Micah's Bride (All the King's Men Book 9)

by Donya Lynne

  “Well, yes, I suppose.” Cara leaned affectionately toward Bain. “The point is, there was a lot of work to be done, but I think we pulled it off.”

  “I’m sure everything will be perfect,” Micah said.

  For the past week, Cara had texted him a laundry list of questions. Choices he had to make about colors, music, flowers, food, and about a hundred other things. He was shocked Sam hadn’t figured out something was up. Thankfully, she’d been so focused on the babies, decorative choices for the nursery, names, and getting ready to start her new job, she hadn’t noticed him ducking for cover every time he got another text. Otherwise, he wasn’t sure if he would have been able to keep tonight a secret.

  Bain beamed proudly. “Just wait until you see the ballroom, Micah. They’re still setting up, but there are flowers and ribbons—”

  “And these lovely centerpieces I had rushed over from Paris,” Cara added.

  Bain jumped in again. “And fourteen-karat gold, engraved money clips for the groomsmen.”

  “And the cake!” Cara’s face lit up. “Just wait until you see the cake!”

  “It almost feels like Christmas!”

  It was comical watching Bain and Cara get so excited over what Micah had always thought was a silly human tradition. That was, until he heard Sam talk about how much a wedding meant to her and why. Then it wasn’t so silly anymore. Then it was important. The most important thing he could do for her.

  But he hadn’t a clue where to start planning a wedding, so he’d turned to his cousin for help. It still felt weird calling King Bain his cousin, but he would have to get used to it sooner or later.

  Just like he would get used to having his father back in his life, a half brother who—hopefully—wouldn’t always hate him, and a royal family tree that contained dreck blood.

  “Was my uncle Rory able to make it?”

  Rory had been hidden away too. From what Bain had told him, he cooked books for the mafia and their associates and worked part-time as a mercenary, providing his unique skill set as a trained killer to the highest bidder.

  Micah had yet to speak personally to Rory, but Bain informed him days ago that his uncle was on the way to Chicago now that the secret of their bloodline had been revealed.

  Bain’s gaze dropped only briefly, then he straightened his shoulders and stiffened his jaw. “He’s finishing a job, so he was unable to make it.”

  Micah couldn’t blame him. It was a wedding. Vampires didn’t do weddings. They didn’t get married. They didn’t need to. Once the biological mechanism inside a male fired up and claimed a mate, nothing more was necessary. A mating was stronger than a marriage. Humans who’d gotten married could still get a divorce and go about their business and even get married again to someone else. Vampires who had mated couldn’t. Once the bond formed, nothing severed it but death. And no male wanted that.

  So, yeah, the fact that his uncle Rory didn’t see the significance of Micah marrying Sam wasn’t a big surprise.

  “Any word when he’ll eventually make it here?” Micah asked.

  “He said, and I quote, ‘I’ll get there when I get there.’ Then he hung up on me.”

  Burn.

  Sounded like the bad blood between Rory and Bain wasn’t going anywhere soon.

  A week ago, while Bain had filled in the details of Micah’s past, he’d relayed that Rory had fallen in love with a human female who had given him a child. The female wasn’t Rory’s biological mate, though, so he hadn’t been allowed to change her into his davala. Without the protection of immortality, she died. Their child was killed later. And Rory blamed Bain for all of it.

  Trace had been hanging back but now pushed into the conversation. “What’s this about an uncle? And an offer? What have I missed?”

  He was still wearing his torn T-shirt, and the sex hormones were already building like a cyclone around him, preparing for his next round of the calling. The surge was so bad, Bain took Cara’s hand and backed away.

  “Micah, catch Trace up. We’ll see you in there.” He jacked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the ballroom, then hurried off.

  Micah understood his need to depart quickly. Sex hormones were sex hormones. It didn’t matter if they were coming off a male or a female, they still had the same effect, and if Sam had been standing next to him, Micah would have had her in that coat closet to pull off an encore performance of Trace’s pyrotechnics, sans the earthquake and flickering lights.

  Micah chucked Trace’s shoulder. “Let’s head to the ballroom. I’ll tell you on the way.” The bonus was that the movement would allow him to get away from the cloud of sex hanging in the foyer.

  They walked slowly, and by the time they reached the room where the main event would take place in less than two hours, Micah had filled Trace in on the major points of all he’d missed while holed up through the worst—or the best, depending on how you looked at it—of his calling.

  He told him about Ronan, his father, Rory, the details of his family tree and his royal blood, that Bain was his cousin, that Digon was really Argon, and Rule was really Rysk, and that he was related to both of them. Yippety-doo-dah.

  “You have dreck blood in you?” Trace stopped outside the doors of the ballroom.

  Micah nodded slowly as if to say Can you believe that shit? “I about shit myself when Bain told me. Passed the fuck out like a fucking Nancy.”

  Trace chuckled, the sound luxuriously deep, like bittersweet chocolate. “I’d have paid money to see that.”

  “I bet you would have.” Micah smiled.

  He had missed Trace these past seven days. They hadn’t gone more than a day without seeing each other since January, when Trace had proven himself as someone Micah could trust. Becoming friends had simply been a natural progression. In the following months, their friendship had only grown stronger to the point that Trace practically lived with him and Sam.

  Now that he’d mated Cordray, all that was changing.

  And not just where their personal dynamic was concerned. Things were changing at work too. Micah still had to put together a team as part of King Bain’s covert ops plan, and while he’d made a short list of individuals he wanted on it, he’d been waiting to make official invitations until he talked to Trace.

  “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about,” he said, mulling over the words.

  Trace perked up as if he could tell whatever was coming next was more official than everything else Micah had just told him.

  “King Bain has asked me to build a new team. A covert ops team.”

  Trace’s eyebrows rose. “Things have gotten interesting in the past week.”

  “You don’t know the half of it.”

  Micah would save the news about the lycans joining their cause for another time, along with the new threat to the vampires’ existence: genetically modified werewolves, or motleys, as the lycans called them.

  And the lycans and motleys were only part of what faced them. There was also the matter of Gregos Savakis and Ulrich Fenton, two of the king’s liaisons, who appeared to be conspiring against him.

  Damn. There was already a lot to get to the bottom of, and Micah hadn’t even assembled his team yet.

  Trace eyed him expectantly. “You want me on the team?”

  “Actually, I want you to be my second-in-command,” Micah said without fanfare.

  “Me?” Trace appeared flattered but confused. “Tristan has more leadership experience. Why not him?”

  It was a reasonable question. “Tristan is capable, and he’d do a good job, but I’m closer to you. You and I read each other well, and I want someone catching my back who’s as protective of me as I am of him.”

  Trace had proven time and again that he would destroy anything that threatened Micah, and he had the power to put his money where his mouth was, given that hand of his. And the devotion between the two of them had created a powerful bond. That was the kind of ally he wanted for his second-in-command. He tru
sted Trace with his life, and they made an ominous team on their own, just the two of them. Imagine how potent the team could be with both him and Trace leading it.

  Besides, having a solid chain of command kept everyone organized in case anything happened to him. All the fighters he planned to invite to his team came with a list of impressive skills. The kind that meant any of them would make an excellent leader. Severin, for example, had decades of experience in the human Special Forces, and with his iron skin, he’d make one helluva point man. And Io was a shoo-in with his hacking skills. He had a few surprises for the rest of the team, but first things first, get his second on board, then invite the potentials to a meeting. Anyone who didn’t walk out was a member of the new Team Black.

  “I want you with me,” he told Trace. “Will you be my second?” He raised his right hand, extending it toward Trace.

  Trace stared at it for a second as if giving the thought serious consideration. When it seemed like Trace was going to turn him down, he nodded once and clasped hands with him. “Yeah, brother. I’d be honored.”

  For the first time since accepting Bain’s offer, Micah felt the reality and weight of his new role. But instead of anxiety over the responsibility he’d been tasked with, he felt self-assured. And the strength of Trace’s grip made him feel even more confident. Calm.

  Bishop, Searcy, Ulrich and Gregos . . . none of them knew the shit they were in for now that Micah had Trace on board.

  Micah tugged Trace into a one-armed man hug. “Welcome to the team. I’m honored to have you, brother.”

  “You know I’ll follow you wherever you go.” Trace spoke quietly, almost intimately.

  “Even with a mate?”

  He nodded. “I’d find a way to make it work.”

  Micah had thought he’d lost Trace when he mated Cordray, so to hear him speak with such conviction and devotion made Micah breathe a little easier. Theirs was a special relationship. Not sexual, but more than best friends. Then again, Micah was Trace’s Dom. Being a Dom and sub did create a bond between them that couldn’t be easily broken. Micah might have to put up with Cordray’s presence in his dungeon when he worked Trace out, but as long as she kept her mouth shut and stayed out of the way, it was a small compromise Micah was willing to make.

  They hugged each other a moment longer, then separated.

  Trace shifted side to side like just the act of hugging it out had reminded his pecker it needed more action.

  Micah grinned, knowing exactly what Trace was going through. He’d gone through it with Sam months ago. The constant ache. The never-ending need. The desire that bordered on pain. The calling was brutal on a male, but there wasn’t a single male vampire alive who didn’t think it was the best seven to fourteen days of his life. The worst, true, but also the best. Talk about polarized opinions. You both loved and hated the calling.

  “You still enjoying the mated life?” Micah gestured casually at the obvious bulge between Trace’s legs.

  Trace grinned, and warmth shone from his eyes. It was the healthiest expression Micah had ever seen on the male’s face. Well, other than the first time he’d worked Trace over in his dungeon. Trace had looked pretty satisfied that night too.

  “Yeah, brother. It’s good. Aside from the obvious.” Trace glanced down at his crotch. “But despite not having slept more than three hours in a week, even that part is pretty fucking awesome.” He made a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a curse. “I swear to God, I never knew this calling shit would feel like this. It’s like taking a shot of espresso every thirty minutes.”

  Micah could relate. “Just wait until the urges start to slow down. The espresso shots go with them. You’ll end up sleeping for two days straight when it’s all said and done.”

  “God, I hope so. I’m exhausted. I just can’t close my eyes long enough to fall asleep before the next wave hits.”

  Micah shook his head and let out an abrupt laugh. “I still can’t believe of all the females you could have mated, you mated Cordray.”

  He and Trace used to call her Satan’s Mistress, Medusa . . . all-around pain in the ass. Now, not only was Cordray Micah’s cousin, but she was also his best friend’s mate. Of all he’d learned a week ago, learning Cordray was his cousin would probably be the hardest to get used to.

  “She’s good for me.” Trace rubbed his cheek where Cordray had slapped him. “She’s perfect in such a perfectly imperfect way. Know what I mean?”

  Only another mated male could understand what Trace was getting at. “Yeah, brother, I do.”

  Just . . . why? Why Cordray? Micah wanted less of that bitch in his life, not more.

  Trace rubbed his cheek again, then shifted his balls as if trying to relieve the pressure. “Goddamn, this calling shit sucks.” He rubbed his crotch and winced. “I love it, but it sucks.”

  “I told you.”

  “Yeah, well, hearing how bad it is is one thing. Feeling it is another. And this shit ain’t playin’.”

  “Is she pregnant yet?”

  Trace shrugged. “Don’t know. Haven’t checked. I’ve been too busy fucking her to check. Morning, noon, and night, all I do is fuck her.” He rubbed his palms down his face. Poor guy looked wearier than a Gen Con gamer who’d been playing the latest and greatest display of computer graphics for three days straight, and he had the dark circles under his eyes to prove it.

  “You need to check.” Micah still hadn’t told Trace Sam was pregnant. He hadn’t had the chance.

  Trace looked down and shuffled his feet.

  Not typical Trace behavior.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Trace shook his head, his gaze still directed at the floor. “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit. What’s going on?”

  With a sigh, Trace pulled his head back up and met Micah’s eyes. “Do I even want kids, Micah?”

  Micah recoiled. “What?” He couldn’t fathom the idea of a male who didn’t want young with his mate.

  Trace shrugged, paced away, leaned his back against the wall, and stared up at the twenty-foot ceiling. “What if I’m not dad material? What if I do the dad thing all wrong and fuck them up?”

  At a loss for words at Trace’s uncharacteristic lack of confidence, all Micah could think to say was the obvious. “That’s the lack of sleep talking. You won’t fuck them up, Trace.”

  “I don’t know, Mike. I didn’t exactly have an ideal childhood. What if I never learned how to be a parent?”

  “That’s bullshit.” Micah parked against the wall beside him. “I’ve seen you with Aiden and Null. I’ve seen how good you are with them. How they look up to you. Especially Null. Hell, that little boy thinks you’re the coolest thing since Pokémon.”

  That got a smile out of Trace. “I love that kid. Him and Aiden.”

  “I know. It shows. It’s obvious you would die to protect them. And they’re not even yours by blood.”

  Trace looked up, understanding taking root in his pale-green eyes.

  “Can you imagine if Null were your biological son, Trace? If Aiden were your biological daughter? Can you imagine the love you’d feel for them then?”

  Trace’s expression hardened as he gave a shallow nod. He seemed to stand a little taller, a little straighter.

  Micah clapped him on the shoulder. “So, you see, you’re a terrific father already. To Aiden and Null. And you’ll be a terrific father to your own kids too. Quit overthinking it.”

  A private moment passed between them before Trace’s pale eyes shadowed, and he looked away. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “Because here I am being neurotic over having kids when . . .” Trace shrugged. “Sam . . . you . . . because she’s not, you know, pregnant.”

  It was Micah’s turn to look away, only he did so with a smile on his face. “Actually, that’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. She is.”

  “What?”

  He felt Trace’s gaze swing around.

  “Sam’s
pregnant.” He glanced back up to find that Trace’s eyes had bugged out and his mouth had fallen open.

  “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “No, man. She’s pregnant. She’s going to have twins.” Micah didn’t think he would ever get tired of saying that. “Swear to God. I found out the day before your calling started.”

  “How? I thought . . . you didn’t have a calling. How is she pregnant when you didn’t have a calling?”

  “It seems having a little dreck blood in me isn’t such a bad thing.” He knew that was why he’d been able to get Sam pregnant outside his calling. If not for the tiny amount of dreck blood he carried inside him, there was no doubt it would have been another ten years before he’d gotten another chance at the progeny lottery.

  “Fuck me.” A slow grin spread over Trace’s face. “Congatu-fucking-lations.” He held his hand up and Micah clasped it.

  “So, you see, we’ll be going through this father thing together. You’ll have my back, and I’ll have yours—as always—and together we’ll come out the other end okay.”

  “Damn, brother, I’m happy for you. You’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  “For about a thousand years.”

  “And now it’s yours.”

  “Ours.”

  Trace huffed out a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. Ours.” His laughter suddenly cut off and turned into a groan as he shifted his weight and groped the bulge between his legs as if his dick had just sung a high note of let’s-go-find-Cordray-again. “Goddamn, when this shit is ready for sex, it doesn’t mess around.” He spit out a curse as his knees trembled. “It’s like a nagging knife wound you can feel your pulse in. Either I’m going to have to go whack off five or six times, or Cordray is never going to get Sam ready in time to marry you.” He pushed away from the wall and started off in the direction of the restroom, walking slowly, his legs wider than usual.

  Micah chuckled. “Can’t stand the friction, buddy?”

  Trace barely turned around as he flipped Micah off. “Fuck your friction. This shit actually feels good. Too good. That’s why I’m walking this way.”