by Donya Lynne
"Oh, you can still die," Micah said.
Sam glared at him. "I thought we had decided that my mind was off limits to you."
He shrugged. "Sorry, habit."
"Like I said before, break it." She would get him to stop poking around in her head if it killed her. Bad comparison since she couldn't die, anymore. Well, according to him she still could. "Since you brought it up, though, tell me just how I can die so I can be sure to avoid said mortal bombardments."
"Drama queen." He ruffled her hair. "Well, the standard decapitation or knife through the heart kind of shit. That would kill you."
"Ah, I'd better sell my guillotine, then, because you know how dangerous that can be around the house."
He chuckled then kissed her. "And, as I said, if I die, that would do it, too. My venom. My life. You're bound to me forever."
"Hmm, so I guess I'd better protect you then, huh?"
"What? With that puny Beretta?"
She smacked him. "Hey, I think that puny Beretta already saved your life once."
Micah laughed at her, rubbing his arm where she had hit him. "Have I mentioned that I love you?"
"Once or twice." She smiled. Oh, she loved him, too. She knew it in her heart. But what fun would it be if she just came out and told him when he was expecting it?
"How about that you're moving in with me. Have I mentioned that, yet?"
Sam should have known that was coming, but it still caught her off guard. "What?"
"Move in with me," he said, his eyes pleading with her, full of longing and love.
Sam thought about her tiny, humble apartment with the paper-thin walls and cramped bathroom. She was comfortable there, wasn't she? Just barely so, though. There wasn't much room to move, no privacy—she could hear her neighbor snoring upstairs, after all. But it was home. What exactly was he offering her? A place to live? A domestic partnership where she just lived with him and they had sex? Or, after only a few days, was he ready to make their relationship a more permanent arrangement? Going by the look on his face and the sincerity in his voice, she suspected the latter.
"I know we hardly know each other, Sam," he said, apparently attempting to win her over, "but love works differently with vampires."
"So I'm gathering."
"It's not that I want to spend the rest of my life with you—well, I do, but with vampires it's more a matter of need. I need to spend the rest of my life with you. The want is implied." He took her face in his palms and held her with a tenderness she had never known.
No one, not even Steve in the early days of their doomed marriage, had touched her with such deference.
"I need you, Sam. I'll do whatever it takes. You can have your own room if that will make you more comfortable, and besides, now that you're…well, not the same person you were before…I can help you adapt better if you lived with me, and—"
"Stop. Just stop, Micah." Sam sighed and shook her head. "You don't have to try so hard to convince me."
He looked at her like he wanted to ask what in the hell she was saying, the unspoken Is that a yes or no? shooting from his gaze in a silent question.
"That's a yes, Micah," she said.
"Are you reading my mind?" The grin that spread across his face was a better gift to her than the Mercedes Steve had bought her on her birthday. She had sold that car for cash within a week of leaving his ass and had never looked back.
"If you can do it, so can I." She smirked innocently. "But I have a couple of stipulations if I'm going to move in with you."
"Such as?" He gathered her closer. The aches in her body were slowly dissipating. Moving around was working the pain out of her muscles.
"Such as," she said, "We share a room, for starters. If you give me my own room, the deal's off." She pulled herself over his body, straddling him.
"Done." Micah sank back in the pillow, situating himself under her.
"And you have to make love to me anytime I want it." She rotated her hips over his. Mmm, he was already hard, and with her new bionic senses, the sensation that vibrated through her core felt even more delicious.
"Okay, I can live with that. Anything else?"
She shook her head. "No, but I reserve the right to add to this list whenever I see fit." Her hands eased up his shirt and revealed his ridged stomach as the fabric bunched against her wrists.
"Okay, my turn," he said, tugging her forward. "When?"
"Is tonight too soon?"
"Mmm, I was just thinking that. You sure you're not reading my mind?"
"Positive." She unfastened his belt. "Does that door lock?" She jerked her head toward the door.
"No."
She paused for a minute, then grinned and unzipped his fly. "Fuck it. I want you."
"Now I know you're in my head." He flipped her to her back and pushed aside the medical gown she was wearing as she shoved down his pants. In one smooth, fluid motion, he surged forward and sank himself inside her, grunting as their bodies connected.
The loving was fast and furious, her body needing his in a way that bordered on desperate. It appeared he needed her just as badly, working furiously, shoving one leg up as he angled his body for deeper penetration, as if he couldn't get close enough to her.
She wasn't sure, but at one point she thought she heard the door open, right at the point where she commanded Micah to fuck her harder. What sounded like the door hissing shut followed, but Sam hadn't cared that they had been seen. If anything, it turned her on even more. She had always had exhibitionist tendencies.
In a matter of only minutes, both announced their simultaneous release with shouts of pleasure, his body stiffening briefly then falling on top of her as his cock spent itself and emptied its contents with a series of luscious contractions that tripled the strength of her own orgasm.
A spent heap of flesh, Sam gasped for air. Her arms locked around Micah's back and her legs trembled through a last wave of release. "I love you."
Micah shuddered against her and buried his arm between her and the hard medical mattress, pulling her against him as he turned his face into her neck. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for loving me."
She wasn't sure, but the single jerk of his shoulders and the burst of breath against her skin felt more like a sob than his body finishing its orgasm. Tightening her hold on him, she smiled. She had found who she belonged with. She was Micah's and he was hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Trace looked out the window of the house situated back from the main road, holding the curtain aside so that sunlight spilled over the four dead bodies scattered around the room. His wraparound sunglasses hid his eyes, the only part of his body that was sensitive to the sun, and he waited.
If the drecks had been telling the truth, Apostle would arrive home any minute. Then he would join the other four corpses in death.
Dropping the curtain over the window, Trace stepped over the bodies and contemplated the events of the past two days. He wasn't quite sure how to feel. He had finally made a friend in Micah, but now the male was mated. Would he have time for Trace? Not that he needed a lot of attention, but the idea of having a friend who understood him, and who Trace felt would get him for who he was, was a nice one. And, well, it went deeper than that. He needed Micah. Maybe not right now, but soon enough he would need what Micah could give him. He could already feel himself needing more than he was getting elsewhere.
He had heard the stories about Micah. The brooding vampire had not only been a notorious loner, but also a hardcore dom at one time. Years ago, he knew what Micah was capable of with a whip and fire, among other accoutrements. That's when he had taken to watching him, learning and looking for a way in.
And then Trace had bumped into Jackson at Four Alarm a couple of months ago. The male had been bragging to one of his friends about the equipment Micah had in his home. Some way kinked out shit that would have been right up Trace's alley from the sound of it.
He absently wondered if Sam knew exactly what she
was getting into with him. Damn, he liked Sam. She was perfect for Micah. They complimented each other well. She wasn't a thing like Jackson, either.
At any rate, Trace had known immediately after Micah had half-bonded to Jackson that Jackson would break Micah's heart. And after Jackson's rookie bragging session at Four Alarm, Trace had become even more convinced their relationship was doomed to fail, and he knew when the end came, Micah would need caring for.
So he had taken to following Micah, playing guardian, looking after him. He had known two months ago the location of Micah's secret apartment. Hell, he had been there the night Jackson had walked out. Trace had been watching and waiting for the inevitable, and he had felt Micah's anguish that night as if it was his own.
Trace had even been there the night Micah had nearly nose-dived to the ground. He had used his powers to push him back so he didn't fall off his balcony's banister. But even if Micah had fallen, Trace would never have let him die. Catching him would have been simple enough, but it would have outed him before he was ready.
And then Tristan had called that meeting. Trace had sat in that room over a week ago, biting his tongue when the others were going crazy trying to find Micah. Tristan had even blamed himself. But Trace had kept his mouth shut. It had pissed him off that no one else bothered to notice Micah's absence. So while they all pussy-footed around, he ensured their team's best asset kept topside and breathing. Trace protected those he thought of as friends, and he had considered Micah a friend for a long time. Now Sam was added to that list. Trace would do anything to protect them both.
Which was why these assholes lay dead at his feet. They had fucked with the wrong guardian angel.
Trace paced back to the window and looked out once more. Micah was through the worst of his troubles, and just like that he was mated again. Lucky him. Why didn't Trace feel all warm and fuzzy about Micah's good fortune? Probably because it threw a glaring spotlight on his own lack of a mate, which was something Trace badly wanted.
Just as he had pointed out to Arion earlier, he had never been mated, either. Unlike Arion, though, that bothered Trace. It wasn't for lack of trying on his part. Trace had had a variety of lovers, some men, some women, but all who satisfied his need for pain, submission, degradation, or all of the above. So far, though, none of his liaisons had spawned a lifemate, and the emptiness left a hole in his heart. Maybe he just wasn't made for a lifemate. Maybe God had other intentions for him.
At any rate, his unusual sexual tastes had little to do with finding a mate. Submitting himself and giving up all control was the only way he could keep himself grounded and his immense powers in check. It wasn't so much that Trace liked being confined, it was that he needed to be confined. He needed to be smacked around, punished, gagged, and otherwise abused.
Sure, he got off on being dominated, but the scenes he engaged in kept him in control of a power that would otherwise consume him and tip his internal scale toward going mutant. That was something he couldn't let happen. He would kill himself before changing to darkness. And with Micah's help someday, he hoped to stave off the transformation.
The glare of sunlight off a windshield caught Trace's eyes and he perked up as an unmarked police car slowed and turned onto the winding driveway. He closed the drape, stepped over a dead dreck, sat on the couch, and crossed his legs. He was as calm as sitting water on a windless day. The drecks' pack mentality worked in his favor on days like this, when he could take out a whole trove of them without moving more than twenty feet in any direction. He loved his job.
Keys jangled at the door, and then John Apostle stepped inside, still in uniform, his gaze sweeping the room in horror before stopping on Trace. Trace held up his hand, fingers splayed. Apostle halted and froze just as he tried to turn and run.
"Please, do come in," Trace said, slowly moving his fingers, manipulating Apostle as if he was a puppet. "Close the door." The dreck did as he was compelled to do. "Now, come here and get on your knees in front of me."
Apostle walked like a zombie. The only part of him showing any animation were his eyes. The rest of him seemed void of feeling. Stopping in front of Trace, he dropped to his knees with a resounding thud.
"Before you die, I want you to know that Micah saved the girl. She's one of us now." He leaned forward and grinned at Apostle. Trace could feel the dreck's hatred and anger pushing through his fear, but it didn't matter. He was as good as dead already. "Micah and I are her guardian angels, now. And I am his. I won't let anything happen to either one of them, but if anything should, I will single-handedly crush your entire race before I take my own life. Do you understand?" Trace pressed closer, his mouth curling into a malevolent sneer. "You failed, you miserable fuck. What I will do to them won't even compare to what's about to happen to you."
With that, Trace stood up and loomed over Apostle then fisted one of his hands. The bones in Apostle's neck began to snap and pop, his spine crushing. Then for good measure, with his other hand he squeezed and felt Apostle's evil, blue heart explode inside his chest.
"That's right, fucker," Traceon released Apostle and stepped over him after he fell over dead. "I'm their guardian angel, and you picked the wrong hand of God to fuck with." His anger charged powerfully through his muscles and he stopped, turned, and punched his splayed hands into the air in front of him. A deep, echoing boom sounded and the floor pulsed like it was a trampoline. The crackle of bones snapping filled the air. All five bodies slumped then burst open as the furniture exploded and wind whipped like a cyclone around Trace before slowly calming. Only then did Trace lower his hands.
The beast was coming alive inside him. He needed a fix. Now. He pulled out his phone and sent a 9-1-1 text to his provider then took a deep breath. He left the front door open as he walked out into the late morning sunlight and disappeared.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Flight delays caused Steve's plane to land in Chicago two hours later than expected, and by the time he picked up his rental car and got on the highway, it was nearly noon. His stomach rumbled for want of food, but as a surgeon, he was used to going long periods without a meal. Right now, it was more important to retrieve his wife than fill his belly, so he passed by the fast food chains in favor of following his GPS to the address of the hospital.
David's information had included three addresses. One for the hospital, one labeled home, and one for where she had been found after being attacked.
What the hell had she done to deserve getting mugged? He was sure it was something. Maybe the guy who had attacked her was her pimp and she had been trying to swindle him out of money. At any rate, it was nothing compared to what he would do to her once he got her home. Sam would get a lesson in submission and obedience that would make her think twice before taking off on his ass again. At least he would be able to put that ankle cuff to work now. He laughed. Let her try to leave with that on. She wouldn't make it past the front yard, and he had the only key for the thing.
Yes, Steve had learned from his mistakes, and so would Sam for hers.
Arriving at the hospital, he went to the administration desk.
"I'm looking for a patient," he said.
"Name?"
"Samantha Garrett. She was admitted last night. I was told it was a mugging."
The elderly, black nurse gave him a look after punching in a query and scanning the screen. "Looks like Ms. Garrett has been discharged."
"What?!"
The woman looked perplexed as she frowned at the computer screen as if something didn't make sense.
"What is it?" Steve said. He was already perturbed that he wouldn't be able to one-stop-shop this and get her now. Damn it. He had already booked his return flight for this evening. He didn't have time to dick around in Chicago playing hide-and-seek with his bitch of a wife.
"I'm not sure, probably nothing. You should see the doctor who treated her. Dr. Rose. He's in the E.R."
"Thank you."
"You need directions?"
"No,
I can find it." Steve was already walking away crisply, waving the woman off. He didn't need directions to find his way around a hospital. He worked in hospitals for Christ's sake. Directions! Ha!
Fifteen minutes later and he realized he probably should have taken the nurse up on her offer. To get to the E.R. required pulling back out of the parking lot, maneuvering a one-way street, and pulling back in on the other side of the campus. Good thing he wasn't having a heart attack, despite the pulsing vein at his temple and the death grip he had on his steering wheel, or he might have died trying to find the emergency entrance.
He marched into the waiting area and up to the reception desk. "Dr. Rose. Where is he?"
The nurse eyed him impatiently. "And you are?"
"Samantha Garrett's husband."
Her expression morphed into one of concern. "Excuse me a moment." She bustled through the double doors and disappeared.
What the hell was wrong with everyone at this hospital? Were they all retards? Mental incompetents? What kind of people did Chicago have running its medical institutions? He glanced around the crowded waiting room, receiving a couple of angry glares.
"What are you looking at? You'll get your turn."
"Sir, I'm Dr. Rose."
Steve turned to see a tall man with dark circles under his eyes walking toward him, the nurse in tow. It looked like the good doctor had had a long night and an even longer morning.
"Dr. Garrett," Steve said, taking the other doctor's outstretched hand.
"Oh, you're a doctor. I didn't know."
"Surgeon, actually, but yes. What happened to my wife?"
"Let's talk in my office," Dr. Rose said, gesturing for Steve to follow him into the back. This wasn't good. He could already tell by the tone of Dr. Rose's voice.
Still, he followed him to an office crowded with files, medical reference books, and patient charts. He took a seat as Dr. Rose closed the door then sat back on the edge of his desk.
"Dr. Garrett, I won't waste your time. We have record of your wife being here last night. We have a chart for her, too. I even have blood samples for her." Dr. Rose paused, shaking his head.