Black

by Donya Lynne

  What was she talking about? Who was him? Where was back? Why didn’t she want him to send her back there? And where could he find him and rip his heart out for making her so afraid?

  He took her hand and pushed her toward the doctors as they reached for her.

  “You’re okay. They’ll take care of you here.” He didn’t want to let her go.

  “Pleeeaaassse . . .” She sobbed and continued reaching for him even as the doctors lifted her from his arms, stripping him of her touch, and placed her on the gurney. As they hurried her away, her eyes locked onto his and screamed silent pleas for him not to leave her.

  He watched them whisk her away, feeling an unfamiliar ache stir inside his chest, along with a peculiar sense of loss. It felt like he’d just missed something vital. Something that meant life or death. Letting them take her didn’t feel right.

  “What the fuck?”

  Ronan glanced up as two enforcers joined the receptionist, who had retreated from him and now stood several feet away. One of the enforcers had long blond hair and shoulders as wide as a tractor trailer. The other had high and tight dark hair and a wicked tattoo sleeve down one arm.

  Severin and Io. He knew the players inside AKM well enough to identify these two.

  “Skeletor! Get him!” Io shot toward him with Sev hot on his heels.

  In a blink, Ronan darted out the door and dematerialized, engaging the refilled vapor pod attached to his belt to erase his trail as he flew away from AKM.

  Away from her.

  The female who’d stolen his heart with just one look.

  The female who had awakened something inside him he’d never felt before.

  My hero . . .

  This wasn’t going to end well.

  For her.

  For him.

  For everybody.

  Weeks from now, he would look back on this night and wish he’d done about a million things differently.

  Chapter 8

  Sam still slept, but Micah was a stew of emotions. Some happy, some sad, some downright pissed off.

  As he paced in his living room and stared blindly out the wall of windows overlooking Chicago, his thoughts returned to that night from his childhood. To the celebration in the village. He chuckled softly as he remembered his mother chiding him for his dirty feet.

  “How do you expect to catch Katarina’s eye with dirty feet?” she had said when he entered their small thatch-and-stone cottage, where she and his father remained during daylight hours, except Father had stayed in the forest after the hunt and would return home after sunset, when it was safe.

  At the mention of Katarina’s name, Micah had scrubbed himself raw in the wooden tub, ensuring not a speck of uncleanliness remained.

  Katarina’s family had moved to the village the year before, and he had developed an instant crush on her the moment he saw her. If there was even a chance she would look unfavorably on his dirty feet, he would make sure he never walked barefoot again.

  At nightfall, after his father returned, he and his parents dressed in their finest clothes and made their way along the torch-lit path toward the courtyard in the center of their village.

  Micah trailed behind his parents, looking down at his trousers, embarrassed at how short they were. When had he grown so much?

  His mother glanced back at him. “Stop moping.”

  “My pants are too short. I look stupid.” He scowled and hid his face.

  His dad stopped and turned around. “I’ll have none of that, Micah.” He crouched in front of him. “You are my son, and my son does not look stupid. Never will. Do you understand?”

  Micah had been on the verge of tears, but as he looked into his father’s ice-sharp navy blue eyes, he immediately swallowed them. “Yes, sir.” More than anything else, Micah wanted to be like his father. Brave, powerful, respected. Admired and revered by all who met him.

  His father took Micah’s shoulders and held him firmly. “If you walk into that courtyard with your head high and your shoulders squared, all anyone will notice is your confidence. They won’t even notice the way your trousers hit above your ankles. But if you walk in slouched and defeated, the other children will see your weakness and exploit it.” He stood and chucked the underside of Micah’s chin. “Stand tall, son. Be proud. You’re a Black. Own your family name. Own who you are.”

  Micah nodded, straightening and jutting out his chin as he smoothed his palms over the front of his dingy, faded shirt.

  “That’s my boy. Always remember where you come from, Micah. Always carry the Black name with honor.” He brushed his long fingers over Micah’s cheek. “Appearance is everything. Act like that which you wish to become, and not only will you become it, but everyone around you will believe that is who you are.” His father chucked his chin again. “Now, keep your head high.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  His mom motioned to take Micah’s hand, but his father stopped her. “No. Let him walk on his own, Isabel.”

  “But, Drake—”

  “Let him be strong in his own right.” He wrapped his hand around hers and started down the path again. “He is of age to walk on his own now.”

  They continued in silence, his father the picture of patriarchal pride, as if he owned not only his own skin, but that of Micah’s mother, Micah’s, and the entire town.

  It was then that Micah realized that his father took responsibility for the village. Not because he’d been appointed—his father held no royal or political positions—but because he cared. He felt responsible for the people who lived in the village. He was a figurehead for the community. A pinnacle of strength and justice.

  Once they reached the courtyard, Micah slipped away from his parents. A giant bonfire burned in the center of the square, lighting the surrounding stands of food. Musicians played on a makeshift platform. Some of the villagers were already dancing, but many were still busy setting up, milling about in greeting, congratulating the newly mated couple, and setting out heavy platters of food.

  Micah wandered from fire pit to fire pit, inspecting the smorgasbord. Grains, meats, breads, wild vegetables, roasted corn and potatoes from the gardens, and, of course, the wild boar dripping fat into the flames beneath it, sizzling and sending up light-grey plumes of smoke.

  And then there were the desserts. An entire table made of long planks was set with sweet biscuits, tarts, cakes, and pies, which beckoned every child’s eye in the courtyard. Making a quick glance behind him to ensure no one was watching, Micah snatched one of the tarts and darted into the shadows of the trees to eat it.

  As he took his first bite, he watched from his hiding place as his father twirled his mother then pulled her against him as they danced in time with the music. His parents were happy. They never fought. They disagreed sometimes, but they always managed to come to an accord without arguing. When he had questioned how they managed to get along despite their differences, his father had told him that it was because his mother was his heart, and how can you argue with your own heart?

  At the time, Micah hadn’t understood what he meant, but now that he’d become infatuated with Katarina, his father’s words were beginning to make sense.

  A flash of red hair caught his eye. He turned and drew in his breath. There she was.

  His Katarina.

  She looked glorious in a simple, pale-blue dress, with her auburn hair hanging in loose curls over her shoulders and down her back. She nodded in greeting at his mother as she passed. His mother smiled and waved back before his father spun her again, making both females laugh.

  Katarina would be his someday. Micah felt the truth of it deep inside his heart, which skipped a beat as she glanced in his direction. He quickly ducked behind a tree so she didn’t see him, the tart all but forgotten in his hand as he peered back out. She crossed the courtyard then paused to smell a bouquet of flowers on one of the decorated tables only a short distance away.

  She looked heavenly, her eyes closing, her nose dipping into the
buds as her delicate hand lifted and pulled back her hair.

  So perfect and beautiful. Micah swore she had to be an angel.

  Then, as if she could feel his gaze on her, she opened her eyes and turned toward him. A humored smile spread over her face as their eyes met.

  “Little Micah? Is that you? What are you doing back there?” She straightened and fluffed her skirt as she walked toward him.

  Feeling the blood rush into his face, Micah quickly stepped away from the tree, trying to pretend he hadn’t been hiding.

  “I didn’t want my parents to see me.” He lowered his gaze to the tart, feeling his cheeks heat even more.

  Katarina knelt in front of him. “I see.” She giggled. “You snuck back here so no one would know you stole a treat, didn’t you?”

  With a sheepish grin, Micah nodded, totally transfixed by her luminous green eyes and plump lips.

  Demurely glancing to the ground, she looked back up through her lashes. “Can I have a bite? I promise I won’t tell.”

  Nodding eagerly, Micah held the tart out to her, speechless. The female of his dreams was right in front of him, asking him for a bite of the treat he had stolen, making flirty eyes at him even though she was more than twice his age and well into her transition.

  No doubt she knew of his crush on her, and like his mother, Katarina sought only to indulge him. But that made no difference to Micah. All that mattered was that her long, elegant fingers wrapped around his skinny wrist as she leaned forward and took a bite of the fruit-filled tart.

  Micah could barely breathe. He knew it was an honor to feed a female from his own hand, and here he was, feeding the most beautiful female in the village.

  Katarina’s pink lips parted, and her perfect, straight teeth sank into the morsel he held for her. As she drew away, sugar crystals clung to her lips, and she quickly licked them off.

  “That’s delicious.” She released his wrist. “I can see why you couldn’t wait to eat it.” She grinned as she chewed with delicate propriety.

  He could only stare, hypnotized by her green eyes and pink cheeks.

  “I heard you were the one who caught our dinner tonight,” she said, sinking to the ground and sitting back on her heels, facing him. She placed her palms on her lap.

  Micah nodded and finally found his voice. “Yes. I’m going to be a warrior someday.”

  Katarina’s eyebrows shot up as her expression brightened. “Really now? A warrior? That’s very noble, yes?”

  He didn’t care if it was noble or not. He just wanted to impress her. “My father says I’m going to be the greatest warrior our race has ever seen.” He took a bite of the tart, carefully avoiding the part she had eaten from.

  “Well, your father would know.” Katarina brushed her palms over her skirt. “He’s quite skilled with a sword. I’ve seen him training you.”

  “You have?” Knowing Katarina had watched him train filled him with perverse joy. Even at such a young age, he liked knowing she’d been watching him.

  “Oh yes. You’re quite talented. I’m impressed how well you keep up with your father.”

  “I’m better with a bow and arrow.”

  Micah grew more excited. Katarina was talking to him. She was here, alone with him, in the shadows, eating from his hand, and they were talking. His little heart practically beat out of his chest.

  “The bow and arrow it is for you, then. Maybe you’ll teach me how to use it someday.”

  Nodding again, he imagined what it would be like to teach her how to shoot with his bow. To be close to her, maybe even touching her. “Absolutely.” He quickly blushed, realizing he sounded too eager. “I mean, if you really want to learn.”

  She shifted on the ground and giggled. “Of course I do, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it. Rumor has it you’re the best archer in the village, and I want to learn from the best.” She leaned forward and tucked his long hair behind his ear and lightly pinched his nose. “Silly you.”

  Butterflies lit inside his stomach as her fingers touched his face.

  She sat back once more. “Can you show me how you killed the boar today?”

  He nodded then held the remainder of the tart out to her. “Hold this.”

  She took it from him, her eyes twinkling from the firelight of the bonfire in the center of the courtyard. She looked like she was fighting a smile.

  Micah stepped back proudly and stood tall, just as his father had taught him. It felt odd without his bow, but he pretended he was holding it, nocking an arrow.

  “The others ran the boar to me, corralling him.” Micah glanced over as he dramatically relayed the story to her. “I heard the beast tearing through the trees and lifted my bow.” He lifted his arms in grand fashion, as if he held his bow and arrow at the ready. “As soon as the boar burst from the undergrowth, I took a deep breath”—Micah paused briefly—“and then I let go.” He opened his hand by his ear as if releasing an arrow. “Right between the eyes!”

  Micah spun back, reveling under her admiration. She handed his treat back to him, and he let his fingertips graze her palm as he took it. Her hand was warm and soft, and as he glanced back up at her face, her red hair caught the light in such a way as to resemble a fiery halo.

  “Are you an angel?” he blurted, immediately regretting it. Dread sank like a heavy stone to the pit of his stomach, chased by a heavy dose of humiliation.

  Katarina let out a lighthearted laugh. “A what?”

  Unable to meet her eyes, Micah answered in a voice so soft it was a wonder he could be heard at all. “An angel.”

  “No, little Micah, I’m not an angel.” She giggled and tapped the tip of her finger on his nose. “Angels come from heaven. I’m not from heaven.”

  He wanted to tell her he thought she was from heaven, because she was too beautiful for earth. But he had already stuck his foot in his mouth once, so he kept quiet.

  Neither spoke for a moment. Then Katarina pushed herself to her feet. “Will you save a dance for me later, little Micah?”

  Surprised she would even ask, he looked up in startled amazement and nodded before he could stop himself. “Uh-huh.”

  Bending down, Katarina placed her hands on Micah’s scrawny shoulders and kissed his cheek then pulled back with a conspiratorial smile. “I won’t tell anyone that you snuck off with a treat as long as you promise to teach me how to use a bow and arrow, okay?”

  All Micah could do was nod, his tongue tied in knots.

  She laughed as if she realized her effect on him and thought it adorable. “Until our dance then, little Micah. Now, don’t get caught ruining your dinner.” She wagged a finger at him in farewell then turned and headed back into the courtyard.

  Micah took another bite of the tart and watched her walk away, mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips under her skirt.

  After she had disappeared amid a crowd of adults, Micah looked down. Only one bite of tart remained: the one she had eaten from. Reverently, he raised the morsel to his mouth and slowly chewed as he placed his small palm over his cheek where she had kissed him. His body tingled and felt warm all over at the thought of her and the time they had just shared.

  Eventually, he left his hiding place in the trees and joined his parents to eat. The food and drink were delicious, the music lively, and the celebration lasted well into the night. Micah got his dance with Katarina, and over the days and weeks that followed, his crush on her deepened.

  Then the war erupted again, and his father left for the royal city, taking Micah with him to begin training for the king’s guard. He met Malek there, and they became best friends, and then he met Tristan a short time later.

  The years ticked by, but Micah never forgot Kat, even when he turned eighteen and ventured into the city with Malek and bedded his first female, a human named Mary. He spent a lot of time with Mary in the months that followed, and she taught him how to please a woman and be pleased, but he never felt for her the way he felt for Kat.

  “Micah?”


  Micah jolted from his memories and turned just as Sam entered the living room. She had put on a pair of peach-colored cotton panties and a pink, ribbed tank top.

  She smiled sleepily when she saw him and rubbed her eyes. “Hey, what are you doing out here?”

  He held his hand out to her, inviting her to join him by the window. “Just thinking.”

  “About . . .?” She slid her hand into his, and he pulled her against him, kissing her temple as she tucked her cheek against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “When I was younger . . . my childhood.”

  She let out a dubious snort. “You were a child?”

  He grinned and pressed his lips against the top of her head. Her short, unruly hair caressed his face like short, silk ribbons. “Hard to believe, I know.” He rubbed his nose over her scalp, inhaling her lilac scent. “It was a long time ago.”

  They stood in silence for a while, holding each other, staring out the window.

  “What about Katarina? Were you thinking about her, too?” There was no blame, suspicion, or insecurity in Sam’s tone, only curiosity.

  He straightened and drew in a full breath. It wasn’t that it made him uncomfortable to talk to Sam about Katarina. It just felt taboo. Kat was his past, Sam his future. Why mix the two?

  “You never talk about her, Micah.” Sam lifted her cheek from his shoulder and looked at him.

  He gazed into her clover-green eyes, finding compassion and sincerity. And love. And strength.

  Kat still haunted his memories in a way that felt unresolved. Then again, she’d been taken from him so abruptly, how could he ever find closure over her death? Maybe it would do him good to talk about her.

  “You’re a lot like she was,” he said, brushing Sam’s hair off her forehead with the tips of his fingers. “Spunky and strong.”

  She smiled. “Tell me about her. How did you meet? What was she like?” A twinkle sparkled in her eyes as she reinforced her hold on him, hugging him harder. “Tell me about your first kiss. The first time you made love.”

  He let out a snort. “Do you really don’t want to know all that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”