Cordray raced away from Micah’s house, tears streaking her face.
She needed to go away for a while. The only way to recover from the hold Trace had on her was to put him in her rearview mirror and hope that time healed the ache in her heart.
At the ranch, she pulled into the garage, swept into the house, through the kitchen, and up the stairs to her bedroom, where she shut herself inside the bathroom and splashed water on her face for a good five minutes before lifting her head to look in the mirror.
The female staring back at her was a stranger. One who cried all the time like a pussy. One who’d been weakened by love. One who bore no resemblance to the tough-assed female she had become. For so long, she hadn’t wanted or even needed a male. She had purged that need from her system the night Gideon betrayed her. Trace would just give her more of the same, so why did she care so much?
She’d almost lost him tonight. But instead of making her want to confess her feelings to him and let the cards fall where they may, she’d wanted nothing more than to get away. Seeing him almost die was a painful reminder of how precarious a relationship with him would be. Another reminder of how dangerous it would be to allow herself to love him. Because peril would always follow Trace around like a puppy. He would always be one breath away from turning mutant. And she refused to put herself into another situation where the male she loved could be taken away from her in a heartbeat, leaving her crushed and heartbroken.
Sighing, she shut off the faucet, dried her face, and turned off the light as she opened the door.
And came face to face with Skeletor.
* * *
“I need to go,” Trace said weakly. His limbs, which were draped over the sides of the bathtub, were still as heavy as concrete from the working over Micah had given him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Cordray needed him.
He hadn’t been able to push her from his mind since she’d left an hour ago. It was like she was still there, inside his mind, even though she was gone.
Micah lifted his head from the edge of the oversized tub and gazed drowsily over the layer of lilac-scented bubbles at him. Sam was wrapped in his arms. Her head rested on his shoulder, and her nose was pressed against the side of his neck.
“You’re not going anywhere right now, Trace.” Micah’s voice sounded as weary as he looked.
It had taken Micah ten minutes to recover enough from being thrown across the room to lift himself off the floor and release Trace from his bindings.
“But—”
“No. I can feel how tired you are. I can see it.” Micah’s eyebrows rose toward his hairline as he tapped his temple. “And God how I wish I couldn’t.”
“I warned you.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Micah laid his head back and groaned. “I’ll get used to it, but right now, all your mental vomit is giving me one hell of a migraine.” He lifted his hand out of the sudsy water and ran his palm down his face. “So much for aftercare. This isn’t at all how I take care of my subs after a scene.”
“I’ll live.” Trace’s deep voice echoed from his chest. It was the voice of a male well-soothed. A male who had just unloaded a heavy burden and could no longer hold himself upright from the sheer exhaustion of letting go of so much mental waste. Waste that Micah now helped him carry.
“Want to talk about it?” Micah’s eyelids cracked open.
“I thought you had a migraine.”
“Yeah, well, this isn’t about me right now, buddy. It’s about you. I wouldn’t be much of a master if I didn’t put my own discomfort aside at least a little bit and tend to your needs first.”
Trace studied the way Micah’s eyelids drooped shut again. Clearly, he was exhausted. That had been some fucked-up shit back there. Connecting to Trace’s mind and his past had to have been like an acid downpour, laden with sorrow and heartbreak.
Micah’s eyes opened halfway again. They glistened with unshed tears. “At least you know now that your dad and brother didn’t die.”
“That doesn’t bring my mother back, though, does it? She’s still dead. I still killed her.”
Micah’s eyebrows ticked inward. “That wasn’t your fault. I saw what happened, Trace. You didn’t kill her.”
“You saw what I did. You saw how I disobeyed my mother and let my power out in public. You saw how I lost control and hurt those kids. If I hadn’t done that, their families wouldn’t have learned what a freak I am. That I was the son of a witch.” He curled his arms over his head and rocked forward, sending a gentle wave of water toward Micah and Sam’s end of the tub. “They never would have come after her—after us—if I hadn’t lost control of my power. They wouldn’t have killed her.” He splashed his arms back into the water as he dropped his head back.
Tears trailed out the corners of his eyes.
A moment later, Sam laid herself over his body, hugging him, kissing the side of his neck. “Ssshhh.” She kissed him again, but it wasn’t her lips he wanted comforting him. It wasn’t her body he wanted to feel pressed against his. He wanted Cordray. He needed her. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay now,” she said.
No, everything wasn’t going to be okay. Cordray had left. She had told him she was cutting him loose. Giving him his freedom. And yet, Trace didn’t feel free. He felt more like a prisoner than ever.
“Why doesn’t she want me?” he said softly, as if to himself.
“Hmm?” Sam lifted her head from his chest and frowned at him.
He stared back. “Why is Cordray releasing me from my community service?” Her behavior confused him. Less than two weeks ago, she had seemed so pleased with herself that she would be able to boss him around any time she wished, so why the sudden change of heart?
The moment Cordray left, an emptiness had opened inside him. That emptiness had spread inside his chest, to his stomach, out through his limbs, making him heavy all over. So heavy he could barely hold his head up.
Sam exchanged meaningful glances with Micah.
“What?” he said, perking up at their bloated silence. “What aren’t the two of you telling me?” He rubbed his thumb up and down his sternum as that goddamn ache stirred back to life, along with another vibration that Cordray needed him, this one stronger than the last.
Micah groaned and scrubbed his face again. “Damn it.”
“Tell me,” Trace said pushing upright. “What are you keeping from me?”
Sam sighed, glanced sideways at Micah, then looked at him. “She’s in love with you.”
“Who?”
“Cordray.”
He shook his head. How could she love him when she pushed him away at every opportunity. He’d kissed her the other night, and she’d practically burned a path in the carpet to get away from him. He’d all but invited her to kiss him tonight, and what had she done instead? Told him she was terminating his community service.
“No, that can’t be true.”
Sam’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Micah, tell him.”
Trace looked from Sam to Micah, who breathed out a heavy, resigned exhale and nodded. “It’s true, Trace. As much as I hate to admit it, it’s true. Cordray has fallen in love with you.”
“But it’s more than that,” Sam added. “Did you know she can’t feel?”
Trace frowned. “What are you talking about?” From the way Cordray reacted to him, she could feel plenty.
“Until you came along,” Sam said, “she couldn’t feel a thing. Nothing. Not even a bullet.”
“Did she tell you that?” If this were true, it shed a whole new light on Cordray.
“She told me last night.”
He searched his memories of all the encounters he’d had with Cordray. Of how she’d sucked in her breath and stared at his hand on her arm the first time he touched her outside King Bain’s courtroom. She had looked at him as if he were an alien. And every time he’d been around her since, she seemed to be on edge and intent on putting distance between them. He just assumed it was because he frightened her. And maybe she was frightened. Not of him, but of how he made her feel.
He looked from Sam to Micah, seeking confirmation even though he didn’t need it.
Micah pulled Sam back into his embrace. “Sam’s telling the truth, buddy. Cordray couldn’t feel shit before. But now—and only with you—she can.” His gaze fell to Trace’s hand, which continued to rub his sternum as the ache in his chest deepened. Micah let out a soft, reluctant snort.
“What?” Trace frowned.
Micah jerked his head toward Trace’s hand. “You’ve mated her.”
Trace opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out as Sam sat up and let out a startled gasp and covered her mouth with her fingertips. He glanced down at his hand on his chest. No way. Sure, he thought Cordray’s body was bangin’ hot. Yes, he had fantasized about how it would feel to have sex with her. And absolutely, he missed her like crazy now that she was gone. He wanted nothing more than to go to her and . . .
He glanced back up as his mouth fell open. He dropped his hand into the water.
Holy fuck. He couldn’t have. Had he . . .? Was Cordray . . .? She was his mate?
“Believe it, buddy.” Micah sighed. “You’re a mated male now.” He shook his head. “Shit, there goes a perfectly good safeword.”
His gaze collided with Micah’s as disbelief tangled with shock. He was mated? Had he finally found his match?
A smile began to creep over his face, relief and joy swirling like fluttering butterflies in his stomach. He was mated. The search was over.
Then a bolt of panic rammed into him.
He ricocheted backward against the tub. Water sloshed over the sides as searing dread wrapped its heavy fist around him and squeezed. He arched against the pain, gripping the cold porcelain on either side of him, then splashed back into the water.
Micah lurched forward. “Trace! Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
His gaze shot around the bathroom as he climbed out of the tub, flinging water everywhere as he stumbled on the bath rug then dashed toward his clothes. Fear cinched his heart. Cordray needed him. She needed him now.
“Cordray’s in trouble. My mate’s in trouble.”