by Donya Lynne
Micah studied her through narrowed eyes. “I’ll ask again. Why would you want to help me? What’s your angle?”
She had to appreciate his cunning and intellect. He knew she would never willingly lift a finger for him if she wasn’t due to get something from the effort. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Not yet, anyway. Maybe they never would, but if they did this and found success, it would go a long way toward bridging the professional gap between them.
She leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, setting the base of the coffee cup in her lap. “Let’s be honest, Micah. You can do things I can’t. Things that could really come in handy inside Grudge Match.”
Suspicion pinched the corners of Micah’s eyes as he lowered his chin and angled his body away from her. “Like what?”
“Like, for instance, your annoying ability to see people’s thoughts undetected.” She shrugged. “I can’t do that. Yeah, sure, maybe I can work through Trace’s mental defenses when you can’t, but he can feel me doing so if he pays attention. So can others.” Which was the frustration where Grudge Match was concerned. “Digon has already warned me not to poke around in other members’ thoughts.”
“Really?”
“Don’t look so smug.” She drummed her fingers irritably on the side of her mug. “I tried to see inside his thoughts—he’s the one who runs Grudge Match, by the way—and he got upset. Told me not to do it again, and not to do it to anyone else if I wanted to avoid unnecessary entanglements.”
Micah smirked and let out an amused huff. “I think I like Digon already.”
“Think again. He’s a dreck.”
“A dreck?”
“Yep, and my guess is that he comes from money. He holds himself almost regally and has an accent I can’t quite place, but he sounds affluent. It’s obvious he likes the finer things and has the resources to obtain them.” She remembered Digon’s TAG Heuer watch, the elegant accoutrements in his office, and the designer shoes. Even his denim trousers had been couture.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he said.
“That all depends on what you’re thinking.”
Micah shifted forward to sit on the edge of his chair, his hands linked between his knees. “What I’m thinking is that a dreck with that kind of money could be funding Bishop’s experiments if Royce isn’t.”
Cordray bobbed her head to one side. “That thought had crossed my mind.” She downed the last swallow of coffee. “But here’s the problem. I can’t see inside his thoughts to figure out just how deep he’s in the shit, if he even is at all. That’s where you come in. You can go where I can’t, and no one will be the wiser.” She held his gaze for a prolonged moment then said, “So . . .? What do you think? Can we put our differences aside long enough to work together on this? I’ll do what I can to help you get an invitation. You do what you can to get through the gauntlet. Then we pool our resources to bring Royce and that fucker, Bishop, down.”
Micah hesitated as if weighing the pros and cons of Cordray’s plan. A moment later he stood and held out his right hand. “I’m not too proud to say I like how you’re thinking on this, C. This could work, but it doesn’t mean we’re friends. Just business partners. Just so that’s clear.”
“Crystal clear, because I’m not particularly fond of you, either.” She stood and clasped his hand.
“That’s because the two of you are so alike it’s scary,” Sam said from the kitchen, flashing them both a playful glare.
“We are not.” Micah swung his gaze around to eye his mate with an almost fearful expression on his face.
Sam laughed. “No one likes to see their faults reflected back at them from someone else, which is why people who are a lot alike sometimes don’t get along.”
Cordray pulled her hand from Micah’s. “No. Absolutely not. I’m with Micah on this one.”
Micah’s gaze collided with hers. “At least we can agree on that.”
“Besides”—Cordray sat back down—“I don’t have any faults.”
“Whoa, hello!” Micah ass-parked back in his chair. “Wrong answer.”
“As if you’re so perfect,” Cordray shot back.
“Damn straight. I’m fucking awesome.”
Cordray scoffed, shaking her head. “You wish.”
Sam laughed even louder than before. “What did I tell you? You two are like mirrors for each other. No wonder I like you both so much.”
Cordray eyed Micah out of the corner of her eye as he did the same to her. The realization that Sam might be right dawned on them both at the same time.
Micah’s top lip curled. Cordray wrinkled her nose.
He swallowed thickly and looked like he might get sick as he stood. “I think I’m going to take a shower,” he said dully, as if the thought that he and Cordray were alike tainted every inch of his skin like a layer of soot.
Cordray knew how he felt. As soon as she left, she would swing by her mansion on the North Shore for a shower and a change of clothes not only to wash off the stench of vomit but the feeling that she might have absorbed some of his aura. But first, she needed to tell him what she’d learned about the ankh, as well as the message from Skeletor.
“Wait, there’s more.” She sounded like one of those stupid commercials on TV.
Micah’s shoulders wilted. “What?” Apparently, he was as ready to be rid of her as she was of him.
“Skeletor. He contacted me.”
Micah’s posture stiffened as he sat back down. “I’m listening.”
“He hacked me yesterday while I was piggybacking off your system. We had a, um . . . shall we say it was an interesting exchange of messages?” Interesting because Skeletor knew who she really was, which was something Cordray would pointedly leave out of this discussion.
“Tell me.”
“Let me tell you what I learned about the ankh first. Then I’ll tell you what happened with Skeletor.”
She proceeded to explain that the ankhs were really keys that opened portals between dimensions and that back before the time of the pharaohs, lycans and other mystical beings were using the ankhs to open those gateways.
“Why? What was their purpose?” Micah said.
“To bring in beings to help build the pyramids, work the land, perform rites”—she shrugged—“and do all kinds of things. According to the archives, lycans guarded the gates and possessed the only keys to open them, so I’m not sure how your father got his hands on one.”
Micah shrugged. “Who knows?” He rubbed the scruff over his chin and jaw. “So where is this portal or gateway my ankh unlocks?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Or whether or not you’d know if the ankh opened more than one, because some ankhs could open a group of gates.”
Micah shook his head. “I’ve got nothin’. Like I said, my father died before he could tell me much about it. Did you learn anything about who would have knowledge about how the ankh works?”
“If I had about a decade to kill, I could probably find the answers in Bain’s archives. Being that I don’t, the next best place to find answers is from the lycans.”
Micah nearly spit out a sip of coffee. “The lycans? You’re kidding, right? You know they won’t want to help us.”
“I wish I were kidding, but no. I’m as serious as sin. And you don’t know that they won’t be willing to help. Maybe they’re not big fans of our race, but we’re not at war with them and never have been.”
“Tell that to Memnon.”
True, vampires and lycans had never engaged in outright war, but Memnon held little love for vampires, which was why he moved his family west and demanded that the rest of the packs living in the United States do the same. The eastern half of the country was dominated by vampires. The western half belonged to the lycans, and any vampires inside his territory had to operate by his rules. His code.
“Fine. Memnon’s a dick. But”—Cordray held up her index finger—“from what I found, lycans are the key masters, and
Memnon is at the top of the food chain. Lycans created the gates, coding each one to an ankh that would unlock it. They supposedly know where all the portals are, too. They’re the ones who first mapped them. The first to use the ankhs to open the gates. The first, period. They were on this planet before we were, and from what I read, they weren’t exactly excited when the first vampires slipped through one of their portals by accident.”
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
“I don’t know the details. All I could decipher from the archive was that it was some kind of accident and the vampires were never meant to come through, and the lycans couldn’t reverse what happened and send the vampires back, so they were stuck here.”
“Interesting.”
“I know, right? My point is, if Memnon doesn’t know how your ankh works to open a gate, or which gate it opens, no one will. Unless Skeletor has figured that shit out. In which case, the sooner we consult with Memnon, the better. Otherwise, who knows what Skeletor could unleash on the planet if he manages to open a portal and invite in an army of supernatural beasts to do his bidding.”
Tension marked Micah’s face. “Good point.” He paused, and his eyebrows bunched together. “What doesn’t make sense, though, is if the lycans are the key masters, how did my father obtain one of their keys?”
Cordray let out a long, heavy exhale. “I don’t know. That’s a question only your late father—and maybe Memnon—can answer.” She set down her coffee cup and rubbed her temples. Her headache had receded to a dull throb, but it was still bad enough to bring mild waves of nausea every few minutes.
Micah scrutinized her in the silence that followed. “So, how is it you have access to King Bain’s archives to research this stuff? AKM doesn’t even have that kind of clearance, and we’re supposed to be the ones guarding the kingdom.”
She swiped her hand horizontally in front of her as if brushing away eraser shavings. “I do special work for Bain. That’s all you need to know.” Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Micah she was Bain’s sister and could do pretty much whatever she wanted. “But I did find an ancient map in Bain’s archives that seemed to illustrate where all the portals in the world were at that time. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. But I bet the lycans can.”
“Great, so all I need to do is find a lycan.”
Cordray shook her head. “Not just any lycan, Micah. If I were you, I’d grow a pair and take this straight to Memnon or Rameses. You know how riled up they get when someone circumvents their leadership.”
Memnon and Rameses—but especially Memnon—weren’t known for their benevolence.
A troubled shadow fell over Micah’s face as he looked away.
“What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze darted to hers. “What do you mean?”
“You look uneasy. Don’t tell me you’re scared of them?”
“Hell no.”
“Then why do you look so upset?”
He shifted and cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I’ll just dip into your thoughts and see what you’re hiding if you don’t tell me. How about you save us both the trouble and just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I said it’s nothing.”
Clearly, he still didn’t trust her. But if what he refused to tell her could help their cause, she wanted to know what it was. Maybe by extending an olive branch, she could earn enough of his trust to open up.
“Whatever it is, I won’t tell Bain, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I won’t tell anyone else, either. You have my word.”
“No offense, but your word is for shit with me right now.”
The two of them had gone around and around since they’d met. She’d dropped the ball on him when she was supposed to be at the pickup facility at the time of Trace’s release, and she’d gone at him and Trace as hard as they’d gone at her. This was the most civil conversation she’d ever had with Micah, so of course he would be wary.
“I know,” she said, holding up her free hand, palm facing out as if she were trying to calm a snarling dog. “I know, Micah, but I’m trying to work with you here. We need to work together. At least for now. If you have knowledge that could help, I’d like to know what it is.”
He leaned forward and scrubbed his palms up and down his face as he expelled a troubled breath. When he dropped his hands to his lap, his resigned gaze lifted warily to hers. “Fine, I’ll tell you, although I don’t think it has anything to do with the ankh or Skeletor. But . . . Jesus . . .” He wiped his palm over his face again then raked his fingers through his hair. “Who knows at this point.”
It took all of Cordray’s patience not to sneak into his thoughts and see what all the fuss was about, but she didn’t want to do anything to violate the fledgling trust Micah seemed on the verge of bestowing upon her.
“There’s a patient at AKM. A young male. He’s”—Micah locked eyes with her—“half lycan.”
Cordray’s mental brakes engaged. “Wait . . . what?”
“You heard me. He’s half vampire, half lycan. His name is Savill, and he was rescued from Bishop’s lab. He’d been cut open as if they’d been about to dissect him. We didn’t think he’d make it, but we’ve finally stabilized him, and it looks like he might actually pull through.”
“Who are his parents?” She was sure that other half-vampire-half-lycan mixed-bloods had existed at some point in history, but this was the first she’d personally heard of one. An anomaly, to be sure.
Micah shrugged. “We don’t know who his real parents are, but he somehow made it into the human adoption system when he was a baby, and he was adopted by a set of human parents. You run a shelter. Have you ever seen anything like this?”
She shook her head. “I’ve come across a lot of mixed-bloods who got lost in the human system, but never any with lycan blood in them.”
Micah sighed and bowed his head. “I knew it was a long shot.”
His body language was uncharacteristically compassionate. She’d previously seen inside Micah’s thoughts that he wanted children of his own. That he longed for a family and had an enormous amount of love to give, and that as badly as he treated her, he was a kind, caring person. Almost overly caring. He’d stepped in to save the lives of his comrades on numerous occasions, both now and back when he’d been a member of her father’s guard. Micah was a hero’s hero. The kind of person who selflessly gave of himself so that others could be given a fighting chance.
No doubt Savill’s predicament deeply troubled him. He knew just as she did that Memnon and Rameses, who were purists, wouldn’t want anything to do with a damaged mixed-breed who carried vampire genes. Savill would never have a place within lycan society with those two at the helm. Not that Mem and Ram were bad guys. They weren’t. They were just very strict about living by the lycan code. Cordray wouldn’t be surprised if they’d banished the lycan responsible for conceiving Savill in the first place, because while mating with humans was acceptable under lycan law, mating with vampires was not. In fact, at one time mating with vampires was strictly forbidden and punishable by death. It might still be. Cordray didn’t know. She didn’t keep up with lycan law.
Cordray spoke quietly, treading softly on what she could tell was a sensitive subject. “Have his human parents been—”
“They’ve been handled.”
Handled. Cordray was knowledgeable enough to know what that meant. “Good.” She nodded. “That’s good.”
“It’s not good, Cordray,” Micah snapped. He stood and began pacing. “It’s sad. It’s tragic. The only parents he’s ever known think he’s dead. He’ll never see them again.” He stopped and flung his arm out to the side as if he were pointing in the direction of Savill’s hospital bed. “And when he wakes up, he’ll have no one. Absolutely fucking no one. He’ll be caught up in a world he didn’t know existed, with a body that will begin to transition into an adu
lt any day now if it hasn’t already.” He grimaced. “A body with a big fucking scar from his neck to his groin.
“Can you imagine the fear he went through? The terror he must have endured inside Bishop’s lab?” Micah paced back to his chair and dropped into it with the heaviness of a five-ton boulder. “He’s going to need intense therapy. Constant supervision and reassurance. And even then it might not be enough to keep him from killing himself. There’s no way to tell if his vampire side or his lycan side will dominate, or if he’ll be an equal blend of both. So, yeah . . . fuck good. This is a fucking nightmare.” He shoved his hand through his hair again then pushed forward, elbows on knees, head bowed so that his black mane fell forward, covering his face.
Cordray exchanged worried glances with Sam, who wore a mask of concern. Apparently, this was the first she’d heard of Savill, too.
“I just meant,” Cordray said gently, “that it’s good his human parents have been taken care of before the situation can become even worse.”
Cordray dared to take a quick peek inside Micah’s mind to see if there was anything else bothering him. What she found surprised her. Tonight, Micah had learned that Malek and Gina were expecting. By itself, Savill’s situation was upsetting enough, but to find out that yet another of his teammates was expecting a baby when his own calling hadn’t produced a child compounded his feelings of anger, heartbreak, and frustration that much more.
She quickly pulled out of his head before he could detect her and set her coffee cup on the table. “Maybe I should be going.”
“No.” Micah’s head shot up. “We still have to talk about Skeletor.”
“We don’t have to do this now,” she said.
Micah huffed and shook his head. “Don’t you start acting nice, C. You’ve been a bitch up to this point. You don’t get to act like you care about my feelings now, especially since you hacked into my system last night, which pisses me off and is grounds for royal punishment.” He snapped his fingers as if commanding a dog to heel. “Start talking or I’ll report your illegal activity to King Bain and see how you like being locked in his dungeon for a couple of weeks. What happened between you and Skeletor?”