Black

by Donya Lynne

  Which meant . . .

  He bowed his head and cursed under his breath.

  He was royalty. He was motherfucking, goddamn royalty. Not just on the dreck side, but on the vampire side, too.

  This was shit news, because Micah wasn’t one for royal entitlements and hoity-toity social dinners where you had to pretend to be polite and play by a set of ball-crushing etiquette rules. And a suit? Forget about it. Micah didn’t do suits. There were only a handful of people he would don a suit for, and a room full of fake-ass well-to-do vampires who put more clout in material wealth than personal substance didn’t make the list.

  Still, now that he knew the truth of his lineage, factors of his own life were beginning to make more sense. He wasn’t a pure blood as he’d always thought. He was a mixed-blood. An extremely diluted mixed-blood, since it looked like the rest of his line was pure, but even a diluted mixed-blood could possess special abilities, such as the one that allowed him to see the thoughts of those around him without trying to infiltrate their minds. And now he knew why he could create young without having a calling. It was his dreck blood that had made him fertile and created the twins growing inside Sam’s belly this very second.

  Micah recalled something Bain had said to him last month. He’d said he’d grown impatient and was ready for Micah to fill the role he’d always been meant to fill. Exactly what role was that? Prince? Duke? King-in-Training? Micah sure as hell wanted nothing to do with such aristocratic titles, nor the responsibilities they entailed.

  Two hours ago, he might have been ready to stop enforcing and try on a normal job, but this wasn’t what he’d had in mind. The idea of sitting behind a desk all day rankled his nerves and made his skin itch.

  The truth was, he was good at enforcing. He was a skilled killer and could track down the filthiest of criminals night after night without question. He just couldn’t take all the risk with no reward, anymore. There were too many rules enforcers had to follow, and many of those rules ran counter to others. And more inane rules were added every couple of months, thanks to Premier Royce’s incessant whining.

  At least now they knew what all his bitching had been about? Diversion.

  The point was, working as an enforcer wasn’t fulfilling, anymore. There were too many asses that needed to be kissed and dicks to be sucked to get anything done. Every night felt more like a bend-over-and-take-it-up-the-ass than any kind of progress in the ongoing enforcement of the peace that seemed to be slipping away at an accelerating rate between the vampires and drecks.

  Who wanted to keep doing a job that set you back at the starting line—or even farther and farther behind it—each night you geared up and hit the streets?

  Only one thing was worse. Becoming a politician. And that’s exactly what a royal title would make him.

  Nothing sucked a male’s nut sack more deeply into a vacuum than pushing a pencil into his hand and making him glad-hand other politicians. Micah was too fond of his balls to lose them to such a fate, so if King Bain wanted him to wear the royal insignia and be a figurehead for peaceful negotiations, he could stuff that shit up his ass.

  Put Micah into a room with a dreck like Premier Royce, and peaceful was the last adjective anyone would use to describe the encounter. He would just as soon give Royce a nose job with the heel of his boot than pretend that fucker was concerned with keeping up good race relations with vampires.

  If it was one thing Micah was sure of, it was that Royce had his hand in every bad situation affecting vampires, from cobalt to Bishop’s lab experiments to the damage done to that half-lycan youth, Savill, who was still recovering inside the AKM trauma unit. That poor kid had been cut open from neck to groin like a frog cadaver in high school biology class.

  So yeah, Micah had seen too much blood and death in the streets to keep a level head in any kind of royal capacity.

  As Micah stewed over what this new information meant for his future, Bain continued going through their family tree, explaining their history and pointing out key relationships.

  “Premier Royce descended from Tauno’s line. He and those of Teo’s family who survived Cato’s attack ended up forming tight alliances that have endured even to today. So tight, in fact, that members of Teo’s family could almost be part of the ruling family.” Bain dragged his finger down the page and stopped on three names.

  Micah peered closer, a fresh wave of shock hitting him at what he saw. “Bishop, Apostle, and Deacon?”

  “Teo would have been their great-great-great-uncle.”

  So many of the questions Micah had asked himself for so long now found answers. The reason why Premier Royce never punished Bishop for the obvious crimes he’d committed in breach of the truce was because, to Royce, Bishop was as close to family as you could get without actually sharing genes. And Apostle’s hatred of vampires had obviously been passed down from four generations of animosity before him.

  How ironic that Apostle was the dreck Micah had sought out to end his life before he met Sam. That was some fucked-up karmic voodoo right there.

  “If you knew who I was—that I was your cousin, royalty, and all that shit—why didn’t you or anyone interfere when I tried to get myself killed last winter?”

  “Someone was about to step in when Sam showed up and saved you, instead. And your friend Trace was there, too. My people would have only interfered if it looked like there were no other options. We didn’t think you would actually go through with it.”

  Micah gave a dubious snort. “You underestimated me then.”

  “And yet, here you are. Alive and well.”

  Micah couldn’t argue with that.

  “How did Rysk the Second come to be with Argon if Argon was in exile?”

  The grin that spread over Bain’s face was one of admiration. He obviously held a lot of respect for Argon.

  “Just because Argon was in exile didn’t mean he remained there. He kept watch. He stood vigil over what was happening to his people. He followed them. And he kept tabs on his grandson. During one particularly bloody battle, he stole into Cato’s palace and rescued Rysk from certain death. He was still just a boy, and Argon took him to safety and protected him. Everyone thought Rysk had died, and Argon knew making people believe that he had died was for the best. He knew that if anyone, whether vampire or dreck, learned that the son of Rysk the First and Abrial was alive, he would be a target. No one wanted to see a bastard mixed-blood rise to the role of ruler over both races, and that was Rysk’s destiny.”

  Micah was beginning to get a bad feeling about what all this meant for his own future and that of Sam and his unborn children.

  He glanced down at the list of names between his and Rysk’s. “And what of all these descendants?”

  Bain couldn’t hide the grim worry that overtook his face. “Dead.”

  “How?”

  “Until recently, they’ve been under royal protection, but someone has learned who they are and where to find them. One by one, the families are being slaughtered.”

  “My grandfather? Durin?”

  Bain sadly closed his eyes and gave a single nod. “He was found dead just a few weeks ago. The only ones who remain are Argon, Rysk, your father, your brother, you, and your uncle Rory.”

  “My uncle is still alive?” This was too much. Micah’s entire world had blown wide open in less than eight hours, and if his spill into unconsciousness a while ago was any indication, his plate was already too full to process anything else.

  “Yes, he’s alive. We’re bringing him here. He’ll be safer in Chicago now that the secret’s out that Rysk’s line lives.”

  Looked like Micah could expect to have one, big, not-so-happy family reunion in Chicago soon. Not that he wasn’t looking forward to seeing his uncle Rory, but they weren’t exactly meeting again under the best of circumstances. Their ancestors were being murdered, mutant werewolves—motleys—were hunting them down, and it looked like the drecks and Dacians were in league with one another to wage a ne
w kind of war.

  Maybe to humans it was just another day in the big city, but to Micah, it felt more like the end of the world.

  “How are they finding us?” he asked.

  “My bet is there’s a mole inside AKM or even on my staff. Someone who’s able to find the information and feed it back to Royce and Searcy.”

  Strange that Micah knew just about everyone at AKM and had never caught a random thought that would give away a traitorous mole. That didn’t mean someone couldn’t hide his or her thoughts from him, though. People who knew of his mindreading talents could mask their thoughts the same way Argon’s female cohort, Sonia, did.

  “What are you doing to sniff out the mole?”

  Bain settled back on the couch, the book still open in his lap. “There’s a countermole inside AKM working to find the leak.”

  “Who?”

  “Sonia.”

  “Argon’s Sonia?” Speak of the devil. “I’ve never seen her around—”

  “You know her better as Eva.”

  “Eva?” No way. The mousy file clerk whose wardrobe seemed more appropriate for an I-Love-the-Eighties revival was actually the fiery-spirited Sonia?

  Eva hardly said a word to anyone, held herself like she was trying to leave the smallest possible carbon footprint known to mankind, and seemed unable to look anyone in the eye.

  That was the exact opposite of the female he’d come to know as Sonia, who was brash, sassy, and looked you so hard in the eye you thought she could see straight down to the contents in your stomach. He had to give it to that female, she’d created one helluva disguise.

  “But Sonia is a dreck.”

  “A friendly dreck,” Bain emphasized. “And she’s a master at masking her scent, among other things. Her father was a brilliant scientist who wanted nothing of Royce’s new war, so Royce had him killed. What he neglected to realize was that Sonia is even more brilliant and cunning than her father. She’s taken his research and inventions and made them better. We’re fortunate to have her on our side.”

  Shifting gears, Micah asked, “How long have you known Argon was alive?”

  “Not long.” Bain sighed. “Oh, I’d heard rumors that he was alive, and since his body was never found, there were plenty of rumors to go around, but until he reached out to me a few days ago, I had assumed like everyone else that he’d perished.”

  “Reached out?”

  “He asked for a meeting.”

  “And you agreed?” King Bain was what some would call excessively cautious. To meet with a dreck who claimed to be the first ruler of his race without more than just his word seemed like a risk Bain wouldn’t normally take. “Why?”

  “He knew things only Argon would have known. And I sent someone to vet him. Someone I could trust to see inside his thoughts and decipher the truth. I told him it was the only way I’d meet with him.”

  “Who’d you send? Cordray?” Because everyone knew how tight she was with the king.

  Bain grinned. “I sent Tristan.”

  “Tristan? But I thought he was still on house arrest.”

  Bain shrugged indifferently. “I’m the king. I can occasionally bend the rules if I deem it necessary to the survival of the race. And since I’m the one who ordered him on house arrest, I’m the one who can end it.”

  Micah cocked his head and gave his cousin a crooked grin. “Which begs the question, have you ended Tristan’s house arrest?”

  “I think the real question you’re asking is whether you’re still in charge of his team.”

  “Maybe.”

  If Tristan was back on duty, it threw Micah’s role inside AKM into the realm of the unknown. If he was no longer in charge, would he go back to being a grunt? He didn’t want that. He’d gotten a taste of leadership, and he’d liked it. He was good at it.

  One thing was certain. His dream of becoming a stay-at-home dad wasn’t going to happen. Not because he couldn’t force the issue and retire, but because with so much happening with Bishop, Searcy, the motleys, and their new alliance with the lycans, the race needed him to stay and fight. And, really, would he be able to chillax at home with his feet propped up on the ottoman and a beer in his hand when he knew the enemy was closing in, and when an assassin was hunting down his family line? Hell, no. He’d be on high alert twenty-four seven. His home would become a fort, and he would guard the doors and windows day and night, ready for an invasion. Which would drive Sam bonkers. She would end up begging him to return to AKM.

  Bain leaned back into the corner of the couch, eyeing Micah as he spread his arms over the back of the cushions. “I have other plans for you, Micah.”

  This sounded juicy. “What other plans?”

  “We’ll get to that. Just know that I carefully vetted Argon, as well as Rysk and Sonia, before meeting with him. Not only did Tristan go through their minds and confirm everything Argon said as true, but I also had their blood tested. Both Argon’s and Rysk’s. Rysk is who he says he is. He’s our ancestor. Half his genes matched my line, and half matched Argon’s.”

  That settled that. You couldn’t argue with a DNA test.

  “It was Argon and Rysk who saved your father,” Bain added.

  “Yes, he told me that they watched over him.”

  “No, I mean, on the day your mother died. Argon and Rysk were the ones to find your father and keep him alive. From what they told me, Drake was in bad shape. He’d lost a lot of blood, as well as the will to live. Rysk forced your father to drink from him. They remained with him all day, keeping him from walking into the sun to end his life, and then fled with him to safety the following night. They almost lost him numerous times, because your dad wanted nothing but to die, but they eventually convinced him he had reason to live.”

  Micah sat in stunned silence. His father hadn’t told him that part. That Argon and Rysk had been there.

  “What were they doing in our village?”

  “They tracked the dreck raiding party there, expecting the worst, that they’d lost both you and Drake. Thankfully, that didn’t happen.”

  Micah thought about his mother and bowed his head. “A lot of other good people were lost that day, though.”

  “I know.” Bain placed his hand on Micah’s shoulder. “Your mother was one of them. I’m sorry.”

  Micah bit back his sadness before breathing in a full breath and straightening.

  Bain released him. “I wasn’t even aware Drake survived. See?” He pointed to a notation in the family tree, showing Drake as being deceased. “Looks like I’ll have to update my records. I’ll need to add Ronan, as well.”

  Micah reached over and tapped his own name. Sam’s had already been added beside it. “You’ll want to add two slots below my name, too.”

  “Oh?” Bain’s brow rose in a severe, surprised arch. “Is Samantha . . .?”

  For the first time since this conversation started, Micah smiled as feelings of love and awe rose inside him. His chest and shoulders lifted proudly. “She’s pregnant. Twins.”

  Bain chuckled and hoisted the book of records off his lap and plopped it onto Micah’s as he rose from the couch. “You’ve always been an overachiever, Micah.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve waited a long time to become a father, old friend.”

  No truer words had ever been spoken. “So long I was beginning to think it would never happen.”

  Bain grinned. “We must celebrate this good news.” He crossed to his bar and opened one of the cabinets, then pulled out what looked like a very old bottle of brandy. “When did you find out?”

  “Actually, I just found out a few hours ago.”

  Bain poured brandy into two snifters. He returned to the couch and handed one to Micah, lifting his in a toast. “To strong bloodlines and continuing the Black name. Congratulations, cousin.”

  Micah clinked his glass to Bain’s then drank.

  As Micah lowered his glass, his gaze fell back to his family tree. He browsed through the myriad of names as Bain to
ok his seat beside him once more.

  “We’re family, Micah,” Bain said. “And while the knowledge of our family connection was a coveted secret meant to protect you, it’s time for the truth to come out so you can take your rightful place among our race.”

  His rightful place? There was that term again. A sinking feeling swallowed up his insides and plummeted toward his feet. He couldn’t do the royal thing. He wouldn’t. That was Bain’s realm. Micah’s was elsewhere.

  “What place is that?” He wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer. Then again, would he ever be ready? Might as well keep ripping off Band-Aids until he had no skin left.

  Bain raised his hand. “We’ll get to that. We’re not quite finished here, yet.”

  Micah’s gaze scanned the cursive swirls that filled the page. “You mean there’s more?” He couldn’t imagine any more family secrets existed after all he’d already been told.

  Bain nodded toward the book. “Take another look.”

  Frowning, Micah ran his gaze over the names. What was it Bain wanted him to see? He ran through the names of his line twice, finding nothing extraordinary.

  “I don’t understand. I’m not finding—”

  “Not at your line,” Bain said. “Look at mine.”

  Micah turned his attention back to King Bain the First and followed the line down. Ryland, Bain the First, Bain the Second . . .

  Wait, what?

  He scanned back up. There was a branch off to the side of Bain the First’s name.

  His head shot up, eyes wide.

  The dead calm of Bain’s demeanor slammed into Micah like a sword slicing through bone.

  “Is this right?”

  Bain tilted his head, one brow arching. “Recorded by my own hand from that of my father’s.”

  He glanced back down at the book and blinked in disbelief at Cordray’s name beside Bain’s. But her name lay under the name of a female who hadn’t been Bain the First’s queen.

  “Your father had an affair?” Micah refused to believe it.

  How was this even possible? Bain the First had sired young with two females? Had both been mates? Or, like him, had Bain the First been able to father a child without experiencing a calling? If so, which offspring was from his true mate, and which was a miracle?