Rise of the Fallen

by Donya Lynne

  Micah was becoming even more intriguing. He came off like a hard-as-nails SOB. She had expected beer in the fridge, empty pizza boxes and take-out littering the counter, a La-Z-Boy, and a foosball table, not this immaculate museum of civilized luxury and artistic culture. The fact that he didn't look older than his late twenties only doubled her curiosity about him.

  Just what did this guy do that afforded him this kind of lifestyle?

  * * *

  "Okay, so what's going on? How is it that human knows and remembers you?" Trace said.

  Micah shook his head. "She's not 'that human.' Her name is Sam. Sam Garrett."

  "Yeah, yeah, whatever. You know what I mean. You had significant contact with her from what I heard, and her memory is still intact. Just what went down?"

  They had a rule at AKM that when a member of the team had what they called significant human contact, including injury, feeding, saving one from a dreck, and the like, it was the team member's duty and requirement to strip those memories from the human's mind. It was the only way they could continue performing the work they did.

  "I was hurt. She saved me. I didn't strip her." As in, strip her memories.

  Trace's head angled as he scrutinized Micah. "You didn't strip her?"

  "No."

  The two looked at each other for several seconds and then Trace's eyebrows shot up and he barked out a laugh. "Shit, you like her, don't you? You like her."

  "Fuck you," Micah said, turning away and taking off his coat before tossing it on the bed.

  "That's why you're doing so much better. Shit, man, we all thought we'd lost you when Jackson left, but now I get it – the miraculous recovery and return to the land of the living. It's her."

  "Drop it." Micah removed his knives and started to unfasten his shoulder holster then pointed at Trace. "And don't mention Jackson's name again." He may have moved on with Sam's sudden and preternatural appearance, but that didn't mean he liked being reminded of the pain he had suffered for the two weeks after Jackson had moved out. All he had to do was look in the mirror to be reminded just how far he had fallen. He still had over twenty pounds to go before he was back to his old size.

  Trace's voice quieted. "Yeah, got that, okay. Sorry, brother."

  Micah's head snapped around. "You're not my brother. Just because you're here and you think we're some kind of chums doesn't mean you're my brother."

  Trace swayed backward as if Micah had shoved him. "Fine, whatever. What do you want me to tell Tristan?"

  "What do you want to tell him?"

  "Don't play that shit with me, Micah. Just tell me what you want me to say."

  The two squared off again and finally Micah said, "Just tell him you followed me, nothing happened, and then I went home. You can even tell him you followed me here. Not like I can keep this place a secret from you fuckers, anymore, anyway."

  "I won't tell him about Sam, but you've got to take care of her one way or the other, broth— Micah, because she's not something you can keep secret for long, you know what I mean?"

  "Sam's none of your concern."

  "You're not thinking about mating with her, are you?"

  Micah met Trace's gaze without a flinch, giving nothing away.

  "Oh hell, you are." Trace shook his head and actually smiled as he rolled his eyes and looked away. "You're a real piece of work, you know that Micah? At least tell me you don't think she's your next mate."

  There was a difference between mating and taking a mate. A big one. To a vampire, mating simply meant having sex, while taking a mate was like getting married, only deeper. Taking a mate could be described as two souls coming together and claiming each other for eternity. The act was uncontrollable and the connection much deeper than anything the human mind could fathom.

  Again, Micah didn't flinch, and he watched Trace's face grow somber, the smile fading, his eyes sharpening. "You'd better get going, Trace," he said, his voice even.

  "Fuck. Me. You do."

  Micah could almost hear Trace's thoughts. It had been less than three weeks since he had lost Jackson, and Jack had been his mate. At least on Micah's end. All the physiological changes had taken place to bind Micah to Jackson so that when he had left, those powerful bindings protested and sent Micah into a tailspin of despair. That's how it was for vampires. So many bound males died from losing a mate. It was a male vampire's greatest fear.

  "Micah, she's human."

  He nodded at Trace. "Yeah, I got that already."

  "She'll die someday."

  Micah's hand shot out and fisted around Trace's throat. "Don't ever say that again. You got me?"

  Trace nodded, frowning, and Micah released him.

  "It's your funeral, man," Trace said, rubbing his neck and walking toward the door. "But I won't tell Tristan or the others. You've got my word."

  "Well, your word is for shit right now, Trace," Micah said, following him, "so you've got some ground to earn back as far as I'm concerned."

  "Asshole."

  "Fucker."

  Trace grinned and led him down the hall.

  "I'll let you know if something happens," Trace said, going to the front door. "Take care of her," he nodded toward Sam. "Nice meeting you," he said to her.

  "Same here. Thanks for earlier, and…well, thanks." Sam's eyes darted between him and Trace.

  Micah walked Trace to the door. "Do me a favor and go back to the Black Garter for her things, too, will ya?"

  Trace nodded. "Sure."

  "See you, Trace." Micah locked the door after Trace left then turned back toward Sam. He could sense the wear-and-tear on her emotions. It had been a long night for her, and her confusion tore at him like a beggar seeking alms.

  "Answers," he said, doing all he could not to caress her cheek as he stepped in front of her. "What do you want to know?"

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  He moved like a black panther stalking her in the shadows, his eyes never wavering from hers when he approached. Sam took a nervous drink, the ice rattling against her glass.

  "Who are you?" she asked. That was the first question.

  "Micah."

  "I know that much already," she said then glanced around the room to indicate the amount of money that surrounded them. "What do you do to afford all this stuff?"

  His eyebrow quirked as the corner of his mouth turned up. "Isn't it rude to discuss someone's income when you've only just met them?"

  His words may have suggested impropriety on her part, but his tone indicated that he really didn't mind the question.

  "Isn't it rude to take a woman from her home without giving her an explanation?"

  "Touché."

  "So? What is it you do?" Her thoughts took her down every possible path: Drugs, trafficking, terrorism, espionage, every manner of crime.

  He diverted toward the bar and poured himself a scotch. "Are you hungry? I can make you something."

  "Later. Now spill or I'm out of here."

  He capped the bottle, turned, and lifted his drink to his lips, barely sipping as he scrutinized her. Her skin sizzled under his gaze. What was it about Micah that stirred her libido like it was hot soup and he was a spoon? Damn, his intense eyes made her think naughty thoughts and wonder what it would be like to kiss those shapely lips of his.

  His eyes smoldered even more acutely and he smirked as if he could read her mind and liked the ideas floating in her thoughts.

  "Well?" she said.

  He considered her for a moment. "You weren't far off in the car when you said I looked military. What I do is," he bobbed his head as if choosing his words, "sort of military. Most of it is covert, so I can't discuss it."

  "So what, you go around killing people and blowing things up?"

  "Not all the time." His mouth curved into a humored grin.

  "Oh, so just sometimes?" She fought not to smile back. Something about Micah disarmed her usual standoffishness.

  "Yes, sometimes." He stayed by the bar, watching her.

&nb
sp; "Okay, so how did that other guy, Trace, do that to Ted and Jose? How did he make them stop in midair like that?"

  Micah cleared his throat. "Traceon has some, um, special powers."

  "Duh. Obviously."

  "What can I say? The guy is gifted." Micah lifted his glass and sipped, keeping his eyes on her.

  It was obvious he was done with that subject. "Okay, so who were those men and why did they want to kidnap me?"

  The smile disappeared from Micah's face and he took a gulp of scotch. "They were two of the men involved in the incident the other night."

  "No they weren't. They didn't even look like those guys from the other night." The men who had attacked Micah had long, black hair. Those guys from tonight had short, cropped haircuts, and their hair had been brown, not black.

  "Trust me on this, Sam, just because they didn't look the same doesn't mean it wasn't them."

  "Oh, so they just changed their appearance. Just like that?"

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "And would you mind telling me how they did that?" Surely he was joking, but he didn't sound like he was. It made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle.

  Micah took another drink, eyeing her, looking as if he was in a discussion with himself as his eyes darkened and he blew air between his teeth. Finally, he said, "What I'm about to tell you would piss off my commander so badly that I'd likely get desk duty for the rest of my life, you understand? And you probably won't believe me, anyway. You ready for this?"

  Sam crossed her arms over her chest like she'd had a chill. "Sure." What could Micah possibly have to tell her about those men that put such a grave expression on his face? More than just her neck hair prickled as she waited.

  After breathing a heavy sigh, Micah downed the rest of his scotch and poured another, speaking with his back toward her. "There are creatures living in this city, Sam. They're unsavory, evil, and use humans for personal gain and playthings. They're shifters. We call them drecks, and they thrive on causing pain and killing. It's our job to police them. We make sure they don't get out of hand." He turned back around and looked at her.

  "Wait, you said they use humans. Are you saying they're not human?"

  "That's right."

  Sam took a wary step backward. "And what about you?" Sam remembered what her kidnappers – these…drecks, as he called them – had said about a vampire.

  "You already know, don't you?" Micah's deep blue eyes held her as he drew his glass to his lips once more, slowly sipping, always watching her.

  "Why don't you spell it out for me?" She took another step back then looked at the door, weighing the odds of getting out without him catching her, fear rising in her blood.

  "I'm not going to hurt you, Sam. I want to protect you."

  "Really?"

  Micah took a step toward her and she turned and bolted for the exit, dropping her glass. Micah's hand slammed against the door just as she reached it, his other arm locking around her waist.

  "Yes, Sam, I'm a vampire," he said. His mouth was next to her ear. "But that doesn't mean I want to hurt you."

  Sam's heart raced, her lungs pumping hard for air as her fingers fumbled at the lock. "Let me out! Just let me go. You're crazy." Even as she said it, she knew it was a lie. He spoke the truth and her gut told her so, but that didn't make it easier to accept. Vampires and shifters and whatever else out in the city? What dimension had she just entered, the Twilight Zone?

  "Stop it, Sam," he said, pulling her hand away from the lock and securing her arms against her body. "Calm down." He rocked her as if she was a scared child and he wanted to soothe her. "Sssshhh, I won't hurt you. I can't hurt you. It would kill me to hurt you." The last he said as he stopped swaying back and forth, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  What was he saying?

  "Why? Because vampires don't hurt humans?"

  "No, because I'm…" He hushed abruptly in mid-thought and turned his face so his nose sank into her hair. He inhaled, his hold on her morphing into one of tender yearning. The simple gesture stirred warmth to pool in her belly, and a soft gasp escaped her throat. "You are, too, aren't you?"

  He wasn't making any sense, but she nodded once, bending her head toward him as his nose drew a circle over her scalp and his breath warmed her skin. Whatever Micah thought she was, she would be it. He released her arms and without thinking, she trailed her fingertips over his forearms. "Is this where you drink my blood?"

  "Don't tempt me." He brushed his lips against her neck.

  Wait. No, no, no! What was she thinking? She yanked out of his embrace and threw herself against the kitchen counter then turned back toward him. He looked like she had just ripped a vital organ out of him. "I know what you're doing. You're screwing with my mind, aren't you? Trying to seduce me. Trying to lure me into your lair or whatever." She waved her hand at him.

  Shaking his head, Micah moved toward her, but Sam stepped away. "Just stay back."

  "Sam, I wasn't compelling you. I wasn't screwing with your mind, as you put it. What you felt just now was all you, not me manipulating your mind."

  Jutting her chin out, Sam thought about that. Her body still sparked where he had touched her, and just thinking about his lips on her neck set butterflies tittering in her belly.

  "Maybe you should just sit down," he said, walking back toward the living room, leaving her to watch him go. God, the man – vampire – whatever – was sexy. He walked with a swagger most men would kill for, confident with a hint of vulnerability that drew eyes to him like he was moving art. He was the type who could put fear into his enemies or make a woman swoon just by crossing the room.

  "Thank you," he said.

  "I didn't say anything."

  He looked over his shoulder as he knelt and picked up her glass, one eyebrow popping as he shrugged one shoulder apologetically.

  "Oh," she said, drawing the word out. "So, you can read minds, is that it?"

  "Yeah, sorry. Habit." He took the glass to the kitchen and grabbed a towel and carpet cleaner from under the sink.

  "Well, quit the habit around me, okay?"

  He knelt once more and sprayed the carpet. "Okay. I'll try."

  "No, don't try, just do."

  "Damn, you're bossy."

  She chuffed. "Excuse me?"

  "That's not a bad thing," he said, holding up one hand as if warding off her pending retaliation. "It's just that I'm not used to it. People don't normally boss me around. I like it coming from you, though."

  Huh? That was an interesting tidbit, but she could see what he was saying. Micah struck her more as the type to boss others and do what he wanted, not the other way around. She could imagine that most people gave in around him.

  "Well, get used to it from me," she said, trying not to sound humored.

  "Yes, ma'am."

  Now he was just mollifying her, but she liked it. She watched him scrub her spilled Jack and Coke from the carpet. "I'm sorry about that," she said finally, taking tentative steps back into the living room, giving him a wide berth in the process.

  "It's no problem. You took it better than I thought you would, to be honest."

  "I'm still not sure I believe it, but right now I suppose anything's possible." It all began to make sense, though. The books, the music, the sword, her kidnappers. She frowned. That part still didn't make sense.

  "Okay, so why did those guys try to kidnap me? That part I don't understand."

  Micah returned to the kitchen and tossed the towel in the sink. "You interfered the other night." He threw her a concerned look.

  "Interfered?"

  "You saved me. You interfered." He went to the bar and poured her another Jack and Coke.

  "So now those…drecks," the word still wasn't familiar on her tongue, "want to kill me?"

  "Let me tell you about drecks," he said, handing her the drink. "They take it personally when someone interferes with a kill or fucks—pardon me, screws them over. Drecks enjoy killing vampires more than they do humans.
You know, a kind of in-your-face to mommy and daddy, as it were. They don't like us very much."

  "Us meaning, you and Trace, right?"

  "Well, yes, Trace is a vampire, too, but there are more of us."

  Sam struggled to keep up, but motioned for him to continue. "Okay, so, drecks don't like you and they wanted to kill you the other night and I interfered. Why did they want to kill you, anyway?"

  "Because I told them to."

  Sam's breath caught, the glass stopping halfway to her mouth as her eyes shot to his. He was dead serious.

  "You told them to?"

  He nodded, and she lowered her glass. "Why the hell would you do that?"

  Micah looked to the ceiling, taking a deep breath and looking away toward the wall of windows that overlooked the dark city. He looked like a man facing his demons, pain and shame crossing his face. It was clear he wasn't proud of what he had done. Something had happened to hurt this larger-than-life man, and Sam's heart instantly went out to him.

  "Micah?" she said, walking toward him. Setting her glass down, she touched his arm. "You okay?"

  His face turned toward hers as if he was surprised to see her there. "Vampires love very deeply," he said. "We don't just love, we mate. It's hard to explain to a human, but it's powerful when a male vampire mates and those binds lock him to the one his soul has claimed."

  "You're not talking about…well, sex. I mean, not just sex, but more like partnering?" Something about the thought of Micah with another woman bothered her.

  Micah nodded. "I was mated, and my mate left me a few weeks ago."

  "Oh."

  "Anyway, when he left—"

  "He?" Sam stiffened, not sure what to think of that.

  "Yes, I'm sorry. I wasn't clear."

  "So, you're not into women?" She thought about what had happened by the door and grew even more confused, and if she was being honest with herself, disappointed.

  "Yes, I am. I mean, okay, wait." He huffed, collecting his thoughts. "Until Jackson, I'd never looked at males. He was the first, and as luck had it, I became bound to him. But he didn't bind to me, so when he left me a few weeks ago, I…" he paused as if it was too hard for him to think about it. "Well, let's just say I didn't want to live, anymore. I'd already lost one mate, a wife centuries ago, and that had been bad enough to survive. This time, I didn't want to live."