by Donya Lynne
She quivered and groaned, lost in ecstasy. "I'm yours. I belong to you, Micah."
"Your body is mine." He punctuated the command with a demanding thrust of his hips.
"My body – Oh, God yes – my body is yours. Please…"
"Please what?"
She took a ragged breath and groaned as her body tightened beneath his. "Please, Micah."
"Good girl." He gave her everything he had then, thrusting hard and fast, working her G-spot into a quivering rage of delirium. And just before she tumbled into full-on orgasm, he bit her. He licked her shoulder and sank his fangs in deep.
As the euphoria of his venom took hold, she screamed. Her body spasmed and her muscles blew apart as she erupted in a series of violent tremors.
"Yes, yes, yes, YES, God YES!" She collapsed against the mattress as her body quaked ceaselessly.
Only then did Micah allow himself to release his own pleasure. The taste of her blood, the feel of her body jerking under his, the feel of her feminine canal vibrating and gulping like a throat against his cock, and the knowledge that he alone had given her such tremendous pleasure sent him over.
"UNGH!" Never had such a harsh release claimed him, and his fangs sank in even deeper as he slammed his hips against the curves of her ass. And once more he unloaded his offering and filled her, layering his scent over and inside her body as her scent wafted around and sank into his.
He didn't take much of her blood, and soon released her shoulder before collapsing in a sweaty, well-spent heap over her back. Neither could speak for some time, but he slid his arms up and over hers until their hands met and their fingers wound together in two tightly bundled death grips.
When he could finally speak again, he nuzzled the back of her neck and said softly, "I've never met anyone as amazing as you."
"Mmm, right back at you." She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at him. "Promise me you'll do that again later."
He smiled, all fangs and mischievous lust. "Oh, you can count on it. I promise."
Finally, they crawled out of bed and brushed their teeth together in the bathroom. Then he ushered her into the shower where he made love to her again, her back slapping against the wall, her legs locked around his hips, her fingers clasped around his neck.
Micah couldn't get enough of her and hated having to leave.
"I'll only be gone a few hours," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed, bent over to secure his boot knife into the ankle of his combat boots.
"Can I do anything while you're gone?"
He looked over his shoulder at her. She looked good in his robe. "Think about me."
"Well, that goes without saying." She dipped her head to the side as if to tell him he had stated the obvious.
Micah stood and pulled a black sweater over his head, then tugged his hair out from the collar. Maybe he needed a cut after all. "Just relax. Soak in the hot tub on the balcony. Watch TV. Order takeout. Make yourself at home. Just don't go anywhere." He leveled her with a look that warned her not to test him on that last point.
She crossed her index finger over the center of her chest. "I promise."
"Okay, good."
He had already retrieved his knives from the floor and now secured them to his hips. Taking out his Sig, he checked the cartridge and slapped it back in place.
"A Sig? Really?" Sam scoffed.
"Yeah, yeah, I saw your Beretta, female. Don't dis my Sig. He's sensitive."
Sam laughed and the sound warmed him all the way to his marrow. He holstered the Sig under his arm then leaned down and caressed her face before handing her a cell phone.
"Here's my extra phone. You can use it until I get yours back from Trace tonight. If anything happens, or if you need me, just dial one and it will ring me."
She nodded as she took the phone and ran her thumb over the number one then he kissed her once slowly, gently.
"I'll see you in a little while," he said then kissed her again.
She took his hand and got up with him and followed him to the front door.
"I'll be here," she said.
One last kiss goodbye and he left, looking back at her as the elevator doors opened. "Lock the door."
She nodded then went back inside and closed the door.
The drive to AKM took less than fifteen minutes. Malek was the first to cross paths with him.
"Hey, Trace is looking for you." Malek frowned, wrinkling his nose suspiciously.
"I know." Micah marched past him, not even slowing down.
He passed others from different teams as they prepped to go out or brought back the first catches of the night then headed past dispatch, the training center and the war room, further on past the data center where they gathered Intel, all the way to the back hall where he came to the elevator bay and hit the button for the third floor. That was where the dorms were for the members of Tristan's team.
Trace's door opened within a couple seconds of Micah knocking on it, as if the guy had been expecting him.
"Jesus!" Trace said. "Her scent is all over you."
"Nice to see you, too," Micah barged past him and into the small room. There was just a bed, a desk, a small table and a few things that personalized the room. Trace obviously liked sports. Sports Illustrated back issues littered his desk, and his small flat screen was set to ESPN.
"Where's her bag?"
Trace brushed past him and opened his closet. He grabbed her duffel and held it out to him. "She carries a nice piece."
"Huh?"
"Beretta. Impressive for a dancer."
Micah opened the bag and grinned wistfully as he pulled out the gun and stared at it. He thought about how Sam had shocked the hell out of him with the knife this morning and took what she wanted from his body, despite her confusion over all he had told her. Most women got excited by him because he was scary and brooding. Even for Jackson, that had been part of the charm and excitement. But Sam had clearly not been afraid of him. She had actually made him feel afraid, even if only for an instant.
"She's got courage," Micah said. He dropped the gun back in the bag. "Thanks for going back for this." He lifted the duffel between them.
"So now what?"
"You feel like hunting drecks?"
Trace scratched his chin and met his eyes, one corner of his mouth curling deviously. "Hunt as in off the record?"
"Way off," Micah said.
"Hot damn! We're going to kill some drecks, aren't we?"
Micah chuckled. He actually chuckled. "When did you get so insubordinate, Trace? You're always kissing Tristan's ass and being his errand boy."
"That's what I want you all to think."
"Oh." Micah drew the word out, narrowing his eyes. "So, you're not such a good boy after all, are you? What else are you hiding in there?"
Trace shrugged with a flippant bob of his head and grabbed his coat. "You going to stand there and give me the sixth degree, or are we going to go kill something?"
Micah gestured toward the door. "By all means, lead the way."
The two headed out into the hall and back down the elevator, then swiped their access cards over the magnetic reader at the back door and slipped away before anyone could stop them.
* * *
Sam changed into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Henley tee after taking Micah's suggestion and soaking in the hot tub. His was the only balcony on this side of the building, so it afforded her enough privacy to truly relax.
So, this was how the rich lived? They could afford apartments that took up half the floor at the top of a building with a phenomenal view. As far as Sam could tell, Micah only had one neighbor on this floor, and that door was at the opposite end of the hall with the elevator splitting the distance. Would she ever be able to afford a place like this? Doubtful, but she would be able to live comfortably, and that would be enough as long as she was safe from Steve.
After finding something to watch on TV, she checked the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. She r
eally didn't feel like cooking, and she didn't want to mess up his kitchen. Sure, Micah had told her to make herself at home, but it wasn't her home and she felt awkward just thinking about poking around in his cabinets like she lived there.
She could order a pizza just as easily and save the mess. After using his computer to look up the local pizza delivery place, she snagged the phone from the kitchen counter and ordered two large pizzas—he would need food when he got home, right?—an order of bread sticks, and a chef salad with Italian dressing.
"Anything to drink with that?" the guy on the other end of the line said.
"No, thank you."
"Total is $32.06. Delivery time is about forty minutes."
"Okay, thanks."
"Oh, and please contact the security desk to let them know to let us up."
Apparently they delivered here a lot. Sam would never have thought of alerting security.
"Oh, that's right," she said. "Thank you for reminding me. I'm new here and didn't even think of that."
"No problem. We get that all the time."
"I'll bet."
She hung up and looked around for the number to building security but couldn't find it anywhere, not even when she dared to poke around in the kitchen drawers and Micah's desk, feeling like a snoop the entire time. Unable to find the number that way, she tried calling the generic number for the building listed on the Internet, but that just looped her into voicemail hell.
With a sigh, she checked the time after spending twenty minutes searching. Maybe she should just call Micah and ask him, but being unable to find a phone number was a lame excuse and she didn't want him to think she was totally useless. Besides, he was probably out doing some of that top-secret shit – killing drecks and blowing shit up. She grinned to herself with a shake of her head as she thought about how preposterous she would have thought all this was just a couple of days ago. Her, with a vampire. A vampire who served up a major dose of kick-ass to evil shifters that prowled the city.
Giving up on finding the phone number, she decided to just go downstairs and tell the security guard personally to let up the delivery driver. She grabbed her wallet just in case her order arrived while she was in the lobby.
Shit, she didn't have a key, which meant she couldn't lock the door. At the last second she grabbed her phone in case the door automatically locked after she left—she was paranoid about stuff like that. Something like getting locked out would warrant interrupting Micah for sure.
Checking her reflection in the mirrored door of the elevator as it took her down to the lobby, Sam fidgeted restlessly, wondering what Micah was doing. Was he out hunting down the drecks that had attacked her? She was surprised at how quickly she was adjusting to all the information he had dumped on her last night. Had it just been last night? Wow, it seemed like a lot longer than that.
Her hand absently ran over her throat and the two tiny marks where Micah had bitten her. How hot had that been? Even now, just remembering how her body had lit up with what he later explained was venom euphoria, she felt herself go warm and moist between the legs. His biting her hadn't hurt, and she hadn't been frightened at all.
Funny, but that was one thing she couldn't bring herself to be: frightened. Micah had a way about him that calmed her, not scared her. Even at the height of his disclosure, when he had told her he was a vampire and she had tried to flee, as soon as he'd put his arm around her to hold her back, a serene peace had stirred deep inside her. Had that just been some kind of vampire voodoo? He had told her he hadn't subjected her to any mind tricks, though, and she felt certain he had been telling the truth. Which meant her reaction to him was all her.
And then later, when he had come to her in his bedroom. No man had ever given her such incredible pleasure, and none had ever treated her with such reverence. If this was what it was like to date a vampire, she could get used to it. Maybe she had just never been cut out to date humans. The thought made her laugh, and she was still chuckling to herself as the doors opened and she entered the lobby.
"Excuse me," she said to the guard at the desk. "I'm staying with a friend and just ordered a pizza and they told me I should let you know to let them up."
"Certainly, ma'am. The apartment number?"
She gave him Micah's door number and looked up as a police officer entered the building. His eyes met hers and she quickly looked away, suddenly uncomfortable, but she didn't know why.
"I'll send them up when they arrive, ma'am," the guard told her.
"Thank you." She glanced at the police officer again to find him still looking at her then turned and went back to the elevator. Why was her heart racing?
Looking back, the officer flashed his badge at the security guard, saying something to him but speaking too quietly for her to hear. With a hard smack, she pressed the elevator button, but it didn't open and she looked up to see the numbers flashing over the door. 16, 15, 14…Sam turned back to see the officer walking toward her, his gazed fixed on her as she smiled tightly.
"Evening," she said, returning his crisp smile with one of her own.
"Ma'am." He tapped the brim of his hat as he nodded.
8, 7, 6…
Sam felt for the phone Micah had given her, running her finger over what she hoped was the one key. Something just felt off about that officer, and her adrenaline was pumping hard, making her fingers tremble. She could swear she had seen him before, but he hadn't been wearing a uniform. Where? Where? At the Garter? Was he a customer? The way he looked at her made her feel like he knew her, too.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open and a couple dressed in evening attire stepped out, smiling at her and the officer as they walked away.
"After you, ma'am." The officer held his hand over the doors to keep them from closing, gesturing for her to go ahead.
Sam didn't want to get into that elevator with him, and she looked toward the doors of the building in hopes that her pizza would show up and she could make an excuse to stay behind. But damn slow pokes, no delivery boy walked in.
"Thank you," she said to the officer, stepping past him and into the elevator.
He pressed the button for the nineteenth floor and stepped back, hands linked in front of him.
Tension strangled the air in the confined space and when the elevator opened on the eighteenth floor, she practically shot into the hall, trying to hurry back to the safety of Micah's apartment.
"Ma'am," the officer said.
She stopped and turned around to see the officer step out of the elevator. But he wasn't the officer, anymore. His hair was long and blue-black, his face azure-tinged and gaunt. She recognized him as the man she had shot the other night. Only he wasn't a man, was he? He was one of those things – a shifter. A dreck. One of the drecks who had been beating Micah. How had he found her?
"What the hell…?"
Sam stumbled backward, trying to fish Micah's phone out of her pocket.
"Not so tough without your gun, are you?" The dreck rushed forward and she stumbled again.
She was only a few feet from Micah's door. Her hand closed around the phone and pulled it from her pocket, but she was too late. The dreck grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the wall with a bone-rattling crash. Sam tried to yell, but nothing came out, not even air. Her thumb worked the buttons on the phone, but she couldn't look down to see if she was hitting the one or not. Please, hit the one, hit the one!
The dreck's blue eyes swept down her body then shot to the hand holding the phone.
"Uh-uh-uh," he said, snapping his fist around her wrist like a handcuff, squeezing until she grimaced and dropped the phone.
She was going to die. She already couldn't breathe, so it was just a matter of time. Micah wasn't here to save her, and he would come home to find her corpse crumpled like yesterday's garbage outside his door.
Suddenly, he released her throat and yanked her wrist to his mouth, biting her as she gagged and coughed, the rush of air a painful clawi
ng as she gulped. That's when she felt the burning crawling up her arm from where his teeth held her wrist. It felt like he was injecting acid into her body.
Evil blistered her gaze as his eyes met hers, his blue lips curling into a sneer as if he knew how she felt and got off on it.
The burning sensation increased, and she tried to kick him and raked her free hand over his face, resulting in a bruising backhand across her cheek. Pow! Light exploded in her eye as she was flung to the side.
Finally he released her wrist. "Let's see how Micah likes you now."
Sam was too weak to move, her body feverish, her stomach rolling, her vision doubling and going foggy. What had he done to her?
"This is what happens to those who take what's mine. If you're lucky, you'll die by morning, bitch. If not, be ready for a long, uncomfortable death." He knelt down and whispered. "If I was a betting man, I'd put money on the latter. I didn't give you enough venom to kill you fast. I want you to hurt, bitch."
His sinister laugh retreating toward the stairwell was the last thing she heard before she blacked out.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After canvassing the area near the Black Garter, Micah and Trace were closing in on the two drecks who had attacked Sam at the club last night. Trace had been the one to pick up their scent first.
"I think all four are here," Micah said.
"Four?"
"Apostle had four with him."
Trace stopped. "What are you talking about? Maybe you should start at the beginning, because I'm starting to think you aren't telling me everything."
Micah still hadn't told Trace about how he had asked Apostle to kill him via beat down Rocky Balboa style, which is how the bastards knew about Sam in the first place since she had stopped them. He flipped a look at Trace and considered whether or not he should just fess up. It wasn't like Micah to let anyone, except for maybe Sam right now, into his world, but then Trace was helping him. Did he owe Trace an explanation.
"Okay," he said, scowling. He didn't like this, but fuck it. "I asked John Apostle to kill me."
Trace glowered, his face instantly eight shades of pissed off. "You mind telling me why?" His jaw flexed and tightened by his ear as if he was trying not to kill Micah himself.
