident under the fabric. "What's up, Ari?" He was breathless, as if he had been in the middle of something strenuous, and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair before e
yeing Severin.
Severin had joined AKM the week before Jackson and Micah had broken up, so Jackson had never met the guy like the rest of them had.
"Can we come in?" Arion asked.
Jackson's attention returned to Arion as he pursed his lips. He looked nervously over his shoulder down the hall inside his apartment. "Um, I've got company and…"
"Forget it," Sev said with a shake of his head, not hiding his disgust or lowering his voice. "It's been what? Two weeks and you're already fucking someone else like Micah never meant anything…while he's in such a fucking mess that no one's heard from him since you split on his ass. Asshole. You didn't give a shit about him, did you? Go back and fuck your little toyfriend." Sev nodded severely in the direction Jackson had looked just a moment before.
Arion stared at Sev in awed silence. The guy wasn't much of a talker. The outburst had been the most he had heard Sev say at one time, but it had been a doozy. He looked back at Jackson, whose face and neck blanched crimson. Where had Sev's tirade come from? Sev didn't even know Micah that well, having only seen him a couple of times at the compound. And, knowing Micah, seeing him was probably all Sev had done. Micah wasn't known to be social or talkative. So, what made Sev stick up for the guy like that? Was it that he now considered Micah his brother in arms and would defend him regardless? Or was this something personal?
Either way, there was more to Severin than he first imagined, wasn't there? He was more than just a pretty face with luxurious tresses and a stacked body. The male had substance. Arion approved, even if he would have approached the sitch differently.
Jackson stepped toward Arion as if he thought that would protect him, his wary gaze never leaving Sev. "What does he mean? What's this about Micah?"
Sev inhaled like he was about to go off again, but Arion hushed him with a raise of his hand, giving Sev a you-need-to-chill glance as he answered. "Yeah, um, about Micah. We need to know where you lived with him. He never told us and no one's heard from him in over two weeks. We're getting worried. Apparently, he's taking it pretty hard that you left."
"Yeah, sure. Anything I can do to help." Jackson nodded nervously under Severin's intense glare. "Micah got us a place at The Sentinel downtown. I'll write down the address."
Jackson stepped away and returned a few seconds later with a pen and pad of paper, scribbling down the address before ripping out the sheet and handing it to Arion. He glanced at Severin as if he was seeking the male's approval.
He wasn't going to get it. Arion could feel that vibe without looking.
"Thanks, Jackson." Arion lifted the paper and turned toward Sev, giving him a nudge. "Let's go, Sev."
"I hope he's okay. I never meant to hurt him," Jackson said.
Throwing a final, loathing glance at Jackson, Sev tore his gaze away and let Arion direct him back down the hall to the elevators.
"What was that about back there?" Ari said, hitting the down button. "You practically tore him a new asshole."
Shrugging, Sev looked away nonchalantly. "Nothing."
"You sure?"
Sev's pale blues landed heavily on Ari's eyes. "What are you, my mother?"
Shaking his head and sighing, Ari looked away. "Hey, I'm not saying you were wrong for what you said. In fact, I'm glad you said it, because I was thinking it."
"Can we just drop it?" Sev's jaw renewed its gum-chewing intensity as he stepped into the elevator.
"Sure, whatever man."
Discussion over. For now, anyway. The two rode down the elevator in awkward silence.
They needed to get this information into Tristan's hands pronto. Ari could hit Sev up later about the rest when he cooled off.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Micah had spent the day eating the last of the bread, a box of cereal – dry, since he hadn't bought milk in over two weeks – three cans of green beans, a box of crackers with the last of an old block of cheese he'd had to cut some mold off of, and a pizza. With his belly full, he had slept through the final hours of the afternoon, well past dark, in fact.
Now that he was awake again, his stomach felt like an empty pit of feed-me.
He was pacing in front of the oven, shoving the last piece of another pizza in his mouth and making a mental grocery list, when the doorbell rang.
He brushed his hands together then went to the door and yanked it open. His boss, Tristan, stepped inside, holding – oh glory to Jesus – a large bag of McDonald's.
"Hey, Tris."
He snatched the bag out of Tristan's hands and returned wordlessly to the kitchen, leaving Tristan at the door like he wasn't even there. He tossed the bag on the kitchen counter and ripped it down the side to get at the large fry and a mouthwatering order of McNuggets.
* * *
Tristan arched an eyebrow. What the hell? Micah was usually aloof, but something was different. It was as if Micah didn't realize anything was wrong. Did he even know how much time had passed since the two had last talked?
"Uh, yeah, help yourself there, buddy."
Tristan shut the door quietly and sat on one of the bar stools, a bit aghast at the way Micah tore into not only the bag, but the food. He was afraid to reach for the Big Mac he had bought for himself, fearing he would lose his hand. Setting down the tray of large Cokes, Tristan popped a straw in one and took a drink as he continued to scrutinize the situation.
He had to admit, Micah looked better than he thought he would. The guy had lost major weight, though. Had he not been eating? If so, why not? Maybe that was why he was scarfing the McD's down faster than a Dyson sucks up dust. What was wrong with this picture? Everything.
"You okay, Micah?"
Micah flicked the Big Mac across the counter to him, choosing the Quarter Pounder instead. "I just ate a pizza. You can have the Big Mac. I don't need it. I know you bought it for yourself, anyway."
"Micah," Tristan said quietly. "You okay, buddy?"
Grabbing the other Coke, Micah's scowl only met Tristan's for a split-second before his eyes shot back to the array of food on the counter. Washing down a half-chewed chunk of McNugget and fries, Micah nodded. "I'm fine. Just hungry."
Concerned but not willing to push too hard, Tristan unwrapped the Mac and took a bite, watching Micah go at it before asking, "So, what have you been up to? We haven't heard from you at AKM, and you haven't been answering your phone."
Pausing with a handful of fries halfway to his mouth, Micah appeared to be trying to recollect what he had been doing lately. "I don't know." He frowned at Tristan with his trademark piss-off face and shrugged then returned to kill off the last of the McNuggets before drinking a long pull of Coke.
Tristan stood up and walked around the apartment, munching his Big Mac and sucking on his Coke, listening to the sounds of Micah stuffing himself as he peeked around.
"So, you've just been taking some time off?" He sounded like a suspicious detective.
Micah killed the fries and hit the Quarter Pounder with newly-invigorated energy. "What do you mean?" He spoke with his mouth full, cheeks stuffed. He looked like a squirrel with a mouthful of nuts. "And, hey, how did you find my apartment? I never gave you this address."
"You've been MIA for over two weeks, Micah," Tristan said. A bewildered frown coated his puss. "Ever since you and Jackson broke up. He told us about this place so we could check up on you and make sure you were okay."
At the mention of Jackson's name, Micah came to an abrupt stop. No chewing, no swallowing, no nothing. The color drained from his face and it looked like he was re-thinking which direction his food was supposed to travel as he backed away from the counter toward the sink.
Tristan immediately thought about all the McD's Micah had just packed in. "Fuck. Micah, you okay?" He never should have mentioned Jackson's name.
* * *
Micah felt his gag reflex take hold as thoughts of Jackson flooded him. The past two weeks rushed back as if someone had just hotwired his mind and made all the necessary connections for shit to start work
ing again: Jackson leaving him, the despair, the cutting, the plot with John Apostle to kill him.
His mind kept doing this to him. One minute he had no recollection of recent events, and in the next, the past two weeks attacked him with a vengeance. It was as if his mind couldn't sort itself out, trying to catalog Jackson into the past but constantly throwing him into the present.
Fuck me. He was going to lose it all – his mind and his cookies.
Until Tristan had said Jackson's name, his mind had been in one of its Jackson black-out modes. Tristan had triggered the violent rush back of all the painful memories.
Just as he felt the overwhelming urge to evacuate his stomach, the last piece of what had happened last night slammed into him, replacing the nausea with the need to breathe. Hard.
The woman. Samantha Garrett. The one who had saved his life, whose blood was like an offering from the gods, a nectar of honey and jasmine wine. He sucked in his breath then started coughing to keep from choking on his food. He reached for his Coke and took a long, steadying drink.
Sam. Who was she? Where was she right now? Did she remember Micah? He had left her memories of him intact, so surely she remembered him. When could he see her again?
"Who?"
Tristan's voice snapped Micah back. "I didn't say anything."
"Yes, you did. Who's Sam?"
"Nobody," Micah said. He returned to his sandwich and took a bite, eating more slowly than before. "I'm delusional," he said indifferently. No way was Micah going to dish the dirt on the woman he had met the night before. No fucking way. She was his. Nobody needed to know about her. His, damn it! Micah wouldn't let anyone near her.
Micah swallowed heavily and mentally stumbled. When had he decided Sam Garret was his? The realization smacked him in the proverbial forehead, V8 style. What the fuck? Was he already tethering to a new mate? So soon after losing one? It would explain his misfiring brain cells, but he and Sam hardly knew each other. But then, mating didn't always occur between two people who already knew each other. In fact, a lot of the time, it didn't. What was happening to him? Was he seriously mating Samantha? And what if Sam didn't share his feelings? Fuck! He was a walking disaster magnet, wasn't he?
