Cordray stirred awake in the late afternoon to the sound of her cell phone pinging with an incoming message.
She groaned as the residual effects of Jack Daniels filtered through her brain. Or maybe it was the remnants of her brain that were filtering through the residual Jack Daniels. She couldn’t be sure, because, yeah, she’d shredded a few to a million brain cells with her frat-party drinking binge this morning.
Good thing her vampire genes could replace them as fast as she destroyed them or she would be nothing but an incoherent smudge of flesh and bone.
At least her head no longer felt like a hundred of those stubby, pellet-shaped Minions were inside her skull dancing to disco music, but her stomach still felt sour. Ironic that she couldn’t feel anything that happened to the outside of her body, but everything going on inside felt magnified by the power of ten.
She rolled herself into a sitting position and rubbed her eyes before blindly reaching for her cell phone, which she vaguely remembered setting on the corner of the coffee table before passing out. Her hand landed on polished wood. Opening her eyes, she saw that her mobile wasn’t there.
“Looking for this?”
She turned toward the sound of Micah’s voice. He was standing in the doorway leading down the hall. He was holding her phone, and from the way his finger was slowly scrolling up the screen, he was reading her messages.
She lurched toward him. “What the hell—” A million ice picks dug into her brain, making her rethink movement, talking, and even breathing.
She clutched her head and sank back into the couch, propping her elbows on her knees as she cradled her forehead in her palms. She would have whimpered had Micah not been there.
“You’ve been a busy little bee.” Micah’s booted feet broke into her field of vision as he stopped in front of her.
She groaned when what she really wanted to do was snatch back her phone and punch him for violating her privacy.
“What are you doing with my phone? Why are you reading my messages?” Out of the corner of her eye, she spied the aspirin and bottled water sitting on the coffee table, just past Micah’s left leg. Her mouth was as dry as scorched cotton, but she refused to show weakness in front of him, even if she was doubled over with the hangover headache of death.
Micah reached down, grabbed the bottle of water, and tossed it onto her lap before sidestepping away from her toward the chair she’d sat in last night as she’d expelled her past to Sam.
“Someone had to answer your phone,” he said. “It’s gone off three times in ten minutes.” He dropped his ass into the chair. “What the fuck are you doing messing around with Grudge Match?”
Her head shot up. She instantly regretted it as pain speared her left eye from the inside out. “What do you know about Grudge Match?”
“I asked you first.”
Really? He wanted to play that game?
Giving up all pretenses that she wasn’t hurting as badly as she was, she picked up the bottle from her lap and twisted off the lid. Just feeling the cool water wash down her throat was enough to make her sigh in relief.
After guzzling half the bottle, she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and glared at him as best as she could under the circumstances, which was to say she probably looked more like a blind Chinese crested than a pissed-off vampire with an attitude problem.
“Technically, I asked you first, asshole. If you recall, I asked why you’re reading my messages?” She reached for the bottle of aspirin and popped off the cap.
“I told you—”
“You told me my phone was going off, not why you decided it was okay to read my messages.” She tossed two tablets in her mouth and quickly washed them down before continuing. “You could easily have silenced my phone without violating my privacy.”
Micah raised his hands, palms out. “You got me. I was spying. Sue me.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Fine. Now tell me what the hell you’re doing messing around with Grudge Match.”
“Sorry. No-can-do. Members only.” She flashed him the sweetest smile she could muster with tiny trolls hammering at her brain with what felt like jagged pickaxes.
Micah blew out an abrupt huff and held up her phone. “Who’s this Digon? And what’s this about an audition and something called the gauntlet?”
Just how far back had he read in her texts? “Why the hell do you want to know so badly?”
“Because I’ve been hearing about Grudge Match for months and haven’t figured out a way to infiltrate.”
Cordray swallowed the last of her water. “That’s because you don’t know the secret handshake.” She gave him a saccharine smile and batted her eyelashes, even though the slight movement played hell with her headache.
“Jesus, would you quit being so difficult for once in your goddamn life and tell me what you know?”
Wiping the smile off her face, she squared her shoulders. “Give me back my phone, and I’ll think about it.”
“Fine. Christ!” He tossed the phone at her.
She caught it and shot him a wicked scowl. “Are your only two decibel levels blaring and deafening, with a side of obnoxious? Or do you think you could manage something more—oh, I don’t know—quiet and polite? And would it hurt you to say please and thank you once in a while . . . in a voice that isn’t encroaching on space shuttle launch?”
“Would you just fucking spill . . . please?”
She tapped her screen and pulled up Digon’s messages. “I said I’d think about it, not that I would.”
Micah grumbled something unintelligible that sounded like a sentiment about how he felt sorry for Trace and couldn’t understand why Sam liked her, but half the words came out sounding more like growls than decipherable English.
But she was too busy reading Digon’s texts to pay him much mind. Grudge Match’s next gathering was in two nights. He’d sent a separate message with a schedule for the next month, including dates and locations. The fight club apparently rotated venues to keep themselves as clandestine as possible, so a new schedule was sent out every month.
“What’s going on up here, Micah?” Sam said, appearing in the kitchen, wearing jeans and a fitted T-shirt. “I could hear you all the way down in the basement.”
Cordray lifted her head. “See?” She flung an I-told-you-so look at him and said, “Space shuttle launch.”
Micah exhaled heavily, shook his head at her, and leaned back in his chair. Keeping his gaze locked on hers, he tilted his head back and said over his shoulder, “Sorry, babe. Just trying to figure out why I even bother trying to be nice to this witch.”
“Micah . . .” Sam shook her head disapprovingly.
“You call that being nice?” Cordray said. “You read my messages without my permission and boss me around like I’m one of your personal informants, and you think that’s nice?”
“Micah, you didn’t . . .?”
He glowered across the coffee table at her, his jaw rigid, face shaded dark pink.
Sam poured a mug of coffee and brought it into the living room, extending it toward her.
Grateful for something stronger than water to help the aspirin kill her headache, Cordray took the mug. “Thank you.”
Sam turned on Micah, her hands on her hips. “You need to apologize to our guest.” Then she returned to the kitchen and started pulling out pans and skillets to make breakfast as if she expected Micah to do as she said without question.
Eyes narrow, his expression tight, Micah gritted his teeth as he stared at her.
“Now, Micah,” Sam said as she pulled a carton of eggs from the fridge.
He frowned and glanced to the side. “I’m working on it, dear.”
Cordray imagined that apologizing to her felt about as comforting to Micah as the asteroid crashing into the earth millions of years ago had felt to the dinosaurs.
He took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then blew it out. “I’m . . . sorry.” He cleared his throat and shifted uneasily. “I’m sorry for reading your messages. And for bossing you around.” His eyes narrowed as he glanced away. “And for yelling while you’re obviously feeling like shit.” The corner of his mouth quirked as if that secretly delighted him and he’d been talking loudly on purpose.
“You can be a real ass, you know that?” Cordray said, tucking her phone in her pocket.”
“So they tell me.”
Sam returned to the living room with another mug of coffee and handed it to Micah like it was a reward. “Thank you for apologizing,” she said lovingly, bending down to kiss him.
He turned his face up to hers. Before their lips met, he said, “Anything for you, baby.”
She gave him a light pat on the cheek as her mouth lingered on his, and then she pulled away. “Yeah, well, it would be nice if I didn’t have to remind you to be nice as often as I do.”
“But then I’d miss out on these little rewards you give me when I apologize for being bad.”
Sam rolled her eyes and grinned as she shook her head. “You’re such a difficult man.”
“Male.”
“Whatever.”
As they kissed again, Cordray dropped her gaze into her mug of coffee, feeling like an intruder. Watching Micah and Sam’s dynamic as a mated couple reminded her of how alone she was.
Mates held a certain magic over one another. As soon as the mating bond connected them to each other, they ceased being separate entities, becoming one that dwelled within two bodies. Well, maybe not exactly like that, but close enough to generalize that that’s what happened.
Mates could locate each other across vast distances as if guided by a homing beacon, as Io had with Miriam. They could feel when the other was in trouble, even if hundreds of miles separated them. A male’s mate held incredible power over him, such as Sam did with Micah. She snapped her fingers, and he jumped. She told him to apologize, and he did. She was his conscience, and he was her champion.
Seeing how enchanting they were together made her angry. She wanted what they had, and—damn her traitorous heart—she wanted it with Trace.
But she was still too damn scared to open herself, especially to him. The way they lashed out at each other like two tomcats fighting over territorial boundaries warned of pending doom. What if she invited him into her bed? What if the sex was as epic as she suspected it would be? She had damn near detonated in the hallway as he kissed her last night, so sex would probably send her into a nuclear meltdown. What if that happened and she found the most unbelievable pleasure she’d ever known, allowed herself to fall in love with him, and then he realized she wasn’t his cup of tea?
Or worse yet, what if he found his one true mate and left her? He’d made it no secret that he didn’t like her, but sex was sex, and if it was one thing she had learned by penetrating Trace’s thoughts, it was that he had never found arousal outside the playroom. But he found it with her. She had seen his erections straining his jeans. She’d felt his hard length against her when she awoke to find him on top of her, and again last night in the hallway as he pressed her against the wall. Of course he would entertain the possibility of having sex with her when she could arouse him in a way no one else could. Trace could choose to enjoy the benefits of their physical connection for as long as the whim carried him, and when the novelty wore off, he could walk away. Where would that leave her?
In a useless, unfeeling heap in the forest, that’s where.
Been there, done that. Bought the T-shirt, wore it, burned it. Upgraded to body armor.
She had spent centuries erecting the walls protecting her, forging her prickly, aloof demeanor to keep everyone at arm’s length. Now, she’d found someone she wanted to pull closer and didn’t know how. She no longer possessed the social skills required to invite someone into her private space, even if her fear abated long enough to let her.
“If you guys are finished sucking on each other’s faces . . .” she said pointedly.
Sam pulled away and smiled, her cheeks flushed. “Sorry.” She straightened. “I’ll let you two chat.” She caressed Micah’s shoulder as she turned and went back to the kitchen.
“So,” Micah said, his tone milder, “please tell me what you know about Grudge Match.”
Cordray hugged her coffee mug as if it were a lifeline. In a way, it was, because every sip made her head hurt a little bit less.
“Honestly, not much. Yet. But I’ve only been to one meeting.”
“How did you get in?”
Cordray gave a halfhearted shrug. “They’ve got a website.”
Micah’s black eyebrows furrowed sharply as if he didn’t believe her. “I haven’t found one.”
She would have laughed if she didn’t think it would make her head blow up. “It’s called the Dark Net, Micah.” She snapped her fingers in hurry-up fashion. “See if you can keep up with technology, big guy.”
“I know about the Dark Net.” The hint of chagrin in his eat-shit expression told her he just hadn’t thought to check it and felt like an idiot for not doing so.
“Yeah well, you should spend some time there. You’d be amazed what you can find out.”
“I’ll bet. Now, could you get on with it before you bore me to death?”
She rolled her eyes. Males could be so testy about bruising their egos. “I hit up their site, and lo and behold, they have an interest form to become a member, so I filled it out. Who knew it would be that easy?”
“They must be desperate if they accepted you.”
“They just know talent when they see it.”
“Whatever. So, then what?”
Talking to Micah was like talking to Trace, only not as fun. “After submitting my application, I waited a little while then got an invitation to run what they call the gauntlet. It’s their initiation. If you make it through the gauntlet, you’re in. If you don’t”—she made a sad face and waved her fingers in a bye-bye motion—“too bad, so sad, sorry about your luck, but you’re out.”
Micah scoffed. “Well, if you made it through, so can I.”
“Yes, but I had an advantage.”
“Wait, let me guess. You really are able to turn men to stone with one look?”
“Micah . . .” Sam warned.
He threw his hands up in surrender. “Hey, she set herself up for that one.”
Sam huffed and rolled her eyes before tossing poppy seeds into what looked like pancake batter. The scent of freshly grated lemon zest drifted on the air, and a bright-pink salmon fillet sat on a cutting board on the counter beside the batter bowl.
Was Sam trying to become the next Bobby Flay or what?
“Funny,” Cordray said to Micah, “but no, I can’t turn men to stone. Not anymore, anyway. Back in the day, though . . . that’s quite another story.” She winked at Sam, who lifted her gaze from the bowl of batter she was folding poppy seeds into and giggled.
Micah spun around. “I heard that.”
Sam blew him a kiss as she scooted the bowl aside and went to work on the salmon. “I love you, baby, but you know I appreciate a good sense of humor.”
Micah exhaled heavily as he faced Cordray again, one brow arched, his stare glassy and unimpressed. “Okay, fine. So what advantage did you have that I don’t?”
“Ask Sam.”
“Sam?” Micah glanced over his shoulder again.
Sam looked up from shaving paper-thin slices off the fish. “Me?”
“Yes.” Cordray nodded once. “What I told you last night. You know, about what happened to me? How you were able to hit me without hurting me?”
“You hit her?” Micah asked, jacking his thumb in Cordray’s direction.
“Uh . . .” Sam’s face flushed, and she briefly glanced down. “I guess you could say that.”
“And I missed it?” Micah looked back and forth between them. “Damn. I would have paid good money to see that.” He smirked at Cordray.
“I bet you would,” Cordray replied.
“Okay, so what does my mate punching you have to do with you having an advantage?”
“Sam?” Cordray raised her chin at her.
Sam met her gaze then looked at Micah. “She can’t feel.”
Micah’s frown was almost comical. “You can’t?”
“Nope. Not a thing.” Cordray took another sip of coffee. “So, when some guy as big as a skyscraper punched me, I was able to keep on going. You, on the other hand, you’ll feel it.”
“Only if I let him hit me.”
“Are you saying you’re going to request an audition?”
“Maybe.”
Sam didn’t even blink. Apparently, she was already used to Micah putting himself in harm’s way and coming out aces. Then again, the guy was pretty badass, as far as fighters went. And he had been for as long as Cordray could remember.
She’d never crossed paths with Micah in her youth, but she’d known of his reputation. Everyone had. She also knew that he’d been one of her father’s most coveted warriors. He’d even had a hand in training her brother. If only he knew as much about her as she did about him, maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to criticize and discredit her.
“I’m not sure what good it will do, since I’m such a new member, but I could e-mail Digon and vouch for you,” she offered.
“Why would you do that?”
“Because it might make it easier for you to get an invite. Grudge Match has a thorough vetting process to screen candidates. Since you’re a member of AKM, that might make them wary. And let’s face it, your reputation does precede you, Micah.” His shoulders lifted almost proudly, but before he could say anything, she quickly added, “Which could be to your detriment. You’re a hothead, and you’re also keenly devoted to King Bain and the vampire way. That could be enough to make them reject you.” She paused, knowing on one hand that she shouldn’t be telling Micah any of this, but knowing on the other that if Micah was allowed into Grudge Match, the two of them could work together to find the bad eggs in Digon’s club. Bad eggs who were using Grudge Match to help supply Bishop with test subjects for his experiments. Members who could provide more direct clues to Royce’s involvement. Maybe even Digon himself was guilty, but she doubted it. That wasn’t the vibe she got from him. But if he was guilty, and the entire fight club was one huge sourcing pool, if she and Micah worked together, they could strike a major blow to Bishop, Royce, and whoever else was working to weaken the vampire race.
Micah studied her through narrowed eyes. “I’ll ask again. Why would you want to help me? What’s your angle?”
She had to appreciate his cunning and intellect. He knew she would never willingly lift a finger for him if she wasn’t due to get something from the effort. They didn’t have that kind of relationship. Not yet, anyway. Maybe they never would, but if they did this and found success, it would go a long way toward bridging the professional gap between them.
She leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, setting the base of the coffee cup in her lap. “Let’s be honest, Micah. You can do things I can’t. Things that could really come in handy inside Grudge Match.”
Suspicion pinched the corners of Micah’s eyes as he lowered his chin and angled his body away from her. “Like what?”
“Like, for instance, your annoying ability to see people’s thoughts undetected.” She shrugged. “I can’t do that. Yeah, sure, maybe I can work through Trace’s mental defenses when you can’t, but he can feel me doing so if he pays attention. So can others.” Which was the frustration where Grudge Match was concerned. “Digon has already warned me not to poke around in other members’ thoughts.”
“Really?”
“Don’t look so smug.” She drummed her fingers irritably on the side of her mug. “I tried to see inside his thoughts—he’s the one who runs Grudge Match, by the way—and he got upset. Told me not to do it again, and not to do it to anyone else if I wanted to avoid unnecessary entanglements.”
Micah smirked and let out an amused huff. “I think I like Digon already.”
“Think again. He’s a dreck.”
“A dreck?”
“Yep, and my guess is that he comes from money. He holds himself almost regally and has an accent I can’t quite place, but he sounds affluent. It’s obvious he likes the finer things and has the resources to obtain them.” She remembered Digon’s TAG Heuer watch, the elegant accoutrements in his office, and the designer shoes. Even his denim trousers had been couture.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he said.
“That all depends on what you’re thinking.”
Micah shifted forward to sit on the edge of his chair, his hands linked between his knees. “What I’m thinking is that a dreck with that kind of money could be funding Bishop’s experiments if Royce isn’t.”
Cordray bobbed her head to one side. “That thought had crossed my mind.” She downed the last swallow of coffee. “But here’s the problem. I can’t see inside his thoughts to figure out just how deep he’s in the shit, if he even is at all. That’s where you come in. You can go where I can’t, and no one will be the wiser.” She held his gaze for a prolonged moment then said, “So . . .? What do you think? Can we put our differences aside long enough to work together on this? I’ll do what I can to help you get an invitation. You do what you can to get through the gauntlet. Then we pool our resources to bring Royce and that fucker, Bishop, down.”
Micah hesitated as if weighing the pros and cons of Cordray’s plan. A moment later he stood and held out his right hand. “I’m not too proud to say I like how you’re thinking on this, C. This could work, but it doesn’t mean we’re friends. Just business partners. Just so that’s clear.”
“Crystal clear, because I’m not particularly fond of you, either.” She stood and clasped his hand.
“That’s because the two of you are so alike it’s scary,” Sam said from the kitchen, flashing them both a playful glare.
“We are not.” Micah swung his gaze around to eye his mate with an almost fearful expression on his face.
Sam laughed. “No one likes to see their faults reflected back at them from someone else, which is why people who are a lot alike sometimes don’t get along.”
Cordray pulled her hand from Micah’s. “No. Absolutely not. I’m with Micah on this one.”
Micah’s gaze collided with hers. “At least we can agree on that.”
“Besides”—Cordray sat back down—“I don’t have any faults.”
“Whoa, hello!” Micah ass-parked back in his chair. “Wrong answer.”
“As if you’re so perfect,” Cordray shot back.
“Damn straight. I’m fucking awesome.”
Cordray scoffed, shaking her head. “You wish.”
Sam laughed even louder than before. “What did I tell you? You two are like mirrors for each other. No wonder I like you both so much.”
Cordray eyed Micah out of the corner of her eye as he did the same to her. The realization that Sam might be right dawned on them both at the same time.
Micah’s top lip curled. Cordray wrinkled her nose.
He swallowed thickly and looked like he might get sick as he stood. “I think I’m going to take a shower,” he said dully, as if the thought that he and Cordray were alike tainted every inch of his skin like a layer of soot.
Cordray knew how he felt. As soon as she left, she would swing by her mansion on the North Shore for a shower and a change of clothes not only to wash off the stench of vomit but the feeling that she might have absorbed some of his aura. But first, she needed to tell him what she’d learned about the ankh, as well as the message from Skeletor.
“Wait, there’s more.” She sounded like one of those stupid commercials on TV.
Micah’s shoulders wilted. “What?” Apparently, he was as ready to be rid of her as she was of him.
“Skeletor. He contacted me.”
Micah’s posture stiffened as he sat back down. “I’m listening.”
“He hacked me yesterday while I was piggybacking off your system. We had a, um . . . shall we say it was an interesting exchange of messages?” Interesting because Skeletor knew who she really was, which was something Cordray would pointedly leave out of this discussion.
“Tell me.”
“Let me tell you what I learned about the ankh first. Then I’ll tell you what happened with Skeletor.”
She proceeded to explain that the ankhs were really keys that opened portals between dimensions and that back before the time of the pharaohs, lycans and other mystical beings were using the ankhs to open those gateways.
“Why? What was their purpose?” Micah said.
“To bring in beings to help build the pyramids, work the land, perform rites”—she shrugged—“and do all kinds of things. According to the archives, lycans guarded the gates and possessed the only keys to open them, so I’m not sure how your father got his hands on one.”
Micah shrugged. “Who knows?” He rubbed the scruff over his chin and jaw. “So where is this portal or gateway my ankh unlocks?”
“I was hoping you could tell me. Or whether or not you’d know if the ankh opened more than one, because some ankhs could open a group of gates.”
Micah shook his head. “I’ve got nothin’. Like I said, my father died before he could tell me much about it. Did you learn anything about who would have knowledge about how the ankh works?”
“If I had about a decade to kill, I could probably find the answers in Bain’s archives. Being that I don’t, the next best place to find answers is from the lycans.”
Micah nearly spit out a sip of coffee. “The lycans? You’re kidding, right? You know they won’t want to help us.”
“I wish I were kidding, but no. I’m as serious as sin. And you don’t know that they won’t be willing to help. Maybe they’re not big fans of our race, but we’re not at war with them and never have been.”
“Tell that to Memnon.”
True, vampires and lycans had never engaged in outright war, but Memnon held little love for vampires, which was why he moved his family west and demanded that the rest of the packs living in the United States do the same. The eastern half of the country was dominated by vampires. The western half belonged to the lycans, and any vampires inside his territory had to operate by his rules. His code.
“Fine. Memnon’s a dick. But”—Cordray held up her index finger—“from what I found, lycans are the key masters, and Memnon is at the top of the food chain. Lycans created the gates, coding each one to an ankh that would unlock it. They supposedly know where all the portals are, too. They’re the ones who first mapped them. The first to use the ankhs to open the gates. The first, period. They were on this planet before we were, and from what I read, they weren’t exactly excited when the first vampires slipped through one of their portals by accident.”
“Accident? What kind of accident?”
“I don’t know the details. All I could decipher from the archive was that it was some kind of accident and the vampires were never meant to come through, and the lycans couldn’t reverse what happened and send the vampires back, so they were stuck here.”
“Interesting.”
“I know, right? My point is, if Memnon doesn’t know how your ankh works to open a gate, or which gate it opens, no one will. Unless Skeletor has figured that shit out. In which case, the sooner we consult with Memnon, the better. Otherwise, who knows what Skeletor could unleash on the planet if he manages to open a portal and invite in an army of supernatural beasts to do his bidding.”
Tension marked Micah’s face. “Good point.” He paused, and his eyebrows bunched together. “What doesn’t make sense, though, is if the lycans are the key masters, how did my father obtain one of their keys?”
Cordray let out a long, heavy exhale. “I don’t know. That’s a question only your late father—and maybe Memnon—can answer.” She set down her coffee cup and rubbed her temples. Her headache had receded to a dull throb, but it was still bad enough to bring mild waves of nausea every few minutes.
Micah scrutinized her in the silence that followed. “So, how is it you have access to King Bain’s archives to research this stuff? AKM doesn’t even have that kind of clearance, and we’re supposed to be the ones guarding the kingdom.”
She swiped her hand horizontally in front of her as if brushing away eraser shavings. “I do special work for Bain. That’s all you need to know.” Because she sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Micah she was Bain’s sister and could do pretty much whatever she wanted. “But I did find an ancient map in Bain’s archives that seemed to illustrate where all the portals in the world were at that time. Unfortunately, I couldn’t make heads or tails out of it. But I bet the lycans can.”
“Great, so all I need to do is find a lycan.”
Cordray shook her head. “Not just any lycan, Micah. If I were you, I’d grow a pair and take this straight to Memnon or Rameses. You know how riled up they get when someone circumvents their leadership.”
Memnon and Rameses—but especially Memnon—weren’t known for their benevolence.
A troubled shadow fell over Micah’s face as he looked away.
“What?” she said. “What’s wrong?”
His gaze darted to hers. “What do you mean?”
“You look uneasy. Don’t tell me you’re scared of them?”
“Hell no.”
“Then why do you look so upset?”
He shifted and cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.”
She let out an exasperated sigh. “You know I’ll just dip into your thoughts and see what you’re hiding if you don’t tell me. How about you save us both the trouble and just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“I said it’s nothing.”
Clearly, he still didn’t trust her. But if what he refused to tell her could help their cause, she wanted to know what it was. Maybe by extending an olive branch, she could earn enough of his trust to open up.
“Whatever it is, I won’t tell Bain, if that’s what you’re worried about. And I won’t tell anyone else, either. You have my word.”
“No offense, but your word is for shit with me right now.”
The two of them had gone around and around since they’d met. She’d dropped the ball on him when she was supposed to be at the pickup facility at the time of Trace’s release, and she’d gone at him and Trace as hard as they’d gone at her. This was the most civil conversation she’d ever had with Micah, so of course he would be wary.
“I know,” she said, holding up her free hand, palm facing out as if she were trying to calm a snarling dog. “I know, Micah, but I’m trying to work with you here. We need to work together. At least for now. If you have knowledge that could help, I’d like to know what it is.”
He leaned forward and scrubbed his palms up and down his face as he expelled a troubled breath. When he dropped his hands to his lap, his resigned gaze lifted warily to hers. “Fine, I’ll tell you, although I don’t think it has anything to do with the ankh or Skeletor. But . . . Jesus . . .” He wiped his palm over his face again then raked his fingers through his hair. “Who knows at this point.”
It took all of Cordray’s patience not to sneak into his thoughts and see what all the fuss was about, but she didn’t want to do anything to violate the fledgling trust Micah seemed on the verge of bestowing upon her.
“There’s a patient at AKM. A young male. He’s”—Micah locked eyes with her—“half lycan.”
Cordray’s mental brakes engaged. “Wait . . . what?”
“You heard me. He’s half vampire, half lycan. His name is Savill, and he was rescued from Bishop’s lab. He’d been cut open as if they’d been about to dissect him. We didn’t think he’d make it, but we’ve finally stabilized him, and it looks like he might actually pull through.”
“Who are his parents?” She was sure that other half-vampire-half-lycan mixed-bloods had existed at some point in history, but this was the first she’d personally heard of one. An anomaly, to be sure.
Micah shrugged. “We don’t know who his real parents are, but he somehow made it into the human adoption system when he was a baby, and he was adopted by a set of human parents. You run a shelter. Have you ever seen anything like this?”
She shook her head. “I’ve come across a lot of mixed-bloods who got lost in the human system, but never any with lycan blood in them.”
Micah sighed and bowed his head. “I knew it was a long shot.”
His body language was uncharacteristically compassionate. She’d previously seen inside Micah’s thoughts that he wanted children of his own. That he longed for a family and had an enormous amount of love to give, and that as badly as he treated her, he was a kind, caring person. Almost overly caring. He’d stepped in to save the lives of his comrades on numerous occasions, both now and back when he’d been a member of her father’s guard. Micah was a hero’s hero. The kind of person who selflessly gave of himself so that others could be given a fighting chance.
No doubt Savill’s predicament deeply troubled him. He knew just as she did that Memnon and Rameses, who were purists, wouldn’t want anything to do with a damaged mixed-breed who carried vampire genes. Savill would never have a place within lycan society with those two at the helm. Not that Mem and Ram were bad guys. They weren’t. They were just very strict about living by the lycan code. Cordray wouldn’t be surprised if they’d banished the lycan responsible for conceiving Savill in the first place, because while mating with humans was acceptable under lycan law, mating with vampires was not. In fact, at one time mating with vampires was strictly forbidden and punishable by death. It might still be. Cordray didn’t know. She didn’t keep up with lycan law.
Cordray spoke quietly, treading softly on what she could tell was a sensitive subject. “Have his human parents been—”
“They’ve been handled.”
Handled. Cordray was knowledgeable enough to know what that meant. “Good.” She nodded. “That’s good.”
“It’s not good, Cordray,” Micah snapped. He stood and began pacing. “It’s sad. It’s tragic. The only parents he’s ever known think he’s dead. He’ll never see them again.” He stopped and flung his arm out to the side as if he were pointing in the direction of Savill’s hospital bed. “And when he wakes up, he’ll have no one. Absolutely fucking no one. He’ll be caught up in a world he didn’t know existed, with a body that will begin to transition into an adult any day now if it hasn’t already.” He grimaced. “A body with a big fucking scar from his neck to his groin.
“Can you imagine the fear he went through? The terror he must have endured inside Bishop’s lab?” Micah paced back to his chair and dropped into it with the heaviness of a five-ton boulder. “He’s going to need intense therapy. Constant supervision and reassurance. And even then it might not be enough to keep him from killing himself. There’s no way to tell if his vampire side or his lycan side will dominate, or if he’ll be an equal blend of both. So, yeah . . . fuck good. This is a fucking nightmare.” He shoved his hand through his hair again then pushed forward, elbows on knees, head bowed so that his black mane fell forward, covering his face.
Cordray exchanged worried glances with Sam, who wore a mask of concern. Apparently, this was the first she’d heard of Savill, too.
“I just meant,” Cordray said gently, “that it’s good his human parents have been taken care of before the situation can become even worse.”
Cordray dared to take a quick peek inside Micah’s mind to see if there was anything else bothering him. What she found surprised her. Tonight, Micah had learned that Malek and Gina were expecting. By itself, Savill’s situation was upsetting enough, but to find out that yet another of his teammates was expecting a baby when his own calling hadn’t produced a child compounded his feelings of anger, heartbreak, and frustration that much more.
She quickly pulled out of his head before he could detect her and set her coffee cup on the table. “Maybe I should be going.”
“No.” Micah’s head shot up. “We still have to talk about Skeletor.”
“We don’t have to do this now,” she said.
Micah huffed and shook his head. “Don’t you start acting nice, C. You’ve been a bitch up to this point. You don’t get to act like you care about my feelings now, especially since you hacked into my system last night, which pisses me off and is grounds for royal punishment.” He snapped his fingers as if commanding a dog to heel. “Start talking or I’ll report your illegal activity to King Bain and see how you like being locked in his dungeon for a couple of weeks. What happened between you and Skeletor?”
She recognized Micah’s abrupt aggression for what it was. A deflection. By attacking her, he could channel his stew of negative, resentful emotions on something tangible, thus finding an outlet to blow the steam out of his chimney.
Did that mean she liked being his punching bag? No. Did she understand where he was coming from? Absolutely. Could she take one for the team to keep the peace while they infiltrated Grudge Match? Yeah, sure. Just this once.
She told him about the exchange of messages between her and their mutual enemy, including Skeletor’s last message, where he flew off the deep end. She was careful not to disclose the tidbit about how she and Bain were related. Maybe Skeletor knew that shit, and while she couldn’t stop him from announcing the truth to the world, she certainly wouldn’t help him by revealing it to Micah or anyone else.
“He talked about being forced to keep secrets and being shunned by those who worship your own flesh and blood but don’t acknowledge your existence.” She paused as an epiphany bloomed inside her mind. “He sounded resentful, Micah. I think this is personal for him. Very personal. Do you have any living relatives?”
Micah shook his head. “No. My parents both died. I stopped hearing from my uncle about the same time my parents died, so I assume he’s dead, too. And since I was an only child and Uncle Rory wasn’t mated, there’s no one else. I’m the last of my line.”
“Nobody? You can’t think of anyone else?”
He shook his head. “Not a one.”
She scowled and nibbled her bottom lip, trying to figure out what Skeletor’s angle was. It just didn’t make sense that he would throw the sibling card at her the way he did without a reason. “Maybe he’s the brother of someone you killed or someone who died, and now Skeletor blames you for the death. Maybe he’s seeking vengeance.”
“Then why would he steal my ankh rather than try and kill me?”
“Hey,” Sam said from the kitchen, waving a knife back and forth, “no talking about anyone trying to kill you, baby. If that’s what he wants to do, he’ll have to go through me, and rest assured, he won’t be getting through me to you.”
“That’s why I love you, baby,” Micah said, flashing his first grin in over ten minutes. “You think you’re a badass.”
“I am a badass, thank you very much.”
“Yes, you are, but I don’t want you putting yourself in harm’s way for me. That’s my job.” He faced Cordray again. “But if he was out for blood vengeance, don’t you think he’d want to do a lot more to hurt me than steal an ancient key?”
Sam returned to preparing the oddest breakfast Cordray had ever seen. There was now a jar of green olives sitting open on the counter that Sam was eating directly out of.
Cordray peeled her gaze away from Sam’s funky breakfast and shrugged at Micah’s question. Perhaps she was overthinking Skeletor’s intentions. “Maybe it’s as simple as he wants to open a portal and knew you had a key?” Her intuition instantly refuted the possibility, and she shook her head as she furrowed her brow. “No, that’s too random. Whatever is up Skeletor’s ass is too personal for it to be just about the ankh. Maybe he wants to open a portal, but that’s secondary to causing you pain. Hurting you is his primary objective. That’s my gut feeling.”
“I think you’re right.” He told her about the malicious poems Skeletor had written to him.
“Man, this guy really hates you.” She rubbed her hand over her forehead. All this thinking wasn’t good for her hangover. “Are you sure you can’t think of anyone who wants to make you suffer?”
“Cordray, if I named everyone who fit that description, the list would be longer than my dick.”
Her gaze dropped to his crotch before she blinked her gaze back up to his. “So you’re saying the list would be a short one.”
His eyes narrowed as his mouth pressed into a thin line. “It was a metaphor.”
“A bad one.” She held his stare. “Would you like to rephrase it?”
His jaw ticked as if he were clenching his teeth. “No, I’m good. I think my dick is sufficiently big enough to handle such a list.”
Cordray let out an irritated sigh. “Males and their dicks.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand the fascination.”
Micah sprawled and slung his arm over the back of the chair. “That’s because you don’t have one.”
“Thank God. It would suck never being able to use my brain.”
He smirked, which was probably as close to laughing at one of her jokes as he would ever get. “Dick jokes aside,” he said, “Is that it? Is there anything else you found out that I need to know?”
“No.”
He stood again and headed toward the kitchen. “I assume you know our theory about the pedway since you were inside our system last night?”
“Yes. I wanted to go by the Heritage and see if I can find anything useful.”
“Don’t bother. Sev already looked, and Stryker’s team is making a second go-round.”
“But—” She preferred to do her own recon.
“You already have enough going on.” Micah spoke with the confident, no-nonsense tone of a natural-born leader.
Too bad, because she didn’t do subordination. She was her own boss and wasn’t into taking someone else’s orders.
“You’re not my boss, Micah. If I want to investigate the pedway, I’ll investigate the pedway.”
He shrugged, turned, and snagged a piece of salmon from the platter Sam had set in the middle of the counter. “Suit yourself.” He rounded the counter and kissed Sam’s cheek before popping the salmon in his mouth. “I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ve got an application to fill out.”
“Oh, about that . . .”
Micah held up and faced her. “Yeah?”
“Grudge Match is a secret. I could get kicked out just for talking to you about it.”
One corner of Micah’s mouth kicked upward. “In other words, if you piss me off, I can just tell this Digon guy that you told me all about the secret handshake and he’d boot you?”
“Something like that.”
“Nice to know.”
“Just wait until after we’ve finished our investigation to get pissed off at me. This is too important to blow. It could be our best chance of finding out who’s kidnapping our people, as well as to take down Royce.”
Micah lifted his hand as if telling her to hush. “Don’t worry, C. I know how important this is. I’m not going to fuck it up.”
“That sounds good, but let’s face it, Micah. You’re not known to be the most subtle or level-headed of Bain’s enforcers. You could blow this whole operation just for sport.”
He took a step closer and glanced toward his mate. “That was before I met Sam.”
Cordray glanced at Sam, who blew Micah a demure kiss before turning her attention back to the cutting board in front of her. She was slicing grape tomatoes in half and tossing them in a large glass bowl.
Cordray turned back toward Micah. “You expect me to believe that just by taking a mate, you’re a changed male? Completely changed.” She knew that Sam had brought out a better version of Micah than had been there before, but surely remnants from his past still remained.
His dark eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the side of the counter. “Oh, that’s right, you’re not mated.”
“Micah . . .” Sam cast him a reproachful glance.
Micah lifted his fingers toward her. “No, Sam. I think Cordray needs a lesson in what happens when a male takes a mate.”
Cordray crossed her arms and reclined defiantly in her seat. “I know enough.” She exchanged glances with Sam, whose eyes filled with compassion. After last night’s conversation, Sam knew exactly how up-close-and-personal she’d been with the mating phenomenon.
Micah cocked his head to one side. “What you know is the equivalent of book smarts. And book smarts don’t mean shit on the streets.” He let out a derisive puff. “Book smarts tell you that the lunar cycle impacts the tide and that changes in air pressure create wind, and all that shit. But until you walk along the beach, with the surf washing over your feet as the tide comes in and the wind is blowing through your hair, you have no idea how it actually feels.
“Same with mating. You know the semantics. You know the biological explanation. You know what you’ve heard from others. But you’ve never actually experienced it. You don’t really know how it feels.” His gaze pierced hers under black, furrowed eyebrows.
Sam shifted uncomfortably, her gaze troubled. “Micah, stop it.”
But Micah wasn’t ready to stop. Sam might hold sway over him, but not in this instance. “When you’ve experienced mating firsthand, Cordray, then you can talk to me about how I am or am not a changed person now that I’ve mated Sam.”
Damn, Micah sure was ultrasensitive tonight.
“Fine. Whatever. You’ve changed. Blah, blah, blah.” She flapped her hand like it was inside a hand puppet. “I’m sorry I brought it up. Just make sure you don’t fuck up Operation Grudge Match, and I’ll never have to say I told you so.” She set down her half-empty coffee mug and stood.
“Aren’t you staying for breakfast?” Sam said.
Cordray eyed the buffet of lemon poppy seed waffles, raspberry coulis, salmon on top of scrambled eggs, and tomatoes. But at least the jar of olives was gone. Still, her stomach did a little somersault.
She placed her palm on her belly. “I don’t think my stomach could take food right now, but thanks anyway.” Her headache was better, but she still felt like crap on top of shit. Her belly was in no mood for food, especially when what she really needed was blood. “And really,” she added, gesturing toward the strange mix of foods, “I’m not sure if this is breakfast, dinner, or dessert.” Sam sure had kooky tastes.
Sam stabbed a bite of waffle and smiled. “I was craving lemon waffles and salmon this evening. Go figure.”
She shook her head, glanced toward Micah, who reached around and stole another piece of salmon, and then grabbed her jacket from the arm of the couch. “Well, enjoy your breakfast.” To Micah, she said, “I’ll e-mail Digon and let him know I can vouch for you.” She shrugged into her coat.
He nodded once in acknowledgement as he dipped a segment of waffle in the raspberry coulis.
As Cordray started for the door, Sam said, “Stop by anytime, Cordray.” The tone in her voice held a plethora of unspoken messages, all obviously aimed at what they’d discussed last night.
Cordray glanced over her shoulder. Sam was watching her with a mix of concern and hope, as if she were a mother watching her firstborn child take the car keys for the first time.
Cordray paused and dipped inside her thoughts.
Tell him. Please tell him. You need to tell him that you love him.
She squinted and bit her bottom lip as she averted her gaze. “I’ve gotta go.”
She dashed toward the door, yanked it open, let it slam behind her as she descended the porch steps two at a time, and then hopped on her Ducati.
Within seconds, she was zooming away from Micah’s home, vowing never to speak of her feelings for Trace again.