by Donya Lynne
"Can't you see inside his mind?" Sam frowned with curiosity.
Micah shook his head. "Not him. For some reason, his mind is locked up tighter than Guantanamo Bay. Either he has consciously locked me and everybody else out, or it's another of his powers and he is a closed door. I'm not sure. All I know is that I can walk into the room and see everyone else's thoughts but his."
"Wow." Sam was beginning to realize that Trace was a formidable vampire. "And you think he had something to do with how Apostle and his friends were killed?"
Micah had told her that Apostle and the other drecks who had been after her had been found mutilated inside a house in the suburbs. At least the authorities and enforcers who had gone to the scene thought it was Apostle and his cronies. There wasn't much left of the bodies to identify them. They were more-or-less pools of ruptured organs, decimated bones, and flesh. But if Trace had been responsible for their deaths, he wasn't fessing up.
"It had to be him." Micah shot her an awed look. "I can't imagine anyone else having a motive or being capable of that kind of massacre." Micah paused. "That's why I said I don't even know the extent of his power. If it was Trace who did that, he's more powerful than I thought."
Silence stretched for a second. "Okay, so about mutants." Sam prompted him to continue.
Micah nodded. "Yes. So anyway, occasionally one of the mixed-bloods loses control over his or her power. Their power is caused by a genetic mutation to begin with, amplifying a segment or multiple segments of their brains or nervous system, or what-have-you. Imagine this mutation, or you can just refer to it as power, being more like a parasite. This power feeds off its host. Most of the time, the power lives in harmony with the host, and other times it doesn't. As long as it's living in harmony with its carrier, the power is harmless to him or her. But when the host and the power, or mutation, are constantly at odds, all hell can break loose and the power consumes the host. The mutation takes over, and a physiological transformation occurs. The mixed-blood vampire becomes more or less a monster, or what we call a mutant. Their strength magnifies, and their venom becomes pure poison. A mutant's bite is more deadly than anything else."
Sam had sat in rapt silence as she listened to Micah explain yet one more aspect about the new life she had entered by becoming his mate. Would she ever get used to this world he lived in? A world she never even knew existed until she stepped into that parking garage to find a handsome, mysterious stranger being beaten to death by a bunch of would-be thugs. Only he hadn't been just a regular stranger and those hadn't been regular thugs. He had been a vampire, and the thugs had been drecks, and when she shot Apostle, she had sealed her own fate.
"Having regrets?" Micah said softly, his profile unreadable.
Obviously he could see what she was thinking. At least there would never be dishonesty between them. "No."
"You sure?"
She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "Yes."
Micah squeezed her hand back. "You're not in Kansas, anymore, Sam. It's a scary place I live in."
"I don't want to be in Kansas. And I don't care how scary it is."
They pulled up to a stop light and he turned toward her, his eyes searching her face. "Why not?"
Sam smiled wistfully and looked at their joined hands. "Because you're here. And I want to be with you."
She glanced back up and he blinked and smiled at her with a gentle nod.
"And I'm so glad for that," he said.
"Why?"
"Because if you weren't here with me, I wouldn't be here, either."
CHAPTER THREE
Micah gazed at Sam, his savior. He had been ready to die before she stepped into his life. After Jackson had left him, Micah had been ready to check out. For good.
But then Sam had shown up, smelling of lilacs and looking like an angel. She had saved his life and given him a reason to live again, and he could feel himself slowly morphing back into the male he had been centuries ago, before his first mate's death. Maybe now he would rise up to become what he had seemed destined to become back then.
If things had happened differently, he would be the team's leader right now, not Tristan. Because that's what he had been before. He had been Tristan's commander. Now it was the other way around.
He gazed at Sam, reflecting a moment longer, then caught the glow from the light as it turned green. He returned his gaze to the front and hit the gas.
He still found it hard to believe that he had changed so much in the past few weeks. And he couldn't believe fortune had finally smiled down on him after centuries of misery after losing Katarina in the late Middle Ages. But all that was behind him now, and he suddenly found himself considering a future of happiness. One where he could actually smile and laugh again.
He'd been laughing a lot with Sam.
But he also couldn't forget how dangerous the world he lived in was. And now Sam was part of that world.
They held hands in silence as he took them out of the city and into the burbs. Her mind was processing everything he had told her, chewing it up, mulling it over, and filing it away.
"Okay," she said out of the blue. "So how many mixed-bloods are there, proportionately speaking?"
Micah shrugged. "I don't know. I know there are more pure bloods than mixed-bloods. Maybe a four to one ratio. Possibly even three to one. Why?"
She sighed as if she was trying to figure something out. "Well, it just seems like since humans outnumber vampires — and I assume they do since you vampires keep yourselves so secret from humans — there would be a lot more mixed-bloods running around."
Micah was impressed. What an astute observation.
"Okay, so what's your question?"
She smiled sweetly. Too sweetly. "Can't you just poke inside my head and see it?"
"Yes, but it's so much nicer to hear your sexy voice." He grinned sweetly back.
Sam laughed and shook her head. "You're incorrigible."
"So they tell me." He turned the Audi toward the north. "Do you want to know why we aren't overrun by mixed-bloods? Is that your question?"
"Yeah, I can't figure that one out. If male vampires are only fertile during their calling—"
"Not only," he said, correcting her. "But they are most fertile at that time."
Sam nodded. "Okay, so if that's the case, are male vampires mating humans and not having their calling? But that doesn't make sense because you're having your calling with me, and I'm human."
"Not technically. Not anymore, that is."
"Well, you know what I mean."
"I know. And that's a good question." Micah paused as he pulled into a manicured subdivision with massive houses that sat far back off the road. Each plot was at least five acres or larger. "Calling or no calling, it's harder for a male vampire to impregnate a human female. And even harder for female vampires to become pregnant by human males. But there are exceptions, and it happens. And when it does, you have yourself a mixed-blood. I know a couple of mixed-bloods who have two or three siblings to the same mixed set of parents, which is unheard-of. Most mixed couples never have children of their own and have to adopt. But as with human evolution, vampires and their mixed progeny are evolving, too. One day, it could be easier for mixed couples to have young of their own, but right now, as a general rule, it's harder. But a lot of them end up in some kind of enforcement capacity because of their powers. It's why AKM has so many on staff. Their powers come in handy on the job."
Micah slowed and turned into a long, curved driveway that led up to a dark-windowed home surrounded by mature trees still awaiting the warmth of spring so they could once again leaf out and provide a canopy of shade to the magnificent home.
"Does that mean you and I might not have kids?" Sam sounded concerned, and didn't that make Micah love her even more? She wanted his babies, didn't she?
"It's a possibility, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stop trying." He slowed the car as he approached the garage. "We're here."
Sam gasped a
s if she had only just realized they had arrived at his home.
"This is your home?"
Micah parked the car outside the four-car garage and shut off the engine as he peered out the windshield at the luxurious monolith. "Yup. This is home."
After he and Jackson had gotten together he had spent less time here and more time downtown at the apartment. But then Jackson had split and Sam saved him, and…well, he wanted to start spending more time here, now. With her.
And not just because of what was in his basement.
He wanted to make a home with Sam, and he didn't think they could do that at the apartment. Sure, the apartment was a great hangout and was closer to AKM, which made it convenient, but this was home.
And he had to be honest with himself. Sam had awakened a part of him he couldn't exercise at the apartment. A part of him that some would call depraved but that he valued for the trust and honesty his fetish required. And if Sam was going to be in his life, she needed to know what she had awakened. She needed to see it for herself. Because he wanted to play. With her. Hard.
"Sam…" He took a deep breath. "I want to show you something here, okay?"
Her brow furrowed curiously. "Okay."
"And I need you to have an open mind about it."
She nodded. "Okay."
With that, he got out of the car and joined her as she stepped out and shut the passenger door. He hoped this went well, but if it didn't and his lifestyle wasn't for her, that was okay, too.
He took her hand and led her to the front door, unlocked it, and stood aside as she entered. Someone came in once a week to clean and make sure everything was taken care of, but they knew not to go into the basement. Only he was allowed down there, and he had the only key, so they couldn't get down there, anyway, unless they picked the lock.
Sam's gaze swept the open foyer that led into the recessed living room. A pair of glass sliding doors led out to a patio and deck that surrounded a custom pool. He would need to start thinking about opening the pool for the coming summer.
He followed her as she walked from the living room, her hand running along the back of the plush moleskin couch, and into the ultra-modern kitchen. He had ordered custom cabinetry for the kitchen. Rich and elegant, it brightened the entire living area with its antique, brushed off-white color and brass hardware.
The kitchen had been a key factor in why he had bought the house in the first place. It was huge, with granite counters and top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.
"Wow." Sam's gaze danced around as if she was struggling to take it all in. "This is some kitchen."
"I like to cook." He quietly settled the side of his hip against the island in the center of the room, his gaze following her. He remembered what they had done earlier and grinned. "Can you imagine the damage we could do to each other in here?"
Sam's head turned toward him, and her green eyes twinkled, but she didn't reply. She just smiled her secret, sexy smile and continued her tour.
"Come on," he said, pushing away from the counter. "Let me show you the rest of the house." Yeah, as in, let me show you my dungeon of dastardly deeds.
Hopefully, she wouldn't run away after paying that part of the house a visit.
She took his hand and followed him as he toured her through the rest of the main floor then upstairs. There wasn't much upstairs since he didn't spend a lot of time there, but perhaps she would change that. Unlike him, she could dwell in the daylight. The upstairs floor would make a nice daytime retreat for her. Lots of windows. Lots of light.
But her decorating plans for the top floor of his home weren't why they were here. It was time to reveal the debauchery that had been such a huge part of his life before he lost the passion for BDSM several years ago. It had simply lost its appeal, getting old and stale — a fog of stagnation that had begun to weigh him down every time he donned the domination persona.
In hindsight, he realized that his fall from grace a month ago had likely begun when he'd lost his love of BDSM, specifically domination. That should have been a sign that he was falling. Losing Jackson had just sped up his demise.
But all that was behind him now, his zest for life as well as for BDSM surging once again with Sam's arrival. And now it was time to show her that side of him.
He led her back downstairs.
Standing in front of the basement door, he took out his keys and turned toward her.
"I won't go down there with you," he said.
"Why not?" She cocked her head to the side.
"Because the calling is calling me, and I don't want to get carried away."
She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips. "What am I going to find down there, Micah?"
"You'll see."
* * *
Micah's eyes darkened in response to her question, and it made her heart skip a beat. Whatever was down in the basement was something that stirred his blood…in a good way.
She recalled her handcuff comment and how it had aroused him.
"Micah?" She prompted him again, waiting for an answer.
He took a deep breath, leaned in, and gently kissed her…a soft, lingering connection between their lips. "My trust in you is down there." He dipped his head toward the closed door as he unlocked it.
He flipped on a series of light switches just inside the door, and the stairwell lit up. He looked at her expectantly, and Sam recognized a hint of hope in his gaze.
She took the first step down.
"I'll wait in the kitchen." His gaze flicked down the stairs as he took a deep breath, and then he walked away, leaving her alone with whatever awaited her in the depths of his impressive home.
Micah was behaving so strangely all of a sudden, as if he was both nervous and excited. He wanted her to like what she found in the basement, but he was worried she wouldn't. Well, she might as well get this over with.
She went down the stairs and entered what she imagined was his bedroom. It was huge, easily taking up half the square footage of the basement. The bed was enormous, with an ornate headboard and footboard bookending the mattress. And pillows. Lots of pillows in lots of fabrics and colors. They were everywhere.
A flat screen TV hung on the opposite wall, and the walls were a rich creamy color. The motif was light, airy, and comfortable. Almost earthy.
Except for a pair of wooden doors on the far wall.
The doors looked like a modern version of something out of medieval times, with black, round, iron handles set within similar hardware bolted to the wood. The doorway was arched and reminded her of the entrance to a cave, but something told her Fred Flintstone didn't reside on the other side of that imposing entrance.
After making her way across the room, she grabbed one of the heavy round handles, and it swiveled up into her grasp. Should she pull or push?
Giving it a yank, nothing happened. Okay, so let's push.
The double doors creaked and whined as if the hinges needed a good oiling. Sam's mouth dropped open as she gasped.
What world had she just entered? It felt like a cross between romantic Tuscany and Medieval Saxony. The walls of this new room were painted a deep, yellowish-gold with texturing that reminded her of fresco-style paintings. Several floor-to-ceiling mirrors hung in various locations throughout the room. The floor was painted gray with what felt like non-slip paint. But it was the ceiling that took her breath away. A fresco of a richly-colored bowl of fruit, large and overflowing, surrounded by nude Renaissance men and women engaged in every manner of debauchery, adorned the ceiling, except for one area where hooks hung in a grid pattern, and another where a ceiling-mounted mirror reflected a second massive bed framed in wrought iron.
The bed was only one of a few pieces of furniture in the room that looked relatively normal. Hell, was some of this stuff even furniture? Sam gaped as her gaze swept the giant room that had to be at least 2,500 square feet, maybe — probably — more.
Where did she start? There was so much to look at. Other than the lavishly
dressed bed, there was a leather couch and a pair of wooden, straight-backed chairs, along with a large bureau with shallow drawers that reminded her of something butterfly or stamp collectors stored their prized collectibles in. But that was where her familiarity ended. Every other piece of furniture was foreign to her. Well, she couldn't call it furniture. More like…contraptions.
A built-in beam that looked about twelve feet long ran along the ceiling. Two heavy-duty hooks sat inside a track that spanned the center of the beam, and on the floor beneath was another built-in apparatus with similar hooks. Everything looked to be attached to pulleys and it reminded Sam of a fancy curtain rod. Somehow, though, she didn't think curtains were what got hung from those hooks. Maybe it was the impressive set of floggers hanging nearby on the wall that gave her that impression, but, yeah, that beam in the ceiling with the hooks and pulleys wasn't for curtains.
And the floggers! There had to be a hundred of them. Cat o' nine tails, riding crops, short ones, long ones, ones that looked like horses' tails, leather, plastic, ping-pong paddles, bamboo rods, canes. Oh my God, there were even a couple of coiled whips displayed.
Sam walked slowly through the room, afraid to touch anything, but fascinated at discovering Micah had a kinky — well, kinkier side — to him. And here she thought that whole knife thing had been sexy.
Lame-o!
This place made the Bowie knife she had used on Micah earlier seem like a foam sword. Weak.
She opened a drawer in another bureau and found an impressive array of vibrators and dildos. Jesus! He had a Hitachi Magic Wand. Um, no. Make that three of them. One eyebrow shot up mischievously. Mmm, he can use those on me anytime. The thought of Micah inside her with the wand stimulating her clit was a fantasy she wanted to see come to life. Absolutely.
After closing the drawer and inspecting the others to find all manner of toys, silver balls, cock sleeves, stimulators, and an assortment of other playthings, Sam spun and took in the rest of the room. Hell, she had no idea how to use half this stuff. And what was up with the giant glass tank that looked like an empty fish aquarium? And the large dog cage. Were those leashes and collars hanging on hooks nearby?