Rise of the Fallen

by Donya Lynne

  "Why do you care?" Micah started walking again.

  "Indulge me, asshole, before I slam you into that wall and force you."

  Glancing askance at the dark vampire, Micah huffed out a short breath that sounded like yeah, right. "You can't take me and you know it."

  "Want to try me? You've seen what I'm capable of."

  Okay, right. Maybe Trace could take him. Micah regarded the male who'd fallen back into step beside him, the aggression coming off him like an invisible tsunami. With a growl of contempt, Micah stopped abruptly.

  "Fine, bust my chops, you fucker."

  "Hey, you're the one who needs my help. Maybe I'll just go back and leave you to deal with this shit on your own." Trace turned and started to walk away.

  "I don't need your help, but—just wait, God damn it!"

  Trace turned around and gave him a spill-or-I'm-out-of-here look, his face set in furious resolve.

  Micah stood akimbo and dropped his head as he shook it in frustration. He hated letting people in. He would rather just keep everyone at arm's length where they couldn't get too close. When you let someone in they had the power to hurt you, and Micah didn't need shit like that interfering with his self-sufficiency.

  "After Jackson left…" He kept his head down. Avoiding eye contact was good. "I was fucked up, okay? It got bad. I didn't want to live, anymore, so I found Apostle and asked him and his friends to kill me."

  "Why not just sit on your balcony and let the sun do it?" Trace said, keeping his distance. Micah gave him credit for having the sense to grant him his physical space.

  Micah cleared his throat and raised his head. He turned to the side so he didn't have to look at Trace. "I needed the pain."

  The two stood in silence for a while, Micah feeling Trace's eyes on him.

  "Don't you go soft on me, Trace," Micah said. "I don't need your sympathy."

  "Don't worry," Trace said. "So, how did Sam get involved?"

  Micah shifted his weight uncomfortably at the mention of Sam's name. "She stopped them. She saved me." He finally looked back at Trace, whose eyebrows popped up in surprise.

  "How the hell did a human stop five drecks?"

  "With her Beretta. She shot Apostle."

  Trace barked out a shot of deep laughter. "Fuck me. Really?"

  Micah nodded, pride welling up for his woman. "You should have seen her, Trace. She didn't back down an inch. She's tough." A fond smile played over his mouth. "Anyway, she took me back to her place and tried to patch me up." He stopped short of disclosing that he had fed from her, and he certainly didn't want to bring up what they had done today, even though it was already evident to Trace, what with her scent shrouding him like a blanket. Man, he just wanted to get home to her and explore her body some more.

  Trace just looked at him as if he knew what Micah was thinking, those pale eyes scrutinizing him. What went on inside that head of his, anyway? Sometimes he wished he could find a way around whatever barrier Trace had erected so he could see inside his mind. Something told Micah he would find a shit storm of oh-my-God in there.

  "Hey, let's hurry and get this done," he said, taking off down the sidewalk again.

  "Yeah, time to fuck up some drecks." Just as Trace fell back in step with him, Micah's cell phone went off. He pulled it out of his pocket and frowned at the number. It was building security at the Sentinel.

  "Hello?"

  "Mr. Black?"

  "Yes? What's wrong?" They wouldn't be calling him unless something was wrong.

  "We had a problem on your floor tonight."

  Micah's heart lurched, and he stopped.

  "What kind of problem?"

  "A woman was attacked outside your apartment. A delivery boy found her. She was unconscious, but alive. Paramedics just left with her."

  Micah looked up at Trace, who stared back at him as if he was watching spiders crawl over Micah's face. Apparently he could hear the other side of the conversation, too. Trace took off in the direction of the SUV they had driven downtown, which kick-started his own fight-or-flight response. Until then, his feet had felt grounded in dried cement.

  Sam!

  "Where did they take her? Which hospital?"

  "Saint Augustine's. I'm sorry, I would have called you sooner, but I only realized when they took her that she was staying with you. She'd come down just minutes before to let me know she'd ordered takeout and wanted me to let up the delivery boy. Like I said, he was the one who found her."

  "Was anyone else with her?"

  "Just a police officer who got in the elevator with her, but that's all I saw."

  Apostle! Fuck!

  "Thank you."

  Micah ended the call just as he reached Trace's SUV and the other male started the engine. "Saint Augustine's," Micah said, throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door. Trace hit the gas and Micah dialed the phone he'd given Sam. No answer. He tried it again. Still nothing.

  "Fuck!"

  "How'd they find her?" Trace asked.

  "I don't know. Apostle must have followed me from Sam's last night. I knew I shouldn't have let her go back there."

  The SUV tore through the quiet, late-night streets, tires squealing as Trace hopped the speed bump just inside the entrance to the hospital.

  "Emergency! Emergency!" Micah pointed to the hospital's emergency entrance.

  "I know!" Trace swerved down a row of cars and haphazardly jutted into an empty space at an angle and slammed on his brakes, throwing it into park.

  Both jumped out and sprinted toward the door. They burst through and nearly ran over a patient in a wheelchair.

  "Hey! Slow down!" A nurse yelled at them from behind the check-in desk.

  "Sam Garrett," Micah said, crashing into the desk and smacking his hand on the counter.

  The nurse ricocheted back in her chair and obviously got the clue that Micah and Trace weren't men to be fucked with, diverting her attention to her computer. Her fingers dashed over the keyboard.

  "She's with the doctor now, room C4."

  Micah and Trace took off for the double doors to the back.

  "Hey, you can't go back there!"

  "Stop me!" Micah pushed through the doors and frantically searched for room C4. Doctors and nurses frowned and scurried out of his way, protesting, but none tried to stop him.

  "Got it!" Trace called from the other end of the hall.

  Micah spun and ran to join him, out of breath with panic as he looked up at the door number, confirming it.

  Pushing against the handle, he walked in and the doctor glanced up from the chart he was scanning. A nurse was drawing blood from Sam as she lay semi-conscious on the sterile gurney.

  "Excuse me," the doctor said. "But who let you in here."

  Micah ignored him. He seethed with malice that harm had come to his precious female.

  "She's mine," he said.

  Taking a new tack, the doctor said, "And you are?"

  "Micah." Sam's weak voice reached him. Her semi-lucid eyes were barely open.

  The doctor turned at the sound and shook his head. "Well, that's the first thing she's said since she got here, so it looks like you get to stay, Micah. But your friend will have to—"

  "He stays," Micah said, his voice unwavering and warning the doctor not to test him on this. "What's wrong with her?"

  "We're not sure. The bruising indicates she was choked by someone very strong, but that doesn't account for why her body's systems are shutting down." The look the doctor gave Micah indicated it didn't look good. "We're running blood tests to see if her attacker might have injected her with something, but so far we're drawing a blank."

  Micah and Trace exchanged glances. Apostle must have bitten her.

  The nurse finished filling the last vial and bandaged Sam's arm, collecting the tray of blood-filled tubes—Sam's blood…Her priceless, exquisite, life-giving blood—and left the room as the doctor followed her to the door.

  "I'll be back as soon as I know
more. Try talking to her. See if she can remember anything."

  As soon as the door hissed closed, Micah looked at Trace and tilted his head. Trace jumped in front of the door and blocked it from opening.

  "He bit her, didn't he?" Trace said, keeping his voice quiet.

  Micah turned her arm over, looking for signs of the bite. A dreck's bite healed quickly. A human wouldn't be able to detect it, but he could.

  "Nothing on this arm," he said. He turned his attention to her neck. "Sam, I'm here, okay? I'm going to get you out of here and fix this."

  "You're not thinking of—" Trace's voice sounded wary.

  "Yes," Micah said, cutting him off.

  "Tristan will go apeshit."

  "I don't give a fuck about Tristan." Micah's only concern right now was Sam. He refused to lose another mate. "Put it this way, Trace, if she dies, you'll have to kill me before I kill you."

  "Gotcha." Trace's voice held a grim note. It was clear he didn't like any of the options.

  "He didn't bite her neck, either," Micah said, finishing his inspection and reaching for her other arm. His eyes traveled her skin, scrutinizing, picking through each tiny freckle or discoloration. "Got it," he said. "Here, on her wrist."

  "You going to do it here?" Trace said. He shifted uneasily, his voice edgy.

  "I have to. I don't know how much time she's got."

  Trace blew out a less-than-excited burst of air. It was clear he wasn't comfortable with this, but there was no choice.

  "After I'm done, we need to get her out of here. Can you take care of the humans while I carry her?"

  Trace fidgeted, not answering.

  "Trace?" Micah turned pleading eyes on him. "Please."

  "You're fucking with the human world," Trace said, his brow furrowed.

  "I know, but I can't lose her. I can't. She's my mate, Trace. Okay? My mate, for Christ's sake."

  "Your mate? Already?" It was clear Trace was shocked he had bonded to another so soon after Jackson, even though they had discussed it the night before.

  "Yes, Trace. She's my mate. I love her."

  The two stared uneasily at each other for a few seconds.

  Trace finally nodded and looked down. "Okay, do it. I'll run cover so you can get her out."

  Trace had extraordinary skills when it came to compelling humans. Micah had never seen anything like it, but then again, he was a day walker, and day walkers always came bundled with special abilities. It was suddenly clear to Micah that he had partnered with Trace for a reason. He needed Trace's special abilities now.

  "Thank you."

  Trace actually looked surprised to hear the show of gratitude from Micah, but then Micah wasn't known for such sentiments, or much of anything else congenial and well mannered.

  Sam stirred and looked at him through glazed eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  "Don't be."

  "I'm dying."

  "No you're not. I'm going to save you. It's my turn to save you now," he said.

  She tried to smile, but her lips barely moved.

  "Just hold on, okay. This will hurt, but I have to do it."

  She closed her eyes again, and Micah pulled her wrist to his mouth, studying the faint bite mark. He had to bite as close to where Apostle's teeth had pierced her skin. Triggering the glands in his mouth to release his venom, he licked the bite mark, numbing it.

  "Are you ready?"

  She barely nodded her head, too weak even to do that.

  Micah licked her wrist again, his venom numbing her nerves even further, and with a silent prayer he opened his mouth and bit down. Sam's body stiffened, then relaxed, and then he let his venom flow. Vampire venom trumped dreck venom, but age mattered. The older the vampire, the stronger the venom. And Micah was very old, which was crucial for what he was trying to do.

  First came the euphoria then Sam's body began to shiver then shudder. Her teeth chattered, and painful groans gurgled in her throat.

  "Her eyes are open," Trace said.

  Micah felt Trace's special powers unfurl and Sam's body calmed. He could only imagine her pain as his venom spread through her, waging war on Apostle's evil offering, eradicating it. Even with Trace's powers wrapped around Sam like a protective cocoon, she eventually began to tremble again, tensing and straining against the burn until finally she let loose a scream that would have awakened the dead.

  Trace jumped to attention and stepped back.

  Micah wasn't finished. He needed more time. Just a few more seconds, but Sam's screams were about to bring the full force of the emergency department barreling through the door.

  The door swung open and Trace threw his arm up, his fingers splayed in the open air. The nurse flung back against the wall as if he'd hit her.

  "Fuck! I didn't mean to blast her so hard," Trace said. "Are you done, yet?!" He helped the unconscious nurse to a chair and flung around as the door flew open again. Invisible energy splintered the air from Trace's outstretched hand once more, stopping the two orderlies that rushed in, freezing them in mid-glide.

  Sam screamed again, and Micah could sense more people coming.

  "Hurry, Micah!"

  Finally, it was done. He'd given her all he had and released her wrist. The bite mark instantly sealed from his venom's healing properties. He threw the white blanket off her and pulled her into his arms.

  "Go!" He shouted to Trace.

  Trace charged out of the room, holding up both arms and stopping everybody in the hall. Not a soul moved, and he turned and looked over his shoulder at Micah. "Come on."

  Micah carried Sam out and down the hall, dodging around the frozen doctors and nurses who had been in mid-stride on their way to Sam's room.

  "You wiping them?" Micah asked.

  "Already done. They'll never remember she was here. Or us." Trace jogged after him, keeping the humans suspended until they reached the double doors that led back into the waiting area.

  "Hey!" the lady behind the desk shouted.

  "Trace!" Micah shouted back at him.

  The nurse suddenly locked up like someone had put on her brakes then Micah and Trace shot out the doors to the SUV.

  * * *

  When the nurse came to, she shook her head and looked around, confused. As she sat back down at her desk, she glanced at her computer and frowned at the record on the screen. Who the hell was Samantha Garrett? They hadn't admitted anyone by that name tonight. Suddenly, a black SUV shot past the entrance toward the exit and she scowled with a huff. That jerk needed to slow down or he was going to kill someone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The woman fucking Steve was one of his nurses. Young and fresh, her enhanced tits bounced as she bobbed up and down on his dick, squealing and crying out like those girls in the online porn he watched. Couldn't she just be natural and not put on a show. Fuck, he didn't have cameras in his room, for Pete's sake. Did she think men liked this kind of performance when all they wanted was a hard, raw screw? She definitely wasn't Samantha. Sure, she would get him off and rock his balls, but Steve didn't think he would be inviting Sabrina home with him again.

  It was the same with all the women he brought home. Drinks, dinner, and fucking that left Steve less than impressed, not to mention unsatisfied. But until he tracked down his wife, these tarts would have to do.

  "Uuunnnhhhh, yes, ooohhhhh, uh-huh, mmmmmmm,"

  Steve fought not to roll his eyes. He'd be happier with his hand and internet porn right now. Maybe he should put his hand over her mouth and shut her up.

  He was just about to do that when his cell vibrated on the nightstand. Thank God! Saved!

  "Don't answer it, baby," Barbie doll said, fucking him in earnest to try to keep his attention. If she only knew she had lost his attention several minutes ago, she wouldn't have tried so hard.

  "I have to, now stop," he pushed her off, his dick blessedly free of her squishy cunt. She pouted like a child, flopping to the other side of the bed.

  Sit
ting up, he snatched his phone, ready to send a check for one thousand dollars to whoever was calling him just to say thanks for putting him out of his misery. When he saw the name on his caller I.D. he changed his mind. Make that ten thousand dollars.

  "Yeah. Tell me you've got good news." David wouldn't be calling him at this hour if he didn't.

  "A hit in Chicago. A Samantha Garrett was just admitted into a hospital. Everything matches."

  Steve snapped his fingers at the Barbie on his bed, then pointed to her clothes, making it clear it was time for her to go. "Which hospital."

  "Saint Augustine."

  "Why is she there?" Steve frowned at Sabrina, who had sat up and crossed her arms. He gestured again toward her clothes and mouthed now. She was going to irritate him, he could just feel it.

  "Mugging or something. God I love electronic health records. Makes my job easier."

  "Yours maybe, but not mine," Steve said, although at the moment he thanked the administration for mandating their use. "She still there?"

  "As far as I can tell."

  "Anything else?"

  "I've gotten in touch with the local police and just found the dispatch record from where it was called in. I've got an address where she was found. Looks like she was discovered unconscious by a pizza delivery boy. I'll put it together and have it to you within the half-hour."

  David was proving to be well worth every dime. A year with that other P.I. hadn't turned up even one nibble, but David had flushed Samantha out in a matter of days. He had to be one of the best investigators and hackers in the country.

  "You just made Santa Claus very happy," Steve said.

  "Think he'll leave something in my stocking this year, then?"

  "Is your stocking big enough to hold that much money?"

  David chuckled. "I'll buy a bigger stocking if I have to."

  Steve was already pulling clothes out of his closet, pleased to see that Sabrina had taken a hint and was putting on her dress. She didn't look happy, but screw her. He had a plane to catch.

  "Thanks, David. I'll look for your email."

  "No problem."