Micah's Bride (All the King's Men Book 9)

by Donya Lynne

Micah laughed as Trace continued hobbling off like an old man without his cane. Then a sudden thought occurred to him.

  “Hey, hold up.”

  Trace stopped and looked over his shoulder, face drawn with impatience. “I’m kinda in a hurry here, Mike.”

  “Quit your bitching. This’ll only take a second.”

  Trace rolled his eyes and waved his hand in a hurry-and-spit-it-out motion.

  “Why didn’t Cordray tell you all of this? The team, my family tree, Sam being pregnant? I figured she would have.”

  Cordray lived to steal his thunder, so why hadn’t she stolen it with regard to all this?

  Trace shrugged. “All she told me was that you were getting married and that you wanted me to be your best man, whatever that is. Then she said you had some other news to share with me, but that she’d let you do the honors. Didn’t want to rain on your parade or some shit.”

  Well, how about that? Cordray could play nice. Maybe Micah could get along with her yet. Maybe. Maybe not.

  “That was nice of her.”

  “Yeah, she does have her redeeming qualities.” Trace grinned like he was thinking about one very specific redeeming quality he would have liked to get his hands on that very moment.

  “Spare me the details of your sex life, Trace.”

  Trace chuckled then winced with a groan. “Let me get to this, Mike, or I’ll ruin Sam’s big day. I don’t think either of us wants that.” He started to head off again.

  “No joke!” Micah called after him as he shuffled around the corner, picking up his pace as if he were about to blow a load in his jeans. “If you ruin Sam’s wedding by mounting Cordray”—Trace grunted and let out an urgent curse as a tiny tremor rumbled the walls—”in the middle of the ceremony”—Micah trotted to the corner and glanced around it to find Trace staggering wide-legged as he attempted to jog for the restroom at the end of the hall—”she’ll have me strap you up and flog you in my dungeon for a week!”

  That was all it took.

  Trace halted and bent forward, one hand braced against the wall and the other on his crotch as his legs shuddered. “Fuck, oh fuck!” He gasped and grunted, obviously filling his jeans as the lights flickered off and on and another shockwave burst out of him, shaking the floor. “I’m—AH! Fuck!—I’m gonna kill you, Micah!”

  “What’s the problem, Trace? The idea of me flogging you across the ass with a strap of leather while your balls are strung up in Japanese bondage too much for you?”

  “Stop, Mike! Just—oh fuck!” Trace grunted like he’d been horned in the gut by a ram as he fell to his knees. Violent shivers quaked his whole body as another orgasm blew out of him. “Damn you, Micah!” He grunted again. “Jesus, just stop!”

  “Just helping out.” Micah called.

  “Well, stop!”

  “Would you hurry it up? We’ve got to get dressed.”

  Trace flipped him off over the shoulder with a trembling hand.

  Chuckling, Micah turned and crossed to the ballroom doors. First, he would look in on the preparations. Then he would change into his tux.

  Then he would give the female he loved with all his heart and soul a night she would always remember.

  And Trace’s calling would not ruin it.

  Chapter 3

  Life had become a makeover show, and Sam was the star.

  Tristan’s mate, Josie, secured the hundred or so tiny satin buttons on the back of her gown, and Cordray brushed various shades of purple and lavender makeup on her eyelids. Her skills rivaled those of top Hollywood makeup artists, because Sam’s eyes looked amazing, even though Cordray was getting a bit heavy-handed with the lilac. Sam would have gone for more of a fairy-in-the-flowers look rather than vixen-climbing-the-thorns.

  But she wasn’t in charge. Cordray and Josie were. All Sam could do was remain still and hope they didn’t get as carried away with the curling iron and glitter powder as Cordray was with the eye shadow.

  The lights flickered, and everyone stopped and turned toward the pair of lamps on either side of the floor-length mirror Sam faced.

  “That’s my male.” Cordray’s deep-purple lips twisted into a proud smirk.

  “Do you need to go?” Sam ran her hand down the white chiffon skirt of her dress. She looked and felt like a princess.

  Cordray dabbed the brush in more eyeshadow and got back to work on Sam’s makeup. “No. He’ll be fine. For now, anyway.” A twinkle lit in her eyes. “But right after the ceremony, I’m sure he’ll drag me off by the hair like a caveman and shred me to delirious pieces.” She sounded like a masochist who’d just made a date with a whip.

  Josie fastened the final button and swooshed her palms down the back to fluff the skirt. “It’s perfect.” She stepped around to the front, her gaze traveling up and down as she inspected the dress. “What do you think?”

  Cordray took a step back, removing herself from the reflection so Sam could have the entire mirror to admire herself.

  All she could do was stare. The dress wasn’t just a dress. It was a magical spell, transforming her into a woman she’d never seen in her own reflection. She was the princess of her own fairy tale, Snow White to Micah’s Prince Charming. Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest one of all? For once, she was. And it was all because of the dress.

  Every wedding dress should hold such power.

  This was the first time she’d ever worn a wedding dress. When she married Steve, she’d worn an off-white sundress she’d yanked from her closet at the last second. It had been wrinkled, and she’d forgotten to grab a slip to wear underneath, which meant her red bra and panties showed through the fabric during the ceremony, making her look like a trashy slut.

  Everything she’d done to marry Steve had been wrong.

  This time, everything would be right.

  She brushed her hand over the skirt again, forcing herself not to cry so she didn’t ruin Cordray’s masterpiece-worthy makeup.

  Every woman should feel like a princess on her wedding day, and this dress certainly did the trick. Sweetheart bodice, layers and layers of fluffy, cloudlike tulle in the skirt, and tiny crystal beads threaded throughout that made the dress sparkle and shimmer like a million diamonds.

  With a sigh, she lightly gripped both sides of the skirt, lifted the hem a few inches off the floor, then let go. The fabric floated back down like a gentle fog settling over the earth.

  “It’s perfect,” she whispered.

  One week.

  It had only been a week since the conversation she’d had with Micah where he hinted he would give her a wedding. He’d called her Mrs. Black again, and she had told him—as she always did—that until they were married, she was Ms. Garrett. He’d replied with something like, “Then I guess we’ll have to do something about that.” She hadn’t thought anything of it. She’d been too excited about the babies and her new job. She never could have imagined he’d meant all this.

  At no time during the past week had Micah given her any sign he’d been planning a wedding.

  “He’s good. I’ll give him that,” Cordray said quietly.

  Like Micah, Cordray could see her thoughts as if they were her own. Sam didn’t think she would ever get used to that, but it was getting easier to accept.

  Sam broke out of her daze and glanced at her. “Yes. Yes, he is.”

  Josie stood to the side, one hand on her rounded belly and the other covering her mouth as she fought back tears.

  “Don’t you dare cry, Josie.” Sam waved a finger at her. “If you do, you’ll make me cry, and then Cordray will be furious that I ruined her makeup.”

  Josie let out a sniffly laugh and glanced away, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. “I know, I know.” She looked back at Sam, all smiles and blinking back tears. “You’re just so beautiful, and I know what this means to you.”

  Josie was a davala too. An immortal who had once been human. She understood the importance of a wedding according to human tradition, especially how it p
ertained to women.

  All Sam could do was nod. If she tried to speak, she would cry.

  The other two females went back to work on her, styling, touching up, applying glitter powder to her bare shoulders, neck, and chest.

  How had Micah pulled all this off without her knowing?

  “He didn’t,” Cordray said behind her.

  “What do you mean?” She glanced at Cordray’s reflection.

  Cordray smiled back at her as she finished pinning the simple lace veil with the diamond-and-pearl-studded tiara into Sam’s hair. At least, Sam assumed they were diamonds. “Bain did all this for you.”

  Before helping Sam with her makeup, Cordray had changed into a royal blue dress that matched one of the two shades of blue in her hair, which fell in loose rivulets over her shoulders to her waist. She was a breathtaking vision in blue.

  “King Bain?” Sam’s hand went to her throat, covering the Harry Winston diamond wreath Josie had just fastened in place. Each cluster of diamonds was set in platinum and resembled strands of roses.

  Cordray fluffed the veil down her back. “Micah made it part of the terms of the agreement. He said that he would only accept the title of crown regent, as well as that of head honcho of Bain’s new black ops team—God help us—only if Bain helped him plan a wedding for you.” She smirked. “As if Bain would say no. He was willing to do whatever it took to get Micah on board, so”—she took a step back, raised her tattooed arms, and gestured first at the palace-worthy room they were in, then at Sam’s dress—”one glamorous wedding, coming right up.”

  Sam stared in awe at her reflection. “God, I love that male.”

  Cordray smirked again. “I knew from the moment I met you that you were crazy.”

  But Sam caught the flash of admiration and whimsy that crossed Cordray’s face as she retrieved a diamond tennis bracelet from a velvet-lined case on the dresser. It matched the necklace.

  “Crazy in love,” Sam answered with a smile.

  “Crazy is crazy.” Cordray winked at Sam in the mirror.

  Josie tsked at Cordray as she examined and teased another soft curl into Sam’s short hair. “Don’t pay any attention to Cordray. She’s just jealous that weddings aren’t included in vampire mating traditions.”

  Cordray flicked her long hair over her shoulder. “Uh, no. I don’t need any of this frilly-frilly froufrou shit. Wrist.” Cordray tapped Sam’s forearm.

  She lifted it so Cordray could put the bracelet on her.

  “You don’t have to make it frilly,” Josie said, inspecting Sam’s face and hair. “You can make your wedding anything you want.” Apparently satisfied, she turned, bent in front of a box with the words “Jimmy Choo” on top, and lifted the lid. Inside were a pair of glittery, strappy silver-white pumps.

  Cordray straightened, eyeing Josie like she’d just given Cordray permission to tattoo her ass. “I could make it anything I want? Seriously?”

  Josie and Sam both nodded.

  “Like, instead of white satin and lace, I could wear black leather and combat boots?”

  Sam looked down at the hem of Cordray’s dress. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing combat boots under your dress.”

  “Hell no.” She lifted her hem, revealing a pair of spiked platform heels that resembled something Gene Simmons would wear on stage during a KISS concert. “I figured I would dress up today.”

  Sam exchanged glances with Josie, who raised a perplexed eyebrow as she stared at the shoes, which would have fit right in with the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

  “Uhhh . . . well . . .” Josie pressed her lips together.

  Cordray dropped her skirt and planted her hands on her hips. “Hey, you said I could make it anything I wanted, right?” She shrugged. “Black leather and combat boots are what I want.”

  Sam couldn’t suppress her laughter. Black leather and spiky shoes, combat or otherwise, were so like Cordray. “Hey, it’s your day. It’s your wedding. If that’s what you want, then that’s what you get. The bride always gets what she wants on her wedding day.”

  One of Cordray’s jet-black eyebrows popped into a self-assured arch. “I always get what I want anyway.”

  Josie joined in the laughter as she studied the compacts and containers of makeup spread on the dresser in front of her.

  “What?” Cordray glanced back and forth between them. “It’s true.”

  “We know,” Josie said. “That’s why we’re laughing.”

  Sam rotated left and then right, admiring the gown from all angles. “Well, this is what I want. What I’ve always wanted.”

  She was finally getting her dream wedding, and she was marrying a man—male, whatever—she knew would never hurt her. Micah would never be the monster Steve turned out to be. She would always be able to lean on Micah in times of need, rejoice with him in times of happiness, and trust him to hold her heart in his hand and never break it. Micah was the type of male she needed. Honorable, faithful, trustworthy.

  And he’d done all this for her. Not because it mattered to him, but because it mattered to her.

  “That male never ceases to amaze me.”

  Josie lightly spritzed more glitter hairspray in Sam’s hair. “I always knew he’d make some lucky girl deliriously happy.” She set the bottle of spray on the nearby vanity. Her eyes watered. “Micah has always been special to me. Like a big brother who’d lost his way.” She sniffled. “I had begun to worry his suffering was going to take him from us, but then you came along.” She smiled and dabbed away her tears. “Thank you for bringing him back to us.” She pulled Sam in for a tight hug.

  Sam’s flat belly bumped against Josie’s rounded one. Before long, Sam’s belly would grow as big as Josie’s. Maybe bigger, since she was carrying twins.

  “I was just in the right place at the right time.”

  “And thank God for that.” Josie pushed away, briefly holding Sam at arm’s length, giving her a once-over before brushing away more tears. “My goodness, look at how beautiful you are.”

  Sam gently patted her own stomach. “Must be the baby glow.”

  By now, just about everyone knew she was pregnant. Micah had been so proud to learn he was going to be a father that he shared the news with everyone he came in contact with.

  Everyone.

  Even total strangers.

  A few nights ago, he’d taken her out for dinner. At the restaurant, he rushed ahead to open the door for her. An older woman smiled and remarked on how nice it was that there were still gentlemen who opened doors for women. Out of nowhere, Micah beamed like the northern lights and said, “She’s pregnant. With twins. My twins. I’m going to be a father.” The woman just nodded and offered him a placating smile that bordered on amusement, as if she knew he was going to be an insufferable new father who blurted out the news to everyone, no matter how much it embarrassed the mom-to-be.

  All Sam could do was grin and let Micah have his moment.

  Cordray stepped behind her and pointedly turned her toward the mirror so she had no other choice than to look at her reflection. “No, Sam. It’s you. You’re stunning. Your pregnancy hormones have nothing to do with it.”

  She met Cordray’s gaze, sharing a rare feminine moment with her.

  “This will be you soon,” Sam said, pressing her hand to her stomach again.

  Cordray looked away, took a step back, and busied herself straightening the straps of Sam’s dress. “Don’t remind me.”

  Sam exchanged concerned glances with Josie, who said, “Don’t you want to be a mother?”

  Cordray shrugged flippantly. “I always thought so, but now? I don’t know. I’m not sure being a mom is in me.”

  Sam hadn’t known Cordray for long, but she knew her well enough to know it was rare for her to reveal weakness or vulnerability. Something must be terribly wrong for Cordray to open up even this little bit.

  Sam turned and took hold of Cordray’s hands. “You’re going to be a wonderful mother. Look at how good you are with
the kids at your orphanage.”

  Cordray almost looked normal today. If not for the swarm of tattoos coating her arms, neck, and chest, as well as the two-tone blue stripes in her jet-black hair, she could have passed for a southern debutante. Not that Sam would say something so offensive out loud. Cordray didn’t hold debutantes and elitist society girls in high regard and certainly wouldn’t like being compared to one.

  Cordray scowled.

  Oops. Too late. She’d already seen Sam’s thoughts.

  “I’m no pansy-assed debutante and never will be,” Cordray said, sweeping to the side and snagging the Jimmy Choos from Josie. She knelt in front of Sam, hiding her face as she reached under the hem of Sam’s dress and took hold of her foot.

  Sam toppled into the chair behind her as Cordray manhandled the shoe onto her like she was trying to squeeze the glass slipper onto the feet of Cinderella’s stepsisters.

  Josie gave Sam a compassionate look that read all kinds of maybe you can get through to her better without me here as she gestured toward the door, then pointedly said, “I’m going to go check on Aiden and Null.”

  Josie had told her that the toddlers were playing the parts of flower girl and ring bearer for the ceremony. A risk for such young children, but one Sam was sure would pay off. The twins were adorable.

  Before Sam could say anything else, Josie slipped out of the room, leaving her alone with Cordray.

  Cordray still wouldn’t look at her, keeping her attention laser-focused on getting the Jimmy Choos on her feet.

  “Cordray, what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Bullshit.” The best way to get through to Cordray was to let her know you weren’t going to take her shit. That you wouldn’t play by her rules and would force her to play by yours.

  Cordray shoved the second shoe on Sam’s foot, then stood and turned away, not letting Sam see her face. “It may be your day as the bride and all, Sam, but that doesn’t mean I have to talk to you about my problems.”

  “So there is a problem?” Getting Cordray to play by Sam’s rules required undeterred chipping away at her defenses.

  “No.”

  “But you just said—”