by Donya Lynne
He was a ghost. A wraith passing through, nothing more. And he wanted to keep it that way.
But Cordray was getting close. She was cunning. More cunning than Micah. If anyone could find him, it was her, but tonight she was busy putzing around in Digon’s world. Ronan had made sure of that so he could play with his new toy without worrying she might show up. Be that as it may, he still needed to pay her a visit to warn her away for good. She was getting too close and seemed to be the only one in Micah’s circle who had a brain.
He had been pleasantly surprised to see her Grudge Match application hit his inbox this morning while they bantered back and forth. He wasn’t sure if her interest in Grudge Match had to do with him or the work she did for her brother, but his inner thrill seeker hadn’t been able to resist approving her for membership.
Oh sure, he’d had to doctor the background check to remove certain facts before showing it to Digon, but the potential payoff was worth it. He could use her preoccupation with the fight club to his advantage and slip out to do his extracurricular activities while Digon kept her entertained. Besides, taking such risks gave him a mental hard-on.
A Skeletor boner, as Cordray had put it. Yes, he’d been watching them as they floundered in that parking lot by the river. And listening. After all, that was part of the fun.
At any rate, it had been fortuitous that her application had cycled to him. Any of the others Digon had assigned to do background checks would have rejected it in a hot minute. All because she worked for the king. If only they knew her real relationship to King Bain. How would they feel if they knew they now had royal blood fighting in the cage?
As pleased as he was to have slipped her into the club, he’d stuck himself between a rock and a hard place and, in hindsight, might have been smarter to reject her application. With Cordray inside Grudge Match, she might eventually discover his identity. He used a lot of tricks and gadgets to hide his scent and keep his identity a secret, so it wasn’t likely she would recognize him anytime soon, but he needed to be more careful, and not just on fight nights. He needed to be more careful, in general.
Today, for instance. He couldn’t slip up like that again. He’d let his personal feelings get the better of him while exchanging messages with her. If he wanted to remain hidden, he needed to do a better job of staying inside his mind’s neutral zone rather than diverting down the trail of personal resentment.
Unfortunately, the word careful wasn’t part of his standard vocabulary. For him, the greater the risk, the greater the reward. He got off on taking chances, but with Cordray getting so close, either he needed to temper his daredevil ways, at least for a while, or he needed a contingency for when he got caught. Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. That was his motto. And if worse came to worst and the heat got too close, he could always quit the fight club. But that would be a shame.
Grudge Match was the first and only place where he felt like he actually fit in. It was his sanctuary. A place where he could publicly show off his physical talents without fear of condemnation for drawing attention to himself. In Grudge Match, he was treated like someone of importance. In only four months, Digon had made him one of his screeners, a job he shared with five others, including Rule, Digon’s right-hand man who had taken a particular interest in mentoring him.
Rule must have seen something in him that his own father hadn’t. So much the better. He could use a stronger father figure in his life.
As a screener, he was responsible for approving or rejecting applicants. Digon issued invitations to run the gauntlet based on his recommendations. No one had ever entrusted him with such an important task, and it gave him a sense of identity and purpose. He would hate to lose that, which meant he needed to figure out a way to keep Cordray from discovering who he was.
All the more reason to pay her a visit.
He dismounted the motorcycle and removed his helmet, which allowed his long bangs to fall over his eyes.
Flicking his head to the side, he pushed his hair off his forehead, looked up and down the street, then crossed.
It was a quarter till midnight, and the gate at the cemetery’s entrance was closed, so he had to jump the wall and scale the fence. Fine by him. The mausoleum he was interested in sat two-thirds of the way through the cemetery, anyway. He could get to it faster by climbing the fence in back than he could by going through the front.
After securing the grip gloves on his hands and tugging the black ski mask with the skull face over his head, he leaped over the wall then pulled himself up the black, wrought iron fence with his special gloves and grip shoes then dropped to the ground on the other side.
Silent darkness and hundreds of light-grey tombstones stretched out in front of him.
Keeping off the roads that wound through the cemetery, he used the mature trees and their young, springtime foliage to stay hidden as he made his way toward the pyramid-shaped mausoleum where the lycans were rumored to have secretly created a gateway between dimensions.
He could have dematerialized and gotten there faster without risking being seen, but what fun would that be? Not only would that have been a safe move—a pussy move—but this way, if he got caught breaking and entering he could piss off his father. And other than stretching the limits of safety by risking his life, nothing thrilled him more than pissing off the old man and cementing his inferior status in Dad’s eyes.
The pyramid silhouette of the mausoleum appeared about a hundred feet in front of him, and he slipped silently but swiftly toward it.
Less than a minute later he was standing in front of the light-green door with its snake handle. He had never broken into a mausoleum before, but surely one of his lock picks would do the trick.
Thirty seconds later, he was inside.
The space was compact. A stained-glass window, which probably made quite an impression with sunlight shining through it, took up the back wall. In the darkness, the window looked like nothing more than textured glass.
The energy contained within the four granite walls seemed vibrant and portentous, as if the structure had known he was coming and now rejoiced at his arrival.
He unzipped his jacket pocket and pulled out the ankh, which made the contained energy inside the tomb vibrate even harder. He could actually feel it pulse against his skin. Taking a Maglite Mini from his pocket, he began searching the closed-in space until he found the thin rectangular slot he was searching for along the back wall, near the corner.
That had to be it. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and stared in awe at the innocuous space between the frame of the stained-glass window and the granite surrounding it. The dark void couldn’t have been more than a centimeter wide, but it was more than enough for the ankh to fit into.
His thumb caressed the rounded loop at the top of the ankh as hope rose within him. In theory, he knew how opening the gates worked, but in practicality he had no idea. Maybe some gates required certain keys, or maybe each gate had its own. He didn’t know. Being that this gate had been created more recently, when the mausoleum was built in the late 1800s, attempting to open it with an ankh Micah had possessed for almost a thousand years seemed foolhardy, but he had to try.
What if this ankh did open the gate? The possibility was enough to spur him onward. Because if he could open this gate, maybe he could escape this godforsaken existence and go somewhere else. Somewhere he could make a difference. Where he didn’t have to live in Micah Black’s shadow.
But what if the gate didn’t open? Then what? He supposed he would just have to try again somewhere else.
Refusing to wait a moment longer, he slipped the ankh inside the slot, held his breath, and waited.
Nothing.
He sent up a silent prayer. He wanted this to work so damn badly.
The ruby in the ankh began to glow.
A low hum vibrated the air, coalescing the coiling energy around him.
Holy shit, he’d done it! He’d opened a ga—
Abruptly, t
he hum stopped. The ruby’s glow faded.
Almost forty years ago, when he’d still been just a kid, he’d awakened to a heavy, fresh snow. At least four inches had fallen overnight. He remembered standing just inside the garage of the home he’d shared with his father at the time, staring out at the pale-grey dawn as millions of fat, airy snowflakes floated lazily to the ground. The insulated silence had been deafening. Like he’d been inside a soundproof room.
That’s how he felt now. Even the crickets had stopped chirping.
His heart fell.
No gate had opened.
He was stuck here. There would be no magical journey to another dimension. No chance for a better life. No better future. No risk.
At least not tonight.
But there were other gates. He had the map. He couldn’t decipher much of the writing on it, but he knew it was a map of the portals. Even if he had to travel around the world, he would find the gate this ankh worked in. And then he would be gone.
With a renewed sense of purpose, he pulled the ankh from the slot, tucked it in his pocket, and shut the mausoleum’s door behind him as he slipped back into the shadows. A few minutes later, he was back on his motorcycle, speeding off into the night.
It was time to plan a visit with Cordray.
* * *
Behind the mausoleum, the air shimmered as the portal ripped a seam through the fabric of space and time, opening a shadowy hole in midair. A flash of greenish-blue light lit the trees and tombstones. A moment later, a large male, clothed in a tattered shirt and pants, fell to the ground, landing on his side with a painful thud.
Hunter groaned and blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut and winced as his muscles protested the harsh impact.
What in Osiris’s Netherworld had just happened? One second he was sleeping, and the next, he was falling then slamming into the ground.
Opening his eyes, he grimaced and rolled to his back. Then froze as he looked up through leafless branches at a starlit sky instead of the roof of the hut he’d called home for the last twenty years. Ever since Memnon had banished him to the moon of their home world for breaking the lycans’ most coveted law.
But this wasn’t their home world’s moon.
This wasn’t even their home world’s star system.
This was Earth. He could tell by the map the stars created in the night sky. The only planet in the universe where you could find stars aligned this way was Earth.
Slowly pushing to his feet, he studied the constellations, scanning east to west. From the stars’ positions, he was in the northern hemisphere—Chicago would be his guess, confirmed by the architecture he could make out in the distance—and it was spring. Most likely early to mid-May.
He glanced around, finding nothing but cold, grey tombstones and the pyramid mausoleum beside him. The portal.
Where were the others? Why weren’t they here to greet him? More importantly, why had they brought him back? He’d been exiled. You didn’t come back from exile.
Sniffing the air, he tried to identify who’d been there to open the gate, but he couldn’t find a single familiar scent. What he did pick up was the essence of a vampire. A vampire who’d had his key, which he’d lost centuries ago. No wonder he’d fallen through this gate and not one of the others. He’d been drawn to his key.
But that was the least of his concerns right now. If Memnon didn’t know he’d been pulled back to Earth, he would soon, which meant Hunter didn’t have much time.
Not wasting another second, he took off at a full run, slicing through the shadows with an urgency fed by hope and desire. He needed to find Annalise. His beloved. His life. The very reason he’d been banished in the first place.
Chapter 19
Micah sat at his desk at AKM, reviewing the Skeletor footage again, searching for anything he might have missed.
Sev had spent two hours combing the pedway today, only to turn up a lot of nothing. Stryker and his team had continued the hunt when the night shift went on duty, and Io was still trying to backtrace the hack into AKM’s system. But with each minute that ticked by without news they’d found something, it became glaringly apparent they were back at square one, with nothing to go on. Which meant they were probably going to have to wait until Skeletor made his next move. Then they could get another shot.
But that didn’t mean Micah was tucking his tail. He would continue to scour the evidence in hopes something would turn up.
A knock at the door pulled his attention from the video footage looping on his screen.
“Malek. What are you doing here?” He rounded the desk and pulled Malek into a heart-felt bear hug. Gina was with him and stood to the side, all smiles and gratitude. “I thought you were living the good life during your calling, buddy.”
Malek clapped him on the back once then tightly embraced him. “I have been, believe me.”
They separated, and Malek closed his hand over Gina’s, pulling her against his side.
“You look good.” Micah nodded, glancing from one to the other. “Both of you.”
“Thanks to you,” Malek said.
“And Brak,” Gina added.
Malek nodded. “Yes, and Brak. Without him, neither of us would be here right now.”
Gina had almost died less than two weeks ago. In fact, she had died. Her heart had stopped beating and everything. And Malek had lost his shit. But Brak had used his magic mojo and somehow revived Gina, bringing her back from the dead. Which saved Malek, who’d been seconds away from ending his own life.
Once more, they’d cheated death, beating the odds the way they always seemed to do. One day their luck was bound to run out, but Micah was happy to ride the wave as long as it lasted.
“So, what are you two doing here?” He leaned his hip against the side of his desk and crossed his arms. “You ready to come back to work?”
Malek and Gina exchanged secretive glances and Gina’s cheeks colored as her smile widened.
“No, not quite yet.” Malek cleared his throat. “Uh, we just came from seeing the doctor.”
“Oh?” the bottom fell out of Micah’s stomach. He knew what was coming. Taking a quick peek inside Malek’s thoughts confirmed it a half-second before Malek said . . .
“Gina’s pregnant.”
He forced himself to smile. “Congratulations. I’m happy for you, my brother. I can’t think of anyone who deserves a child more than you do.”
The words felt like hollow-tipped bullets to his own heart, but he meant them. Malek had been through the worst kind of hell known to the universe. He truly deserved to find happiness. But being happy for someone else didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling a bit like a flat tire for himself.
Compassion filled Malek’s eyes. He knew how long Micah had wanted a child and that hearing his own good news had to hurt. “Micah, I’m sorry. I—”
Micah held up his hand, cutting Malek off. He didn’t need Malek’s sympathy right now. This was his friend’s moment, not his.
“Save that shit, Malek. I’m fine. I’ll be okay. You just focus on making your female happy and seeing your child arrive safely into the world. Revel in this, Malek. And you . . .” He turned toward Gina and ruffled her short hair. “You let my brother from another mother dote on you all he wants.” He faked an evil eye when Gina appeared ready to protest. “He’s waited a long time for this, and I can already see how eager he is to take care of you, so you just sit back and enjoy being treated like the queen you are in his heart, you hear?” He lowered his chin and looked at her from the tops of his eyes for emphasis.
Gina sighed. “Males. You’re all such hormone divas.”
“Damn straight.” Micah said, chucking Malek on the shoulder before turning and heading back behind the desk.
Malek stepped forward. “I heard someone broke into your apartment and you’re having trouble tracking the guy down. Do you need me to stick around and lend a hand? I could—”
“Nope.” Micah shook his head. “Get out of here. Ta
ke your female home and celebrate. We’ll talk later.”
“Well, if you need me, you know where I am.”
Once he was alone again, Micah clasped his hands in front of him, elbows resting on the desk, and tilted his forehead against his thumbs.
Everyone was taking mates and getting pregnant.
Everyone except him and Sam. They’d mated, he’d experienced his first calling with her, but her body hadn’t accepted his offering. Despite making love to her at least fifty times in less than two weeks, she hadn’t gotten pregnant.
He rubbed his palms over his face and eyed the open door for less than a second before he got up and closed it. He didn’t want to see anyone right now, and he didn’t want anyone seeing him. Not like this. Not when he felt like a shark trapped in a net, on the verge of drowning.
Returning to his chair, he bowed his head into his hands as he spun around and faced the back of the office.
Josie was pregnant. Miriam was pregnant. Now, Gina was pregnant. If Sev and Ari had mated females instead of each other, they would likely be pregnant, too.
And yet, Sam remained barren.
Micah was happy for his friends. He knew how important having a young was for a male vampire.
God, did he ever know!
He lived it every day. Every time he made love to Sam, he hoped against hope he would be the exception to the rule. That he would be like Tristan or that sperm factory, Lakota, and somehow impregnate Sam without being in his calling.
But every day, every week, and every month passed without seeing Sam’s belly swell.
It got so he no longer even checked for a baby’s life signature inside her, a habit he had fought to get out of for weeks after coming out of his calling. One that had begun to cause him physical pain each time he placed his hand over her stomach as she slept, only to feel nothing but her presence. No stirring of a second life inside her. No cellular mitosis as new, microscopic life stirred into existence.