Mica

by Ronin Winters

  So they were still blind, with only enough knowledge to know they needed to be sharp and they needed to be scared in the right way. Jacobson was not one to underestimate. That had been their blunder in the beginning, waving off reports of a rogue alpha and not interfering in werewolf affairs.

  Granite’s black eyes were glowing, his dragon close to the surface, and Mica clamped down on the dragon’s shoulder to get his attention. Of course this shit affected him most. He wanted revenge for his mate, but he needed to keep it together. “Granite, you going to be able to handle this?”

  Granite’s body was as hard as his namesake, and he shook off Mica’s hand. “I am the Claw.” It was stated simply, and that was that. Mica nodded, crossing his arms over his chest and turning back to Obsidian.

  They were all silent a few moments to let the simmering tension abate, and then Obsidian breathed deep, let out a long sigh. “We’ll get him, but we need to have the Clan on a war footing. There might be a problem with that, though.”

  Obsidian sounded odd, introspective and unsure, which was unusual for their leader. Mica glanced at Granite, who was wearing the same curious expression as he knew what was on his own face. This was new to both of them.

  “It’s too soon to know for sure,” Obsidian continued, his voice holding the same odd tone. “But Bas thinks one of our Clan might be feeding Jacobson information.”

  An ice dragon couldn’t have made Mica’s chest as cold as it was now. A traitor?

  “Nothing’s sure yet,” Obsidian cautioned, but in the grim line of his mouth, Mica could read what side Obsidian was leaning towards. “I hate saying anything, because mistrust of our own is almost as damaging as a spy, and Jacobson might be taking that route. The more I thought about it, though, the more I came to the conclusion you two should know. I don’t want the information shared to the Clan at large, but this is too big for the inner circle not to be made aware of.”

  Holy hell, a traitor. The thought was damn near impossible. There hadn’t been talk of a traitor in their Clan for centuries, nearly as long as Obsidian’s line had led. It was a strong Clan, fair and honest, with strong, moral leadership. It was inconceivable that someone within would want it destroyed.

  “It’s for information, not to worry over.” Obsidian stood and straightened his tie over the pressed lines of his shirt. Beyond the Clan, he presided over several business interests, different areas that supplied them with money, information, and power – all things that kept their Clan strong even as others disintegrated in these modern times. He stayed in the background, a shadow player, and all the stronger for existing in secret. “That’s all for now. I’ll contact you should any other news come forth. Oh, and Mica?”

  Mica tensed at the change in Obsidian’s voice, a change that meant he was back to torturing friend. “Yes?”

  “Expect a delivery soon. Something to help you with your mate problems.”

  That could not mean anything good, but Obsidian slipped away before Mica could grab at him and demand to know what the black dragon had done.

  “I don’t care how powerful a dragon he is, how the hell does he keep on top of all his shit?” Granite’s eyes fell onto the closed door where Obsidian had just exited.

  Obsidian wasn’t just powerful. His magic was at damn near terrifying levels, and Mica felt that even though he knew Obsidian would never turn it on him.

  He was glad his magic was non-existent and he existed as mere muscle. He would never want the burden Obsidian carried. “The fuckers who took Ashirah must have thought losing her would break him. The obviously didn’t study his line very well, or they would realize breaking Obsidian would be impossible.”

  “No dragon can stay sane forever, not when it comes to fear for their mate.” Granite’s voice was contemplative, and Mica’s stomach turned violently at the thought of Sophie disappearing. It was… fucking hell. Looking at it now, with knowing how it felt to have his mate, how the hell did Obsidian stay sane?

  They may have only been six, but he remembered with vivid clarity the screams that came from Obsidian when he discovered Ashirah had been taken, that it took full-grown dragons to wrestle him down and keep him from destroying everything, the sheer rage he’d projected for so long, long enough that Mica worried he would not be considered suitable as the next Clan Leader, though his family line had held the position for centuries.

  Obsidian may have channeled that rage enough to come into his role of leader, and he often hid it under layers of icy leadership, but Granite was right. A break would come sooner or later, and if that happened, they would have to put Obsidian down.

  If that was even possible.

  Now Granite turned to him, his look lighter, almost hopeful. “I didn’t ask before. I wanted to give you time to absorb, but this Sophie. She’s your Only?”

  Any dragon of their clan would understand what Granite was asking. There were different words for it. Most werewolves used true mates. Mica had also heard the terms soul mate, made mate, and bond mate, and he was sure there were other ways of putting it.

  Similar to most of the shifter races, a dragon could take anyone as a mate, but one being existed who was their perfect match, the one being who was made just for them. In their Clan, they called this person the Only.

  “She is,” Mica confirmed, happy because Sophie’s smile was once again fresh in his mind, her scent thick in his nose though she was nowhere near. “I’ve heard the stories, but I didn’t know how overwhelming it would be.”

  Granite’s own mixed emotions about his mate was playing over his face, his usual jovial demeanor gone, with troubling thoughts and a bone-deep yearning residing there now. “It’s that and more. So, is there any reason you’ve been delaying courting her with the intention of Claim?”

  The face of Granite’s mate as they found her, terrified, hurting, yet proud and still fighting, snaked through his head. “We’re at war.”

  And here was the truth. Yes, there was always worries about inviting humans into their world. No, not all of them could handle the truth that supernatural beings existed. Several dragons lost their chance with their Only once their mate discovered the truth. It was not a pleasant thought, and it had been on his mind. Yet, though he buried it, here was the real truth. Jacobson existed, and he would go after them in every way possible, including hurting them through their mates. The thought of Sophie broken and hurting and in the hands of Jacobson left Mica lost in a haze of terror that no fight or threat had yet been able to induce.

  Granite nodded as if expecting this answer, but his jaw firmed, his eyes lit with the truth of his words, as if he was pushing them at Mica, daring him to deny anything that was going to be said. “There will always be reasons. There will always be obstacles. But I guarantee, if you don’t try, if you lose her – you will know regret the rest of your days. And I would not wish that for you.” Then a final clap on the shoulder before departing, those last words ringing in Mica’s ears.

  It still…didn’t sit right with Mica. There was the joy imagining Sophie in his arms, part of his life, followed by crushing guilt weighing across his shoulders on bringing such a sweet, innocent soul into their world. Even without Jacobson, his world was harsh and demanding.

  But then after the guilt came the hollow ache at the mere thought of a life without Sophie, and with that came a yearning to walk over to the shop if for nothing else than to see her sweet face, to assure himself once again of her existence.

  The mix of feelings was maddening, and exhausting, and he was tired of it. But he did know one thing…

  Tonight, he was going to see Sophie, because no matter their future was, she was never going to doubt her own desirability ever again.

  Chapter Three

  The usual night time clean-up atmosphere was jovial, with Sophie and Jo laughing as they washed down tables, swept up the floor, and got supplies ready for the next day’s baking.

  Tonight was not usual.

  Sophie ignored the pointed looks Jo
had been throwing her way all day, but now, with no customers around and the shop closed, Jo was no longer keeping silent. “Are you going to tell me what happened that’s had you in a funk since sexy lumberjack left?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Dammit, Sophie!” With a burst of unexpected aggression, Jo tossed the mop down to the floor, the crash of the handle meeting wood making Sophie jump. “I saw Reynolds by you. Did she say something? You know that bitch lives to make everyone as miserable as her. Why would you let anything she says affect you?”

  “Jo, back off-”

  Now Jo was building up, her face getting red as she built up steam. “I just don’t know-”

  “No, you don’t know.” And it was enough. She loved Jo, and Jo loved her, but Jo wasn’t her. “What do you know? Do you know what living in a body that doesn’t exist in media or pop culture is like, except, of course, if it’s used as either a joke or to prove how disgusting that person is? Do you know what it’s like to have friends not invite you out if they are going somewhere that’s meant only for ‘beautiful’ people? Do you know what it’s like when someone might, just might, look like they’re going to come up and talk to you, and then their friends start mooing, or oinking, and then the guy laughs it off, maybe even joins in?”

  Jo’s eyes were wide, her mouth parted as she half-shook her head, shock easily read in the stiff lines of her body.

  And Jo loved her. And Jo never treated her like that. Jo would punch a guy without a second thought if he did that to Sophie in front of her.

  But Jo was here, now, and Sophie was tired of always acting the bigger person, to nod when people said it didn’t matter, to pretend she wasn’t affected by every magazine and movie and photos of women who maybe, maybe, had ten pounds extra on them, and the media descending on them like harpies over their weight, while men could have guts and jowls and still deserve sex symbol status. “And if I dare let any of it get to me, I’m the one who’s in the wrong. I’m oversensitive. I’m being petty. Or best yet, I’m trying to make myself a victim.”

  Sophie hadn’t heard the bell on the door jingle, but the sharp scrape of a chair across the floor had her turning her head.

  Her lumberjack was there, and God, had he heard all that? Mortification ripped through her, that her ugliest, deepest insecurities were now open and spread out for this man’s perusal.

  If asked this afternoon, Sophie would have said nothing could have been more humiliating than what happened this afternoon, but him here put lie to that thought.

  She rushed out the back without finishing up anything at the café. Jo could do what needed done, because she was done with today. She was going home, and putting on an old Cary Grant movie, and wasn’t going to move from the couch until tomorrow morning.

  Sophie had barely cleared the door when someone grabbed her upper arm, and she whirled, scream in her throat, until she registered him. She pulled away, but she might as well have been trying to move a brick wall.

  “Look,” she started, but he leaned down, and his lips covered hers, stopping the breath in her chest and making all thoughts leave her head.

  Warmth. Soft. Firm. Decadent.

  Rich and decadent, like a sinful dark hot chocolate with a full-bodied whipped cream. That was how she would describe his mouth on hers. He dwarfed her, his body surrounding her, making her feel almost dainty for the first time in a very, very long time.

  He pulled away a fraction, his breath still puffing against her lips. “Mica.”

  “What?”

  The word pulled her from the haze his kisses had engendered, and he smiled, similar to those lovely smiles he gave her during their daylight interactions. “My name. It’s Mica.”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t a usual name, but she liked how it rolled through her mind. “Sophie.”

  “I know. I’ve known from the first day.” He ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, a light, gentle caress, and she would never have guessed hands that large and scarred could be that delicate. “I came in the shop because I saw you through the window, and I couldn’t stay away.”

  With his words, a fine trembling came over her body, an immediate negation, because that wasn’t how the narrative went. Men didn’t look at her and want to get closer. “You don’t need to make me feel better. I’m a little emotional tonight, but I promise I’m really fine.”

  “Why are you assuming I’m lying?” Mica pulled back to sweep his hand in front of him, from head to thigh, and once again Sophie was overwhelmed by how much he was. He wasn’t wearing his usual flannel overshirt, which though he was wearing a shirt and jeans, gave her the strange impression of almost nakedness. His t-shirt was skin-tight, and ripples of muscle were nicely shown by the fabric. He had tattoos that covered both arms down to the wrists, medieval battle scenes with knights and horses and dragons, gorgeous drawings that looked photorealistic. His beard shouted untamed and wild, but not so out there that it suggested dangerous hermit. “Do I look like the type of man who goes into a tea shop as part of my usual routine?”

  Her laughter was more like a snort, and her hand flew to cover her mouth, though the smile remained. No, he never had. Never, ever, ever. It was a running question between her and Jo, why such a man – so ill-at-ease amongst lace and doilies and all things pastel and frilly – doggedly entered her little shop every day.

  Mica kept his distance, but there was an air of ferocity about him, as if he was daring her to disbelieve his words. “I was walking down the street, minding my business, and I glanced into a shop window to see the most fuckable woman to ever exist. I stopped, frozen in shock, so sudden the guy behind me ran into me.”

  “That’s a lie.” The words were little more than a breath of air, but even though he glowered at her, his eyes burning hot with displeasure, she couldn’t make herself take in those words. “You’re not serious. Someone like you would never…”

  “Never what? Never look at you and imagine about a thousand different ways I could make you scream my name? Never have filthy fucking thoughts about what you taste like, or how I could spend hours worshiping that ass? Believe me,” and he stepped closer, and she was caught in the magnetic pull of his gaze. “I have. Over and over and over. I’ve never been twisted up over a woman like I am with you. And it’s not just because you are built about perfect for me. It’s how you are so nice to every person who enters your shop. And it’s genuine, not only so you can make a sale. You want to take care of everyone who crosses your path, with no thought what it gets you. Between that, your gorgeous smile and those perfect breasts which fill out those blouses you wear, I’m amazed I’m not a stuttering puddle of drool around you.”

  This was now the craziest conversation she’d ever been part of, and she didn’t know how to respond. A sex god lumberjack, one whom she’d only formally introduced herself to about five minutes ago, was sexually propositioning her and making her blush over her virtues.

  As if he realized the same thing, his hand flew to rub the back of his neck, and the sudden bashful cast of his face was adorable – though she’d never tell him that. “Um, I shouldn’t have…I mean, I meant it. I just never was going to tell you like that. I was going to ask you to dinner and do things slower. Proper.”

  Definitely adorable, and definitely never tell him.

  And then his head fell forward and he drew a deep breath before straightening up. “Did I fuck up any chance with you with all that? I just couldn’t stand you believing all that crap. And I about punched an old woman in your shop this morning. Only the thought that it would upset you stopped me.”

  “Most people in the shop would have applauded.” With the overload of emotional whiplash, Sophie could honestly say she had no idea how she was feeling right now, but she didn’t want Mica to regret saying what he had. It was brave, and kind, the way he had worried about her, had sought to reassure her in his own unique way. “Thank you, for everything tonight. I believe you, and it’s flattering. I don’t know qu
ite how to feel about it at the moment,” and that was said with a small laugh, the ridiculousness flowing through her once again, “but I do appreciate it.”

  He nodded, accepting her words with good humor. “I’ll leave you to your night, then.”

  “Good night.”

  He didn’t step closer, but he was currently standing close enough that, with his long arms, he could reach out and stroke her cheek. “Goodnight, and sweet dreams.”

  Chapter Four

  “Climb him like a tree. He’s a lumberjack. He’ll like it.”

  “Jo!”

  Twenty-four hours was too short a time to process a sea change. How the hell could she be the object of lust to a man like Mica? If she was complimented about her looks, it was always how she had a pretty smile or how she’d be attractive if she lost a few pounds.

  Nothing like what Mica had said to her. Not the pure, unadulterated desire, the single-minded focus on her as a sexual creature.

  It messed with her head. In a good way, sure, but it was still a way of thinking totally foreign to her.

  “The man flat out said you were the most fuckable woman he’d ever seen. If I guy that looked like that said that to me, do you know what I would do?”

  Sophie held up her hand. “I know you well enough you don’t need to complete that sentence.”

  Jo shrugged and went back to packing up the display case. It had been a busy day at the shop, in all ways successful except for the one that had taken precedence in the last month – Mica hadn’t shown up today.

  Of course, that led to even more overthinking on Sophie’s part, wondering about his motives. Was he giving her space? Was he regretting speaking to her like he had yesterday?

  “You need to stop worrying.” It was scary how well Jo could read her, but they had been friends since college. It was why Jo worked beside her for way too many hours as they started this business, something that Sophie had dreamed of doing for most of her life, since maybe her first tea party. “He’ll be back. A man doesn’t say something like that and disappear.”