by Marcy Jacks
“Would you like me to make if official by asking you to move in here with me?”
More heat, molten-lava hot, hotter than the boiled water put into the masters’ tea, hotter than the iron brands used to mark those who tried to run away, struck him, and it struck hard.
Stefan’s fingers, warm and powerful, came up beneath Micah’s chin. Stefan pulled his attention up to Stefan’s face. The man’s smile was enough to melt frozen butter.
“Will you do me the honor of moving into these rooms with me? Sharing this space as well as being mine?”
Micah’s throat was so dry he couldn’t answer. He wanted to, he desperately tried to, but he didn’t think he could do it.
Stefan’s fingers fell away. His expression remained unchanged when Micah had no answer to give him, but there was something within those silver eyes that gave it away.
“You do not have to answer now. I know this is…swift, to say the least—”
Micah stopped him by reaching his hands out, lightning fast, as though his fingers were a striking snake.
He grabbed tightly to Stefan’s wrist and held on as if he would fall through the floor the minute he released the man.
Stefan said nothing. The man blinked widely, as if he honestly had not expected this sudden reaction.
Micah had not expected it either. He didn’t know what to say about it. He didn’t know what was happening to him, other than he had to do something about the gripping terror that seized him with cold, bony fingers and made his insides clench painfully tight. Even as the steam rose from the bathtub, that terror was real. It was real, and he couldn’t let himself fall prey to it.
He had to come to grips with the fear that he would open his eyes and find this had been nothing more than a dream.
This was not a dream. This was real. He did not have to fear that Stefan would vanish before his eyes just because Micah wanted to be happy.
Micah pulled himself closer. One more step was all it took, and he pressed his forehead against Stefan’s powerful chest.
He felt the beating of the man’s heart, proving he was flesh and blood, despite the rock-solid strength Micah felt in the man’s body.
“I…would very much like to share your rooms with you. Thank you for asking me.”
It came out as a small squeak. He cringed when the words left his mouth. He couldn’t believe himself for showing such weakness, for assuming for a single second that he was worthy to have such a luxury.
He was a slave. He was supposed to die alone. If he were lucky he would live until he was sixty years old before his body gave out and he would be of no more use to his vampire masters.
He wasn’t supposed to have the affection of a dragon warrior or the promise of a comfortable life.
Even without Stefan loving him, it was so much more than he had any right to ask for, and it felt strange to have it.
At the same time, despite knowing he had no right to these things, he couldn’t bring himself to do the right thing and deny them. He could have requested that he stay in his old rooms and things might not have changed. He could come to Stefan’s bed whenever the man wanted it, and Micah would be comfortable in the knowledge that his world hadn’t changed so much.
He would just be the mate that Stefan took pity on.
But if he did that, if he stayed away, he would definitely risk losing what few chances he had at gaining the man’s love and affections.
He didn’t dare allow himself to do that. He couldn’t bring himself to throw away such a chance because Micah was frightened of change.
He waited, still pressing himself against Stefan’s chest, still listening to the sound of the man’s heartbeat, and still waiting for Stefan to react.
The man’s large, powerful, and warm hands came up. They stroked over Micah’s arms then his shoulders before finally his powerful arms curled around Micah’s back, hugging him tightly.
“I would be happy to have you here at my side.”
They were the only words Stefan said to him, and even though they were not declaration of love, Micah’s heart soared as if they were. His happiness spiked, and he could hardly contain the joy inside him as he hugged the alpha back.
Chapter Six
Taylor hissed then clenched his teeth from the heat of the slice across his forearm.
Oh God that hurt so much, and it was deep. The blood that came from the cut was a shade of red so dark he hadn’t known it existed.
But it was there, and he was in so much pain.
At least it was better to have his arm slashed than his face. He’d been lucky. The man he’d jumped hadn’t taken a liking to that, and he’d fought back hard.
Taylor thought he could do something cool and brave, like choke him until the man passed out, but that was definitely not about to happen when Taylor was just an omega and the attacker was taller and stronger.
He was basically a hundred and sixty pounds going up against two hundred and forty of nothing but muscle.
He was lucky Jimmy had been there to drag the man off of him after the man in black threw Taylor to the ground.
If anything, Taylor’s act had been enough of a distraction that Jimmy could fight off the other two men, killing one of them and then taking care of the other by knocking him out before Taylor could get hurt.
More hurt than he already was.
Jimmy took Taylor by his wrist, angling his arm and examining the wound. He turned his eyes up to Taylor, and Taylor was struck with the strangeness of finally being able to look at the man’s face. Taylor had seen his eyes before, but he hadn’t seen his features until now, thanks to the mask he constantly wore.
His face was scarred. Badly in some places, but beneath that, Taylor could make out the visage of what had once been a handsome man.
Before the scarring.
“Why did you do that?”
Taylor swallowed hard, his fox ears folded back against his head.
“If they’d killed you, they probably would have killed me.”
That was definitely why he’d done it. What other reason did he need?
Except he felt as if there should have been another reason. Something he couldn’t quite see because he was too busy shielding himself from this man.
Taylor cleared his throat. “Thank you for saving me, Jimmy.”
God, even saying the man’s name sounded strange.
“Don’t call me that,” Jimmy snapped.
Taylor couldn’t stop himself from feeling a little annoyed by that. He’d helped to save Jimmy’s life, and sure, he might have only wanted to use the name to humanize himself in the eyes of this man, in the hopes he would let Taylor go, but still!
Couldn’t he give Taylor a small break?
“Fine, whatever,” Taylor muttered.
Jimmy’s cold black eyes flashed, looking a touch more lively in that moment. “My name is James. I don’t like being called Jimmy.”
Taylor blinked, not catching that right away, and maybe it was even a trick.
No. It couldn’t be. Well, it could be, but he didn’t think it was. Jimmy, no, James looked seriously at Taylor, as though waiting to hear what he had to say now.
Taylor cleared his throat. “Okay, James. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” James said, pulling out a knife.
Taylor tensed, pulling away, but James held tighter to his wrists, cutting the rope that bound him.
Having his hands come apart like that, having the itchy rope off his wrists, finally, was a breath of fresh air.
He nearly cried.
“Don’t get misty-eyed on me, Miles,” James said, and he ripped his mask with his teeth then wrapped the strips around Taylor’s wound. “I still need to figure out what’s going on.
In the peaceful moment, Taylor almost forgot that James thought he was Miles.
Right, they probably weren’t chummy enough for Taylor to be dropping that hint right about now.
“Why can’t you just let me go?” Taylor asked. “I want
to go home.”
“I’m taking you home.”
“Not to Varrick!”
Varrick didn’t want Taylor. He wanted the other little fox shifter, and when he found out Taylor was the wrong man…
James sighed. He rubbed his jaw, looking at everything and anything except for Taylor’s face.
“I don’t have a choice in this either.”
Taylor’s heart pounded. “Are you a slave?”
Those black eyes no longer shone with sympathy. They were harsh, and Taylor was frozen beneath their heated gaze.
Something else happened within him as well. Something he couldn’t exactly explain.
“Why I do what I do is none of your damned business. You got that?”
Taylor gritted his teeth, fighting against all the things he wanted to say, wanted to scream and shout.
He was still a prisoner. He should have run when those men in black started attacking James. Then maybe he could have gotten away. If he could just find a road, he might be able to save himself.
But no. He hadn’t done that.
“Tell me you understand,” James hissed.
Taylor glared at the man. He couldn’t help himself. “I get it. You’re a slave.”
Those black eyes turned a bright shade of red. A wild animal appeared within them, something that wanted to attack, maim, and hurt.
Taylor couldn’t figure out what that animal was. Strange how he was about to be beaten to within an inch of his life and he couldn’t stop the interest he felt within him over what sort of shifter James was.
James didn’t beat him. He didn’t attack, didn’t hurt, and he didn’t even say anything mean.
He just pulled Taylor to his feet. “We need a place to rest for a couple of days until this blows over.”
“Do you want me to dig us a burrow?”
He meant it sarcastically. He didn’t think James would look at him as if that was an actual viable plan.
“Can you do that? You’re a fox shifter, right?”
Taylor barely contained a groan. “I’m tired. I don’t want to make a burrow. I’d have to shift for that anyway, and it would take too long.”
James nodded. “You’re right. We’ll walk until we find something else.”
Walking didn’t sound like a treat either. Taylor didn’t want to walk. He didn’t want to make a burrow. He just wanted to go home and climb into bed. He wanted to work on his chores and do nothing else for the rest of his life so long as it got him out of this terrible situation.
“Please, I’m tired. I can’t!”
He knew he was whining, and he knew it was a dangerous thing to do when he was in the presence of someone who might just kill him to get him out of the way, but he couldn’t stop himself.
Those red eyes brightened, and, very quickly, James leaned down, scooping Taylor up into his arms as if Taylor weighed as little as a sack of potatoes.
A small sack.
Warmth rushed through him as he was forced to lean against James’ chest.
“O-okay,” he said.
“Now stop complaining,” James muttered. “I’ll walk with you for a little while, but then I’ll need to treat your wound before it gets infected.”
“What about you? Are you hurt?” Taylor realized he hadn’t bothered to check.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it," James said with a sharp edge to his voice.
“Right,” Taylor said, though he still felt as if he were in a daze as they started walking.
He’d never been kidnapped before, but he was pretty sure this, and the heavy thumping in his chest, wasn’t normal.
James needed more scars on his face. It was too fucked up for Taylor to be getting attracted to the man after so many days of running with him.
It was kind of sick, but he couldn’t help it either.
* * * *
Stefan locked the door to his bedroom before leaving. His mate would be able to get out if he desired it. It wasn’t that kind of lock, but Stefan didn’t entirely trust Van after last night, and he wasn’t taking any chances.
He was tired, and he was sore. It was almost funny. If he was sore, then he could only imagine how his mate felt.
Micah had slept like the dead all through last night. Stefan was a light sleeper, but he moved around a lot as he slept. More than once he’d woken himself up after rolling into his mate.
Micah never stirred. He continued to breathe deep and easy, as if he didn’t know there was anything happening.
Stefan had the rest of today off as part of his mating gift from Seth, but he wanted to get a quick update about what happened yesterday. He wanted to know if Van was going to give up or if the man was going to be a stubborn idiot about everything.
And then he wanted to bring his mate some fresh bacon and eggs in bed. He knew how to cook pancakes as well, though anything other than the most simplest of dishes left him helpless.
He would just have to hope that Micah would be forgiving of the terrible food.
He left a note for Micah just in case the man woke up when Stefan was gone. At the very least, until this mess with Van was cleared up, Stefan didn’t think he wanted his mate to be walking around by himself anymore.
Even though he was in the same house as his commanding dragon, Stefan got lazy and sent a text to Seth, letting the red dragon know he was coming.
If he was going to get started on seeing to Micah’s safety, then he had to do that now.
* * * *
Micah stirred, opened his eyes, and then shot up out of bed.
He was late! He didn’t hear his alarm go off!
He searched around for the clock on his nightstand, confused about why everything looked so different.
His vision was blurred from sleep, and he honestly thought he’d been dreaming up the differences all around him, but when his mind and vision cleared, and everything stayed the same, he remembered where he was.
And why his body was so sore.
Heat rushed through Micah’s chest, up his neck, and settled into his cheeks and ears at the thought.
He was sore. He and Stefan hadn’t finished for…a long time.
What time was it now?
He searched around for the clock or a watch. There had to be something close by that he could use.
He found a small digital clock on the nightstand. The bed was so big and the sheets so thick it took some effort for him to crawl over there.
It was ten thirty in the morning. Micah was horrified. Even though he didn’t have any chores to do today, sleeping in so late…it was almost unthinkable.
Had that happened when the house had still been under vampire control, he would have gotten a swift beating for sure.
So then, where was Stefan? He was supposed to have the rest of the day off as well.
Micah got out of bed. He picked his pants up off the floor, quickly hopping into them before checking the bathroom. His new mate wasn’t inside, so he quickly used those facilities.
Maybe he got called into work? It made sense if his time had been cut short. Stefan was important to the clan as the second-in-command of the dragons.
Micah wanted to go out and find him and maybe grab an extra set of clothing from his room since his were dirty.
Not that he minded if they smelled a little like sex—he liked the sex smell—but it might be off putting to the rest of the people in the clan.
Micah grabbed his T-shirt, putting it on as he went to the door.
It was locked. Micah frowned. That was strange.
He turned the lock on the doorknob. The door opened for him this time. Why would it have been locked? Would it lock behind him after he left?
He left the hallway, shutting the door behind him. He opened it again twice just to make sure he wouldn’t be getting locked out. It opened for him both times.
Huh, strange.
Well, whatever. Micah was hungry, and he wanted those clean clothes. If he snuck through the house and back to the servants’ qu
arters, he could get dressed.
Maybe he could even use the rest of the day to help out with the rest of the chores he’d missed out on. He didn’t want the other servants in the house to think he was being lazy.
He passed by a few of the other omegas who were dusting the walls and paintings, vacuuming the floors, among other things.
They smiled and waved, not seeming to mind how he hadn’t been there to join them.
“Sorry I’m late!” he called as he passed them by. “I’ll be back!”
“Don’t worry about it!”
“Congrats on your mating!”
Micah gleefully accepted their congratulations, unable to stop himself from smiling as he passed by the omegas. He felt bad for not helping them, and he wished Stefan would have told him if he was going off to do his duties instead of staying with him so Micah could work as well, but he couldn’t stop himself from feeling so happy.
He was Stefan’s mate. Even if the man didn’t want to spend today with him, there was still hope for them. They could still have a life together. They could still build something later on. Micah wasn’t going to be greedy about it and hope and pray for love to come right away.
He was going to be happy with what he had, make the most of it, and soon, if he could just show Stefan what a worthy mate he could be, Stefan might love him as much as Micah loved Stefan.
Micah made it to the wing for the servants’ quarters quickly. He tossed his old clothes in the laundry basket for later cleaning, and as he dressed in his only other set of clean clothes, he stopped to wonder if he would be wearing those soiled clothes ever again or if he would ever wear these clothes again.
Stefan had been touching Micah’s hair, whispering sweetly of how lovely Micah was and how he would buy him a whole new wardrobe.
The words embarrassed Micah last night, and they still did, but what if he was serious? What if Stefan hadn’t simply been whispering sweet nothings into his ear but had been making promises?
Expensive new clothes likely meant Micah wouldn’t just be expected to do his chores or clean anymore.
Miles often talked about how strange it was to not be expected to do anything. He would tell Micah, privately, that it felt strange to complain about having no chores to do but that he would get bored. The most he had to occupy his time was his reading lessons and cleaning up the room he and Seth shared.