by Donya Lynne
She let out an exasperated laugh. “How do you ever get off a shot with all that you have to do before you’ve even nocked an arrow?”
His heart beat wildly at her amusement and the way it lit her face when he looked at her. “It becomes second nature after a while. I don’t even think about it, anymore.” Sort of like loving her had become second nature. He no longer thought about his love, he simply felt it. “Once you’ve done it enough, the right posture just happens.” The same way his heart just happened to beat harder when she was near and ached when she wasn’t.
“I certainly hope so.” She shuffled her feet then glanced down at them as she got back in her stance. “Now what?”
He wanted to forget about teaching her how to shoot an arrow and shower her with kisses to learn if she tasted as sweet as she looked. Instead, he cleared his throat and turned back toward the tree. “Once you’ve found your stance, hold your arrow like this at the base.” He demonstrated. “Then place the shaft against the side of the bow above the grip, rest the nock—the slender notch at the end—against the string, raise the bow, lift your right elbow to ear level, pull back, line up the shot, and then . . .” He released the arrow.
It whizzed toward the tree and pierced the trunk.
Lowering the bow, he turned toward Katarina. “Do you want to try?”
Her hands fluttered nervously. “There are so many steps to remember.”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
“You make it look so easy.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He held the bow toward her and retrieved an arrow from his quiver. “You try.”
Tentatively, she took the bow and arrow from him and eyed the tree. Then she ran through the steps in a hushed voice, as if she were talking to herself. “Feet parallel but perpendicular to the sight line, shoulders down, arrow against the side of the bow, elbow by my ear.” She frowned and strained as she pulled back the string.
Her fingers slipped, the string snapped, and the arrow flew wide, tumbling through the air to land innocuously on the sand.
Laughing, Kat glanced up at him, face flushed. “I had no idea it would be so hard to pull back the string.”
“It takes a bit of strength. Here, try again.” He pulled out another arrow.
A playful look of defeat fell over her face. “I don’t think I’m strong enough.”
“I’ll help.” He stepped behind her, bending his head over her rear shoulder so their faces were side by side.
She took the arrow, got in her stance, nocked the arrow, and lifted her arms. Micah moved in close. So close the front of his body pressed against the back of hers.
She sucked in her breath and trembled slightly, but she kept her gaze aimed down the beach at the tree. “Is this right?”
He wanted to tell her how right it was to be this close to her. Her curves felt like they’d been made to fit against his strong angles, and her soft hair caressed the base of his neck and smelled like a field of wild flowers. He inched closer, and her rounded bottom welcomed his tightening groin. “It’s perfect,” he murmured.
Her eyes flicked toward him, and then her lashes fluttered as she looked away and gazed down the length of the arrow again.
Wrapping his right arm around her shoulders, he covered her hand with his, curling his fingers around the string, and helped steady the bow with his left hand. “Gently pull back,” he said. “Like this.” He drew back the string, and as he did, her body bent ever so slightly toward his, making their connection stronger.
Her heat, her fragrant scent, her soft firmness. He could barely form coherent thoughts. Blood rushed through his body, flooding his cock, needing to finally consummate the emotions that had started when he was a boy, grown alongside him as he matured, and now flooded him with desire beyond comprehension. Kat belonged to him, and he wanted nothing more than to plant his scent all over her body. To coat her with it inside and out.
He swayed into her, letting his nose dip into her hair. “When you’re ready,” he said, “let go.”
Her body rose and fell heavily against him, lost to the same maddening flood of hormones rising to a fevered frenzy inside his own body. He could smell her arousal. He was drunk with it. Lost to its heady, all-consuming scent. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
She released the arrow, but he never saw where it landed. He didn’t care. All that mattered was the gentle sighs breaking from her throat and the way she surrendered and let the weight of her body fall against him.
“Micah . . .”
“Sshhh.” He took the bow and tossed it to the sand. His arms seemed to wrap around her torso of their own volition, his palms flattening against her slender stomach.
She laid the back of her head against his shoulder and turned her face toward the stars, eyes closed, lips seductively parted.
“Do you realize how long I’ve loved you, Katarina,” he whispered, brushing his lips against her temple. Her soft hair caressed his face.
A wolf bayed at the moon in the distance as if mirroring the yearning in his own soul.
She moaned and shook her head.
His hand gently cupped the tender curve of her breast. “I’ve loved you from the moment I first set eyes on you. I knew even then that one day you’d be mine. That we would be together.”
A fractured, abandoned groan broke from deep inside her throat as if she’d burst through an internal barrier. She turned to face him, burrowing in close, nestling herself within his embrace as she lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me, but I need you in a way I’ve never needed anything.” She searched his eyes, her gaze darting back and forth between them.
Primal lust shot through his body as he cradled her cheek. “What are you saying?”
Her mouth opened, but no words came. But words weren’t necessary to communicate what she wanted. Her imploring gaze alone told him all he needed to know.
Make love to me. Please make love to me.
Her thoughts ghosted through his mind unbidden, and his engorged cock strained to give her exactly what her betraying thoughts desired.
“Do you want me to make love to you?” He pressed her toward the grassy edge of the beach.
She blinked drunkenly, her face softening with submission before she nodded. “Please . . .” She reached up and tugged on his cheek with her fingers. “Please, yes. I don’t think I can go another night without feeling you inside me.”
She needn’t say more. He was hers. He would give her anything she requested. His body existed only to give hers pleasure. She already held his heart in her hands.
His mouth found hers, and she tasted as he expected. Sweet, like a field of honeysuckle. Her lips opened against his, and his tongue laved hers, so warm, so inviting. Her breath washed over his mouth as she sighed, and her trembling fingers left a trail of lightning strikes up his back as she helped him out of his clothes.
When she lay beneath him on the soft, cool grass, her naked body glowed with the enchantment of the full moon as the love he’d felt for so long finally circled back on him, flowing from her to him in a connection as old as time.
Katarina finally saw him as more than just a boy. In him, she saw a grown male. A virile male. And he would not disappoint as he laid claim to the one thing he’d coveted his whole life above all else.
And there, on that beach, he and Katarina had found each other for the first time. Within days, he had formed the mating link necessary for a male to produce young. Even so, he and Kat never had children. He hadn’t been able to extend the Black bloodline through her womb.
As his words dried up—because what male wanted to talk about his shortcomings in the fertility department—he blinked and found himself once more in the present. He and Sam had moved to the couch, and now she sat silently beside him, her eyes glistening as if she were on the verge of tears. She probably was. She knew what came next. She knew of the tragedy that became of his life after Kat died.
He
cleared his throat. “A few years later, the war began again.” In the years that followed, both Kat and his parents had died—or so he’d thought. Now he knew his father had lived. Kat was still dead, perishing a few years after his mother, but, somehow, his father had survived.
He sighed, not giving voice to that memory. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to face the truth about his father. “Then Kat was gone. My parents, too. I was left with no one. At least, that’s what I thought.”
Sam cocked her head, the short expanse of skin over her nose wrinkling. “That’s what you thought? What do you mean?”
He groaned and slid his palm down his face as he steered his gaze briefly skyward before bringing it back down to her again. “I’ll get to that later. I’m not ready to talk about it, yet.”
Her eyes narrowed curiously, but she didn’t push him.
“The point is, I thought I had no one. No family. No mate. No child. I possessed nothing to give me purpose, and I became a monster. I fell so far and had no regard for my own life. Honestly, I should have died a hundred times over by now. God knows I sought out death plenty enough, but it never took me. Somehow, I lived.”
Sam touched his arm reassuringly but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. He could see in her thoughts how thankful she was he hadn’t died, because without him, she’d likely be dead now, too. He had saved her from a terrible fate and given her a new lease on life.
The same as she’d done for him.
Last Christmas—barely over four months ago—he’d finally reached a point of despair so great that he’d decided to kill himself. Death wouldn’t willingly take him, so he’d resolved to force its hand. That’s why he had sought out Apostle the night he met Sam. He had been only minutes away from death when she found and saved him.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers. “If not for you, I’d be dead now.”
“We saved each other.”
He nodded, lacing his fingers between hers and tucking her hand against his body.
Sam truly was a lot like Kat. Both reminded him of angels, and while Kat had developed the sassy personality Sam had come prepackaged with, both never hesitated to call him on his shit. Then, of course, was the obvious similarity that neither Kat nor Sam had become pregnant during his calling.
Once more, the fear that he might be sterile throttled him. Ronan might be the last hope of carrying on the Black name. At least someone could if he couldn’t.
He didn’t want to think about that. He wasn’t ready to believe he would never create life. To concede he would never have children of his own felt like surrender. And Micah surrendered to nothing and no one. He wanted a son to raise to be a strong warrior like his father had raised him to be. He wanted a daughter to dote on, spoil, and guard against males who would take her innocence when she became old enough to date.
It hurt his heart to think he might never have that.
“So, Kat stole your virtue, did she?” It was just like Sam to provide a moment of levity at the exact moment he needed it.
He grinned. “More like I stole hers.” Kat had been a virgin when he made love to her that night on the beach. “Mine had already been taken by then.”
Her eyes flashed open wide. “Really now? You didn’t mention that.”
He brushed his lips over hers then let them linger for a moment before pulling away. “There are still things you don’t know about me, baby. And I do tend to take what I think belongs to me, even back then. But don’t worry, Kat willingly gave me her virtue. And can you blame her? I mean, look at me. I’m a catch, don’t you think?” He leaned back and presented himself, enjoying teasing her.
Sam’s breathy laugh did to him the same thing Kat’s always had. His heart beat harder and his blood warmed. Whenever she laughed, it felt like his soul opened to let in the light so it could dispel the darkness.
“You’re such a guy.” She rolled her eyes, pulling him back toward her, and tipped her forehead against his. “And no, I can’t blame her. You are a catch. You’re my catch.”
“I love you so damn much.” He cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth.
He’d needed this tonight. He’d needed to feel her fortitude and lightheartedness so it could ground him. Sam was his foundation. She gave him balance and centered him when he felt like he was splintering into a hundred fragments.
He kissed her. “You make me feel things I never thought I would feel again. You warm me when I’m cold. You calm me when I’m upset. You laugh, and I feel like I’m a black hole turning back into a star.” He pulled back and brushed her short blond hair off her forehead as he searched her face. “And when I’m a bomb about to detonate and destroy the entire city, you defuse me.”
Her gaze drilled compassionately into his. “Is that what happened tonight?”
He recalled how close to the edge he’d been a couple of hours ago. Learning about this brother and his dad had nearly blown him to bits.
“Yes.”
“Want to tell me about it?” She let go of him and stood.
Where did he begin? He pushed off the couch and followed her to the kitchen. “Sam, tonight was so many levels of fucked up I’m still struggling to make sense of what actually happened.”
Sam opened the cupboard. “That’s the thing about talking, baby. The more you do it, the clearer things become.” She pushed jars of sauce and cans of soup aside. “Because I know you didn’t call me over here tonight because you were reminiscing about Kat and your childhood.” She gave him the side-eye as she reached into the back of the cupboard for the peanut butter. “The way you were with me tonight . . .”
He stood on the opposite side of the breakfast bar, resting his hands on the counter. “I know I was rough with you. I’m sorry.”
She gave him her trademark stop-being-so-dramatic look as he took a seat on one of the barstools. “Micah, you weren’t that rough.”
He gestured toward her bruised wrists. “You have bruises and bite marks all over your body.”
She let out a derisive snort as she snagged a spoon from the drawer. “In case you missed it, I came three times, and I flirted on the edge of a fourth for ten minutes—and would have come again if the first three hadn’t been powerful enough to annihilate my orgasmic response. You obviously weren’t rough enough to keep me from enjoying myself. And trust me, I would have told you to stop if you were hurting me.” She eyed the brownish marks on her wrists. “In my opinion, these are stamps of ownership and badges of honor to be worn with pride.” She swept around the counter and brushed her lips over his as she leaned provocatively into him. “They tell the world that I’m a well-pleasured woman with a badass boyfriend who knows how to do to me things mortal men can only dream about.” She kissed him again then plopped her very fine ass on the barstool next to him, unscrewing the lid on the peanut butter jar and releasing the comforting scent of roasted peanuts. “So, spill it, Black. Tell me what had you so fucked up tonight that you needed to use me so mercilessly.” She grinned and winked as she said it, dunking her spoon into peanut buttery goodness.
As she shoved the loaded spoon into her mouth, he took a deep breath then said, “I found out my dad’s still alive.”
Sam’s hand jerked then went utterly still as her eyes flew open wide. “What?” she mumbled around a mouthful of peanut butter. “Your father is still alive? How did that happen?” Although that last bit came out sounding more like “Your fawder ith sdill alie? Ow did tha appen?”
Good thing he was fluent in peanut butter English, or he might not have been able to understand her.
“Fuck if I know. I’m still not one hundred percent certain this all isn’t just a bizarre and totally fucked-up dream, because my father being alive is only a small piece of the fucked-uppery that got unloaded on me tonight. It’s probably the easiest part to deal with, though.”
She pulled the spoon out of her mouth and managed to swallow down enough peanut butter to speak clearly again. “If that’s the eas
iest, I’m afraid to ask what the hard part of your evening was.” Her tone held a touch of humor but remained serious.
He met her gaze and was thankful to find stalwart confidence staring back at him. That was his Sam. She faced everything—no matter how unbelievable—with enough strength and conviction for a platoon of Marines, even if she tried to inject a little humor to dull the pain.
And right now, he needed every ounce of humor and strength she could give him.
“I have a brother. Skeletor . . . Ronan . . . the guy who broke into this apartment . . .” He swept his gaze around the apartment’s interior. “He’s my brother.”
The spoon dropped from Sam’s hand, clanging once on the floor before flipping and skittering a few feet away. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. That shithead who broke in is my brother. I’ve got a goddamn brother.”
Chapter 9
If anyone were to wander through the cemetery, they would shit themselves. Ronan sat atop a headstone, still wearing his skull mask. He looked like a demon—or maybe Death himself—waiting to harvest the souls of the newly deceased.
But he was just chillin’. Trying to screw his head back on straight after his encounter with the blonde with eyes as blue as Jamaican water. And the only place he could think of peaceful enough to go was the pyramid-shaped tomb inside Graceland Cemetery.
What did it say about him that the only place he could go for some peace and quiet was the local cemetery?
He stared at the small pyramid structure. This was the same tomb he’d broken into and used the ankh in only a few days ago, hoping to open a portal to another dimension, only to open a whole lot of nothing.
The earth had shuddered, a low hum had sounded, and it seemed as though he had found a way off the planet. Then everything just shut down. Stopped. Came to a screeching fucking halt.
It was the story of his life.
For as long as he could remember, any time it looked like something good was about to happen to him, something else came along and derailed it.