by J. D. Tyler
Her orgasm hit suddenly and she cried out, undulating on his cock, milking him. His own release was explosive and he came endlessly, hard and deep. Just like she’d wanted.
All too soon they were spent and he pulled out carefully, placing a gentle kiss between her shoulder blades. “Thank you, sweetheart. You were incredible.”
“So were you.” Turning, she gave him a blazing kiss. When he pulled back, he couldn’t help but stare, awed by her beauty. And right then, the truth hit him like a bolt—he wasn’t just losing his life by not claiming Rowan.
He was losing a special woman, one who would’ve made him the happiest bastard alive.
If only things had been different.
Twelve
Rowan was sitting by Micah’s bed, holding his hand and reading aloud to him from Jim Butcher’s latest book about PI wizard Harry Dresden’s adventures, when it happened.
“Hey, Ro,” a voice croaked.
The book fell from her nerveless fingers and she raised her eyes, looking straight into Micah’s. “Oh, my God! You—you’re awake! You’re back!”
“I’m back? Where’d I go?” He smiled tiredly, looking more than a little confused.
“You were hurt,” she answered carefully. “Don’t you remember?”
His handsome face scrunched, the scar tissue from the burn pulling on the left side as he thought hard. Thankfully he hadn’t noticed it yet, but he would. She wasn’t looking forward to his reaction.
“I… We were sent out—wait, where am I?”
“At the Alpha Pack compound. You’re safe, sweetie. Nick and the others rescued you.”
“From where? Who’s Nick?” He began to appear alarmed. “You know about Alpha Pack?”
Sensing his mounting anxiety, she stroked his hair. “One thing at a time, honey. Yes, I know about your team and what you guys do. How you eliminate rogue demons and different kinds of creatures, all of it. You can guess how fun that was for a nonbeliever like me.” The humor was lost on him.
He took a long moment to digest this, studying his lap. When he finally looked at her again, his expression was one of quiet dread. He spoke with difficulty, his voice raspy from disuse. “We were sent to an abandoned building, to rescue some hostages from vampires, I think. Then it’s just a blank. Where’s Terry? Is everyone okay?”
Her heart turned over, aching for his loss. “From what I was told, that op was a setup and you were all ambushed. Sweetie, Terry and some of the other guys are most likely dead. I’m so sorry.”
“I— What? That doesn’t make sense. How… Oh, God.” He sank into the pillows, seeming so young and vulnerable. Nothing like the tough warrior she knew him to be. He was scared and he had no idea what was going on. She let him process it all.
He went on. “Who is Nick?” he repeated.
“Nick Westfall. He’s your new commander. Everyone really respects him and from what I gather, he’s fit right in very well in the time he’s been here.”
“How much time? I mean, he couldn’t have replaced Terry in just a few days.”
“Micah, the ambush was more than six months ago,” she said softly.
“But… where have I been? What happened to me?”
Her brother honestly didn’t remember. Christ help them all, how were they supposed to get him healed with him blocking the whole thing? But his mind slamming the door on the horror was likely the only reason he was awake and communicative now.
“You were held in several different buildings, labs where this guy Orson Chappell, CEO of NewLife Technology, and his band of merry lunatics are doing experiments on shifters and humans, merging their DNA. Does any of this ring a bell?”
He thought for a time, shook his head. “No.” His brown eyes were shadowed, though, and she wondered whether his brain was struggling to keep the events suppressed.
With a sigh, she gave him the rundown of events over the past few months, without going into details about what was done to his body by those insane bastards. It might do more harm than good to tell him what he’d suffered before he was ready to hear it. She’d have to talk to the doctors. When she was finished, he lay there exhausted. Thinking, she could tell.
“So, since I survived, Terry and the others might still be alive somewhere, waiting for rescue,” he said hopefully.
“Maybe, but nobody knows. I’m not sure whether it’s cruel to hope that’s true or not.”
Licking his lips, he glanced at the plastic pitcher and cup on the nightstand. “Can I have some water?”
“Sure.” She patted his arm. “Be right back.”
Taking the pitcher, she found Noah leaning over a counter looking at a chart. “Good news—Micah’s awake.”
He turned with a bright smile. “That’s great! I’ll get him some water and then let the doctors know. Give me a minute.”
“Thanks.”
She went back to her brother’s room to wait. Neither of them spoke until Noah walked in carrying the pitcher.
“Here you go,” he said cheerfully. “Micah, it’s good to see you awake! We’ve all been worried, but you’re on the road to recovery. You’re going to be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks,” he said hoarsely, trying to return a small smile. But the skin on his cheek pulled again, making the effort lopsided. “How are you, kid?”
“I’m good. Just small sips, okay?”
The nurse poured a half cup of water and placed a straw in it, then held it out while Rowan helped her brother sit up. He took more than he was told, faster than he should, and Noah removed the straw, placing the cup on the counter.
“Don’t guzzle it or you’ll get sick,” the nurse warned.
Nodding, Micah reached up to wipe his mouth. His fingers grazed the left corner where the puckered skin began, and Rowan held her breath. Frowning, he let the pads of his fingers explore his cheek, over the rough terrain to the bridge of his nose. Then down where it curved under his jaw. She and Noah shot each other a worried look.
“What the hell is wrong with my face?” he asked, panic creeping into his voice, eyes wide. “What is this?”
Rowan cleared her throat. “You were injured. There’s a scar, but it doesn’t look too bad.”
“I want a mirror.”
“I think we should wait—”
“There’s no we. It’s my face and I want a damned mirror!”
Rowan gave Noah a desperate look, and he stammered, “I—I’ll get one. And I’ll see what’s keeping Dr. Grant and Dr. Mallory.”
Hurry. Her brother was becoming more agitated, hands fisting in the sheets, glancing around the room, eyes a little wild. She couldn’t handle a repeat of when he’d leapt off the bed and attempted to tear out her throat. He didn’t even remember doing it, which was scary.
“Micah, calm down. Please. You don’t want the doctors to be forced to give you a sedative again, do you?”
“I don’t want to sleep. I just want to know what’s wrong with me.”
But he kept picking at the sheets, at the tape on his hand holding the IV in place. Feeling his scar. After what seemed an eternity, but was probably only a couple of minutes, Mac and Melina walked in, trailed by Noah. All were wearing neutral expressions. Mac was carrying a handheld mirror, the large round type one might find in a beauty shop—or a hospital, when a patient wants to look at an injury.
Mac moved to her brother’s bedside and gave him a broad, genuine smile. “It’s so good to see you awake. Do you know who I am?”
Rowan knew she was testing how “awake” and “present” he really was, checking for areas of concern.
“Of course I do.” He tried again to smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. “How are you, Mac? Pretty as ever, I see.”
She laughed. “Always the charmer. How long have you been awake?”
He looked to Rowan uncertainly, so she answered. “No more than ten minutes.”
“Ah.” Mac gestured to Melina. “Well, before we do anything else, Dr. Mallory and Noah are going t
o check your vitals, make sure you’re still physically doing well. Then we’ll get to the other stuff, all right?”
“Sure.”
“Micah, it’s good to see you back in the land of the living,” Melina said kindly.
“Thanks. Hey, you cut off your long hair.”
Melina’s smile was strained. “I did. It just got in the way, so I went into town one day and had it whacked off.”
“When we find Terry, he’ll want you to grow it back,” Micah said softly. “He loves it long.”
Everyone fell silent for a moment. Rowan knew he was just trying to offer hope in his own way, and apparently from her expression Melina did, too.
“I know. Thank you.” She got down to business. “Okay, just relax.”
Rowan moved into a corner by the window, out of the way, and watched. Noah took Micah’s blood pressure as Melina shone a light into his eyes, checking the dilation of his pupils. Then she had him squeeze her fingers and checked some other reflexes.
“What’s your full name and birth date?”
“Micah Lee Chase. October 4, 1979.”
They went through some other simple questions, like when he’d joined Alpha Pack, what his job entailed, who was president of the United States. He answered them all with no more than the normal thoughtful pause in between, passing with flying colors. Until Melina addressed the most recent events.
“Micah, do you remember your rescue, or anything since you were brought here?”
“I… No, it’s all a blank.” His brows furrowed. “Was I ever awake? I must’ve been, or why would you ask?”
“You awoke several times, but you weren’t yourself.” Melina paused, but obviously decided not to mince words. “The first time, you shifted into your wolf form, leapt out of the bed and attacked your sister.”
“What?” He glanced at Rowan, and the rest of them, stunned. “I would never hurt Ro!”
“Like I said, it wasn’t really you,” the doctor replied gently. Despite her rigid demeanor, Rowan noted she did have a soft heart when it came to her patients. “You were hurt, in pain and traumatized, and your wolf was only protecting himself and you from further injury.”
“I went nuts is what you’re saying.” Collapsing back, he stared at the ceiling. “I attacked my own sister. This is so fucked up.”
Melina pulled up a chair and sat. “Micah, you’re going to get better, and we’re going to help you. But first we need to know what you remember from the time you were taken up until your rescue.”
Again, he appeared to try hard to remember. His frustration was evident as he sighed and buried a hand in his hair. “Not a damned thing. It’s all a blank, like one minute I was with the Pack and we were about to hit the building where some vampires were holding hostages, and the next I wake up and Ro is here—six months later? And half of us are maybe dead? God.”
Melina appeared shaken. Understandable when one of the men believed dead was her mate. “Yes, and I’m sorry. More than you know. But right now our priority is to get you healed, inside and out.”
“I want to see my face,” he demanded stubbornly.
After hesitating, Melina agreed. “Okay. Dr. Grant.”
Mac handed him the mirror. He took it with the hand not encumbered by the IV and heaved a deep breath. Lifted it and stared for endless moments at his reflection. Then slowly his hand began to tremble. And then shake until his fingers lost their grip and the mirror landed in his lap. Mac retrieved it and gave it over to Noah, who hovered anxiously.
“I’m a freak,” he whispered. “I’m a goddamned fugly son of a bitch.”
“No! You’re not. You’re still handsome and—”
“Why? Why would anybody do that to me?”
The explosion Rowan feared didn’t come, but the quiet anguish was worse somehow. His chin dipped to his chest and his shoulders started to shake. She hurried forward, nudging Mac aside, gathering her brother in her arms. “I don’t know why anyone would hurt such a wonderful, beautiful man as you,” she choked out. “I wish I could kill them all for you.”
He clung to her as he’d done when they were kids, wrapped his arms around her and hung on. She hated what he’d been through, how thin he’d become. His tears soaked the front of her T-shirt.
“How did it happen? What did they do to me, Ro?”
“Sweetie, I don’t think—”
“Tell me.”
She cast a look at Melina on the other side of the bed, silently begging for help with the subject. Melina gave a quick nod, indicating that she’d take over. Rowan eased back from Micah and he gave the doctor his attention, wiping his eyes.
“The damage to your face, and the fact that the skin scarred the way it did, suggests your captors poured hot silver on you.”
“So it’s going to stay this way?” he asked with a catch in his voice.
“I’d say it’s highly probable, yes. There is a chance that with our advances in healing various types of shifters something could eventually be done, but it’s beyond our capabilities at this time.”
“What else?”
“What do you mean?”
“What else did they do to me? I want to know everything.”
“We don’t know everything your body was physically put through, and we may never know. Even if your memory returns, you might not be clear on certain things. We have ascertained that you were tortured, extensively. There were also incisions to your torso and groin, indicative of experimentation. What this group hopes to gain is to create a breed of super-shifters.”
“Ro filled me in on this Orson Chappell guy and his operation, and that there’s a Seelie prince living here now whose father is probably this guy’s boss.”
“That’s right.”
There was a heavy silence before her brother spoke again, bitterness creeping in. “Finish. I know there’s something else you’re chewing on.”
“I think,” she said slowly, “that some memories are best left to resurface in the patient’s own time. When a person is ready, they’ll remember.”
“You don’t think I’m ready?”
“It’s early days and you have a long road ahead before you’re ready to rejoin the team.”
“I’m a head case. I get it. Doesn’t matter. I want to know what I’m up against so I can deal with it, or I’m going to go even more nuts trying to figure out what you’re all hiding.” His gaze encompassed everyone in the room.
Mac moved close, gripped his hand, and took over from her colleague. “All right. I can see this is going to hurt just as much if we keep it from you.” Rowan could see how Mac struggled with the decision to tell him. Even a doctor sometimes didn’t know what the best course of action was, psychologist or not.
“Micah… you were raped. I’m so sorry.”
He stared at her, uncomprehending at first. Then the shock bled in, the expression of a man who’d just watched his house burn down, or witnessed the death of a loved one. In a way, perhaps it was a death of sorts. The demise of any remaining innocence the soul might’ve clung to all those years, writhing and screaming on the ground.
“Once?” he rasped. “Just once, right?”
Rowan couldn’t see what difference once or a bunch of times made to a man who couldn’t remember, but it mattered to Micah.
“Tests suggest ongoing sexual abuse. But you’re physically healed now,” Mac emphasized. “As for mentally, you’re going to be all right. We’ll get you there.”
“You guys keep saying that, like I’m ever going to be normal again.” His laugh was painful, on edge.
“You will be. You are normal—”
He cut Melina off. “I’ll never be anything but fucked up!” His voice rose to a shout and he bolted upright, yanking at his IV. “Why bother with all of this? I’m ugly, tainted inside and out! What the fuck does anything matter?”
“Micah, calm down,” Melina ordered. She and Mac grabbed his arms, and Rowan pushed his chest, pinning him to the bed.
�
�Micah, stop!”
“Fuck you!” he screamed. “Let go of me!”
“Noah,” Melina called. “Reach in my right pocket and get that sedative into his IV.”
The wide-eyed nurse leapt forward to do as the boss said, retrieving the syringe while the three of them struggled to hold Micah still. Noah hustled to grab the spout attached to the IV tube, yanked the cap off with his teeth, and inserted the needle into the tiny hole. Clear liquid flowed into the line and by the time the last of the medicine went in, Micah’s struggles were already becoming weaker. One minute max, and he slumped, eyelids drooping.
“No. Please…” Then drifted closed.
He was out. They released him and Rowan studied her brother, overwhelming love and grief clogging her throat. His entire body was lax, his torment washed away, albeit temporarily, by a drug-induced sleep.
This wasn’t fair. To Micah, to the missing ones who might still be suffering. None of it. Her brother was such a good man. He didn’t deserve this.
Turning, she fled the room. Outside, she leaned against the wall and slapped a hand over her mouth, fighting to win the battle over the tears threatening to spill. She succeeded, but it was a near thing.
The trio inside filed out, and Melina spoke softly to the nurse. He hurried away, and the two women faced her, prepared to give their best rah-rah speech. Rowan wasn’t in the mood to listen, but she did, anyway. Micah’s welfare was at stake.
“You know he’s going to be all right,” Mac said. “We won’t accept anything less than his full recovery.”
“I know, and I appreciate that. But you saw him in there—the only reason he didn’t shift again was probably because of the drugs.”
“Maybe so, but honestly, he handled the conversation better than I expected. Don’t you think?” she asked Melina.
“I agree. It could’ve been much worse.”
“I don’t see how, so I’ll have to trust you both.” She sighed, regaining some control of her raging emotions. “What happens now? Will you continue the sedatives?”
“In low doses,” Melina answered, “just to keep him calm and suppress his ability to shift until he’s mentally stable. We’ll wean him off as he shows real progress in his recovery. And before you ask, there’s no telling how long that could be. Months would be my professional guess, but that’s a shot in the dark.”
