Rise of the Fallen

by Donya Lynne

  "I won't hurt you."

  It was the way he said it, almost as if he were a chivalrous knight – her own Sir Lancelot – as if he were speaking to Queen Guinevere herself. Before she could stop herself, she took his outstretched hand and let him help her into the car.

  "What am I doing?" she said to herself as he went around the front of the car.

  He opened the driver's side door and got behind the wheel.

  "Wait," she said. "The keys are inside, with my things."

  "Don't worry, I've got this." He winked at her.

  She watched him hotwire her car like a natural-born thief.

  "Of course," she said, waving her hand and glancing out the window. "Of course you can hotwire my car." Just what was she getting herself into with Micah?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "Let me get this straight. You had her but she got away?" John Apostle stood beside his unmarked Dodge Charger in an alley behind a row of local businesses, rubbing his shoulder. Thing still hurt like a mother fucker, but at least the bullet hole had healed.

  Tormin and Janus looked at each other.

  "What part of 'do not touch her' did you two fuckheads not understand? I specifically remember telling you not to touch her."

  "Micah showed up, so we had to alter the plans."

  "Micah? What did he want?"

  Janus shifted uneasily as if standing was a chore. Probably was by the looks of him. Micah hadn't been picky about where to hit the guy. "I think he wanted the girl, too."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes, and if I'm not mistaken, she's his mate."

  "His mate?" Now, this was interesting. "What makes you think so?"

  "Just the way he reacted. He reacted like a mated vampire when we went after her."

  Apostle rubbed his chin, thinking. "Intriguing. He certainly didn't act like a mated vampire when he asked me to kill him."

  The three exchanged glances, then Apostle said, "Give me her information."

  "Apostle," Tormin said, "You can't go after a vampire's mate. That's war, and you know it."

  "He started the war, not me." Apostle didn't like being teased, and being told he was going to kill a vampire only to have his intentions thwarted was a tease. Micah had wanted to die the other night. Well, Apostle was going to give him what he wanted, one way or another. If it took killing his mate to kill him, then that was what he would do. He would keep his end of the deal.

  "Apostle—" Tormin said.

  Apostle backhanded him so hard he stumbled to the side before righting himself, holding his already-bruised face. "I will have her, Tormin. Now, give me that bitch's information."

  With a reluctant nod, Tormin pulled a slip of paper from his pocket with two addresses written on it. One for her home and one for work.

  "Good, now go home. I'll get someone to cover your shifts for a few days until your faces heal."

  Tormin and Janus turned and exited the alley. Apostle reviewed the information on the piece of paper then folded it and tucked it into his uniform pocket before getting back into his car and slipping out of the alley on the other side. Looked like he had a new beat to patrol.

  Radioing in a fake call to dispatch about a suspect he was tailing, he put Sam's home address into his GPS. If he was lucky he would catch the bitch at her home if that fuckhead Micah hadn't already rushed her off to safety.

  * * *

  Severin finished his shift and decided to stop by Four Alarm for a beer before going home. With the Micah crisis averted, at least for the moment, everyone could relax. Or maybe not, given how Micah had been behaving since returning to AKM, going off like a loose cannon and shirking his orders. Sev had only been with AKM a month, but it was clear Micah was an asshole who got under everyone's skin. The guy couldn't be controlled.

  His thoughts shot to walking in on Micah roughing up Arion earlier. Even now, Sev felt the urge to break the guy's face for touching Ari that way. No one touched Ari like that, not even a fucked-up-just-lost-his-mate Micah.

  Cool off, Sev. Ari's not your boyfriend. He doesn't need your protection.

  But that wasn't the problem, was it? The problem was that Sev was thinking more about Ari than he should, and in ways he shouldn't.

  "Hey, this seat taken?"

  Sev looked up, and speak of the Devil. Ari stood next to him, motioning to the barstool. Topaz, almond-shaped eyes glanced from the stool to Sev.

  "Uh, no. Have a seat." Sev cleared his throat and sat up a little higher. "What are you up to?"

  Ari sat down and waved at the bartender. "Io and I came in to grab a drink before heading home. We come here a lot."

  "Oh?" Sev took a drink of his beer, looking around. "Where is Io, anyway?"

  Ari rolled his eyes. "One of his many fans caught him as we came in. He's probably in the bathroom fucking her."

  The bartender set a brew in front of Ari without him having to order.

  "You do come here often," Sev said. "Bartender doesn't even have to ask what you want."

  Ari laughed. "Yeah, well, we're regulars." He picked up his beer and gave a mock salute, lifting it as if toasting the air. "Io likes the women here." Something in the way Ari said it made Sev frown. It almost sounded like he was frustrated or annoyed. What was that all about?

  They turned around and faced the dance floor and kicked back against the bar, brews in hand. He glanced at Ari sideways. "What about you? Why aren't you back there with him, Ari? You like the women, too, don't you?"

  Ari shot him a glance then quickly looked at the floor before looking at him again with a tight smile on his puss. "Yeah, sure. Why not?"

  Sev didn't think he sounded convincing or convinced.

  An uncomfortable silence hung between them for a couple of minutes, then Ari looked at him. "So, what was all that about earlier? At Jackson's apartment, I mean. You tore into him pretty good."

  "Was I out of line?"

  "No. I'm glad you let him have it. I mean, Micah and I may not be the best of friends, but that doesn't mean I think it's okay for someone to pull shit like Jackson did. Micah had mated him for God's sake."

  Sev dove into his beer again, taking a healthy sip. He didn't want to remember his own past.

  "So," Ari said, "what gives, huh? You want to talk about it?"

  Sev took another drink. He didn't want to talk about it. Well, not to anyone else, anyway. Something about Ari made Sev want to open up. "I lost someone of my own about a year ago."

  Ari sucked in his breath and Sev felt his eyes on him. "I'm sorry." Ari's hand settled on his shoulder and Sev closed his eyes at the seemingly innocent gesture, but it felt good on his body. Warm, soothing, and right in every way.

  All too soon, Ari took his hand away, leaving a cold emptiness where it had been.

  "Was she your mate?" Ari said.

  Sev opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Ari's eyes. "No, he wasn't, but I loved him."

  * * *

  Ari's brow furrowed. Had Sev just told him he was gay? "He?"

  Sev nodded. "Yes. His name was Gabriel."

  Okay, Ari didn't know what to think about this. He hadn't known Sev was gay, so the announcement came as a bit of a shock, but unlike Io, he didn't have anything against homosexuals. In fact, he often felt jealous of gay men. They were free to live the lives they wanted. They didn't have to lie about who they were. Ari felt like every day was a lie for him. A lie he couldn't escape.

  "Are you gay?" Ari said, leaning in and keeping his voice low. Why did the idea that Sev was gay excite him so much?

  Sev's mouth quirked. "Yes, Ari. I. Am. Gay. That's usually what it means when a male dates other males. Why? Is that a problem for you?"

  Ari quickly shook his head. "No, no. I'm sorry. I'm just…" What? What was he? Fascinated? Curious? Interested? "I just think it's great that you can talk so openly about it, that's all. So many people feel like they have to hide, you know?" He looked at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Was that what he was doing? Hiding? Was he
actually learning something about himself tonight?

  Sev obviously felt Ari's vibe because he said, "What are you hiding from, Ari?" Sev leaned forward, pushing in close enough for Ari to smell the light fragrance of his aftershave.

  Ari turned and looked at him. Sev was so close that it would only take Ari leaning forward half a foot and they would be kissing. His eyes dropped to Sev's full lips as if in anticipation then he glanced back up into Sev's piercing blue eyes. What was happening to him? Why did he suddenly feel this way? "Everything," he said. "I'm hiding from everything."

  He hadn't even realized he had spoken until Sev said, "Why?"

  "I don't know."

  Suddenly, Io burst from the crowd and sprang up between them, still buttoning his shirt. "One down, twenty more to go!"

  Ari jerked back, as did Sev, but their eyes met in the mirror. Why did Ari suddenly want to take Sev back to where Io had just come from? And what had just happened here between them? He was heterosexual, wasn't he? Wasn't he? Suddenly, he wasn't so sure.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Micah waited in Sam's kitchen while she changed in the bathroom. As he leaned his ass against the edge of the counter, he glanced around the room. Sam didn't have much, and that was odd for someone who made the kind of money she did. Why the hell did she live in a dump like this making the kind of money she made? She had to pull in major cash at the Black Garter. He knew what a couple of those girls earned, and Sam was the star, for God's sake. She surely made more than they did.

  Growling at the thought, he sneered at the floor. They would discuss her profession later. Right now, he didn't even want to think about those men watching her while she took off her clothes.

  His head snapped up as the bathroom door opened.

  "I don't like this," she said for the hundredth time. She looked more like herself with the wig off and her face washed.

  "What?"

  "Going to your place. I don't like it."

  Micah pushed away from the counter and followed her to the bed, where he helped her fold clothes into a small overnight bag.

  "Would you rather stay here and die?"

  She threw down a pair of folded jeans. "What makes you think they were going to kill me, anyway? You still haven't even told me who those men were. And what was all this talk about mates and vampires and that shit between you and…Trace, is it? That was his name, right?"

  Micah nodded.

  "Well, what was all that shit? How the hell did he do that to Ted and Jose, freeze them in midair like that? And how do you know how to hotwire a car? You some kind of car thief? Who are you?"

  It seemed Sam had recovered and found her voice again, her adrenaline-induced aggression finally finding an outlet in Micah.

  "Okay, just slow down," he said, reaching for her hands.

  She pulled away. "No. I want answers, damn it."

  Micah wasn't used to being bossed around, but this was Sam. She could do anything she wanted to him. He was hers to command. "I'll give you the answers you want, but let's get out of here first. Once we're at my place and you're safe, we'll talk. How's that? Will that work?"

  The two sized each other up. Micah could see Sam's mind working over the logic and reasoning, but he held his ground, letting her know they would do things his way or his way. Yeah, not a lot of choice there.

  "Fine, but when we get to your place, you're going to start singing, you got that?" She jabbed a finger at him.

  Micah grinned, handing her a folded red sweater. "Yes, ma'am." He liked her feistiness.

  Sam swiped the sweater from him and stuffed it in the bag. "Don't patronize me."

  "Wouldn't think of it."

  She threw him a sideways glance then looked away, but Micah caught the quirk of the corner of her mouth. Sam liked him despite her misgivings, didn't she?

  "Okay, let's go. I've got everything." She zipped the bag and flung it over her shoulder.

  Micah shook his head and took the bag from her. "I'll get this for you." No female of his was going to carry her own bags.

  He led her to the door and made sure the coast was clear before allowing her outside. Using his body as a shield, he got her to the car and into the passenger seat before tossing her bag in the back and getting behind the wheel.

  "Once we get to my place, I'll send Trace back to the club to get your things," he said as he pulled away from the curb.

  "That'd be great, because then you can stop hotwiring my car and freaking me out."

  "I freak you out?"

  "A little," she said then hesitated and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, okay, not really, as crazy as that sounds, but the fact that you can hotwire a car does. What, are you some kind of criminal? Is that what those guys were doing to you the other night? Beating you up because you stole their car?"

  "No, it was nothing like that." Micah made a left, falling silent.

  "Well, what is it that you do? I can see you're dressed like full military badass. Nice steel, by the way."

  "Huh?"

  "Your knives. I mean, all I can see are the sheaths, but I know my weapons and I can tell that's a hell of a Bowie knife you've got there. And that other one, what's that?"

  "Ka-Bar Big Brother."

  "Hmm, nice." She nodded appreciatively.

  "How'd you know that?" Micah glanced over at her before putting his eyes back on the road, impressed all to hell and back that she even knew what a Bowie knife was.

  "I haven't always been a dancer."

  "I guess not." Micah had to shift to alleviate the ache in his groin. Hearing her talk about knives had gotten him semi-hard. "So, tell me where you learned about knives."

  "Huh-uh. You want answers from me then I expect to get some from you first."

  For the first time since Micah could remember, he was at a loss for words. Usually, he simply ignored people or kept to himself, not wanting to talk. With Sam, he wanted to, but she had shut him down so effectively, he couldn't think of anything to say.

  "Well, all right," was all that came out.

  Neither of them spoke again until he reached his apartment building and turned into the parking garage.

  "The Sentinel? Nice," she said. "Whatever you do, at least you live well."

  "I get by." He pulled his pass card out of his wallet and waved it over the scanner then drove down and parked in the open lot.

  After snagging her bag from the back seat, he ushered her toward a set of elevators that took them up to his apartment.

  Trace was leaning back against the wall by his door, head down and eyes closed. "Hey," he said, looking up as the two got off the elevator.

  Micah still wasn't entirely happy with Trace for breaking his word, but if the guy really was sincere about liking him and hadn't intended on going back to Tristan to report on his nocturnal prowling and Sam, then the guy deserved a second chance, something Micah didn't dole out easily. For Trace, he would make an exception and give him the opportunity to redeem himself. If he fucked him over this time, though, that was it. Trace would be cut off for good.

  After setting the suitcase inside the door, Micah flipped on the lights and stood aside to let his guests come in and look around.

  "Nice view," Trace looked out the wall of windows at the panoramic view. "How'd you pull this off, anyway? Keeping this place a secret from Tristan?"

  Micah shut the door and strolled into the kitchen for a bottle of water. "Tris and I have an understanding." His eyes followed Sam as she surveyed his apartment. "Do you like it?" he asked her. He set the bottle of water down and joined her by the bookshelf.

  Sam straightened as if strengthening her resolve. "Look, you promised me answers—"

  "And you'll get them, but I need to talk to Trace first. Trace?" With a nod of his head, Micah beckoned Trace to join him down the hall. "Just give us a minute," he said to Sam. "Help yourself to whatever you want. There's a bar over there, and the kitchen is stocked. Make yourself at home, and I'll be right back."

/>   * * *

  Micah and Trace disappeared down the hall, and Sam heard a door close. She was alone and let out a heavy sigh. This guy lived large. The furniture was the finest quality, and the liquor in the bar was the good stuff, not cheap shit you'd find at some dive. Speaking of which, a drink sounded good at the moment. It might take some of the fray off her edges.

  She grabbed a glass that looked like it cost more than her wardrobe – which was ridiculous, right? – and poured a double of Jack Daniels. That would get her good and loose. She hesitated, thinking about the men down the hall. On second thought, maybe she should only have a single. No sense letting her guard down around two virtual strangers. Pouring the extra booze down the sink somehow felt criminal, but pouring it back in the bottle would have been tacky and she would have only made a mess.

  Did he have some Coke on-hand to give her Jack some volume? She opened the mini-fridge under the bar and what do you know, the guy thought of everything. Snagging a can of Coke, she popped the top and splashed about half the can in her glass before fishing a few ice cubes from the small freezer.

  Drink in hand, Sam returned to the bookshelf and ran her gaze down the spines of what had to be over two hundred books that looked like they had been collected over the course of three or four lifetimes. And what was with the Excalibur-worthy medieval sword mounted on the wall? She reached up and touched it with the tip of her finger. It was the real deal, not some fake used for show.

  And damn! Whoo-eey. Was that a real Monet hanging on the opposite wall? No way. Couldn't be. No one could afford art like that. She glanced over her shoulder down the hall. Well, maybe Micah could.

  She returned to looking around and stepped up to his music collection. If she thought his book collection was large, he had a collection of CDs on the opposite shelf that dwarfed it. With a tight smile, she sipped her drink and realized the CDs were alphabetized by artist. Aerosmith, Beatles, Flo Rida, Frampton, Jay-Z, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Rihanna, and U2, among others. But what didn't make sense was the large volume of classical music he had, and not just Beethoven and Bach, but Liszt, Wagner, Haydn, Chopin, Schubert, and a bunch Sam had never heard of. What a mish-mash of eclectic taste.