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?”
“I didn’t think females liked hearing about the other females who came before them.”
“I’m not like that. I want to hear. She was important to you, and that makes her important to me, because hearing you talk about what you had with her makes me feel closer to you.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
He searched her eyes without finding anything but love gazing back at him. Fine, he would tell her. He turned his attention to the window again. But he wasn’t seeing the city. His vision went far beyond Chicago. Beyond the present.
“She was older than me, a good dancer . . . and she had this laugh that always made me think of angels singing.”
Sam snuggled closer, and he felt her love seep into him as he continued.
He told her of the night of the celebration and of how he left with his father to train for the war, and then how he and his new friend, Malek, returned years later, all grown up.
“I was twenty-six, a far cry from the little boy I’d been when I left fourteen years earlier,” he said, falling into the memory again. “I was a fully transitioned male.”
As had occurred at the end of all the wars before, the vampires and drecks had reached a truce to end the fighting. A truce Micah had known would end sooner rather than later since the war never really seemed to come to an end, despite times of negotiated peace. To believe that permanent peace would result this time was naïve. Maybe the battle was over, but the war was sure to rage on.
But for now, all he wanted was to return home and see Kat again. To show her how much he’d grown. He was as tall as his father now, and his body had filled out, growing both broad and lean. Black scruff covered his cheeks and chin, and his hair had grown long and thick. Most importantly, he now knew how to please a female, and he wanted nothing more than to show Kat all he’d learned.
The moment he, Malek, and his father rode into the clearing just outside their village in the middle of the night, he began searching for her.
In a village inhabited mostly by vampires, nighttime was more active than day, so it didn’t take long for word to spread that they had returned. Excited villagers spilled from their cottages and clogged the narrow cobbled road that curved its way through the village.
But none of them were who he wanted to see.
Then the air stirred. An energy called to him, and he turned away from a group of young maidens he vaguely remembered as little girls. He glanced to his left then pulled his mount to a stop as his mother rose from where she’d been shelling peas. Kat sat beside her.
When his eyes met hers, something inside him quivered. A pulse of excitement stirred his heart, as if a wizard had cast a spell over him. He could tell she felt it, too. He could sense the quickening of her pulse, taste the scent of her aroused blood in the air.
He dismounted and rushed forward, his father on his heels.
“Mother!” He picked his mother up and hugged her before handing her off to his father amid tears and laughter.
Then he faced Kat, drinking in the soft curves of her face. When he’d left fourteen years ago, she’d stood three heads taller than he. Now he towered over her. She gazed at him from under her lashes.
“Little Micah?”
He grinned and closed the distance between them. “I’m not so little anymore.”
Her face flushed as she demurely pressed her fingertips to the base of her neck. “No, I guess not.”
Micah introduced Malek, and then his parents excused themselves and went home. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other, and Micah could tell by the gleam in their eyes they needed to be alone.
A group of villagers lit a bonfire in the courtyard, and before he knew it, a small feast had been prepared to celebrate his and his father’s return.
But Micah didn’t so much care about celebrating as he did spending time with Kat, and while Malek danced with every maiden in the village, Micah took Kat’s hand and nodded toward the trees. “Come with me.”
Her cheeks turned rosy as she stood and wrapped both her hands around just one of his. “Where are we going?”
He glanced at the rest of the villagers as they clapped and danced a ring around the bonfire, laughing and making toasts. Then he turned back to gaze into Kat’s eyes. “All this . . . it’s not for me. I want . . .” His gaze dropped to her plump, pink lips. “I want . . .”
“What?”
He dragged his eyes back to hers and tugged her toward him as he took a backward step toward the trees. “Just come with me.”
Her eyes glittered in the firelight as she smiled and bit her bottom lip, and then she relented and allowed him to lead her away from the festivities and into the woods.
When he reached the tree where he’d fed her the tart fourteen years before, he stopped and pulled her to the ground as he sat with his back against the thick trunk.
She sat beside him on folded knees, facing him, and let out a breathy giggle. “Little Micah.” She leaned forward and teased his trimmed beard with her fingernails. “I can’t believe how much you’ve changed.”
He snagged her hand before she could pull it away and held it within both of his. “You haven’t changed at all.” He lifted one palm to her face. With his fingertips, he brushed back her hair. “You’re still as beautiful as I remember.” He softly ran his fingers down her arm and over the back of her hand.
She shyly ducked her head. “Micah . . .”
His heart skipped at her modesty, and he chuckled as he pushed forward and lifted her hand to his lips. “You always knew I was infatuated with you, didn’t you?” He kissed the backs of her fingers.
She squirmed but scooted closer, eyes downcast, shoulders forward as if shielding herself. “Yes.” She spoke softly.
Her long auburn hair fell over her face again, and he pushed it back so he could watch her as he kissed her fingers. Her lashes fluttered then closed, her lips parting. Her shoulders rose as she drew in her breath.
He let his lips linger and play over her knuckles before drawing away and lowering her hand to his lap.
“In the years I’ve been gone,” he said, “my affection for you has remained.”
Her eyes flickered open, and she cast a daring, hopeful glance toward him. “It has?”
He nodded. “It’s grown even stronger.” He caressed her wrist and delicate forearm. “Not a day has gone by in fourteen years that I didn’t think about you.” He cupped her face in his palm. A palm that had grown in size and strength since she’d last seen him and had become rough from wielding a sword before his transition. Training for hours every day had taken its toll, and even though a transitioned adult couldn’t develop calluses, an untransitioned youth could. And those calluses remained. But she didn’t seem to mind as she bent her neck and pressed her cheek more firmly against his touch. “All I wanted was to return home so I could see you again.”
She shyly bowed her head. “I always thought you were a special little boy, but I never imagined . . .” She shifted and shook her head uneasily then turned away.
He inched closer and leaned forward, bracing his arm over her legs, supporting his weight against the cool ground. “You never imagined what?”
Her throat worked as she swallowed. Then she met his gaze. “I never imagined you would grow up to be”—her gaze ranged his face then dropped to his chest—“to be so . . . ”
“So what?”
“So handsome.” She looked away as if embarrassed, which brought a wicked smile to Micah’s lips.
“You find me handsome?”
She giggled and covered her face with her hands as she nodded.
“Why, Katarina, I do believe you’re blushing.”
She laughed and playfully slapped his arm. “Little Micah Black, stop teasing me.”
“Teasing you? Me? I would never do such a thing.”
Rolling her eyes at him, she huffed. “You’ve grown to be quite incorrigible, little Micah.”
“Yes, but”—he trailed his index finger down her arm, silencing her soft laughter with a gasp—“I haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you behind this very tree before I left for the king’s city.” He reached behind him and smacked his palm against the rough bark of the trunk.
She leaned toward him as if challenging him. “Oh, and what promise was that?”
He leaned in until they were almost nose to nose. She sucked in her breath and dropped her gaze to his mouth, but she didn’t pull away.
“I believe I promised to teach you how to shoot a bow and arrow.”
He stared into her eyes as she lifted her lashes and met his gaze, the flickering firelight reflecting off the flecks of gold in her green irises. “Yes, I remember.”
“Do you still want to learn?”
She hesitated as hopeful anticipation lit in her expression. Then the corners of her eyes turned up in delight as she smiled. “Now? Tonight?”
He shook his head. “Tomorrow night.”
A ghost of disappointment crossed her features before she brightened once more. “Where?”
“Meet me here just after sundown.”
“Should I bring anything?”
He pressed forward and lightly brushed his lips over hers in a chaste promise. “Just you.”
She appeared surprised but pleased that he’d kissed her, and her cheeks flamed rosy pink.
He led her back to the village, and with a secret glance between them, departed for home.
At sundown the next night, Micah slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder and passed through the village on his way to their tree, his heart beating a wild rhythm. He was going to be with Kat. Beautiful, magical Kat. The female he had pined for over half his life.
She was waiting for him beneath the forest canopy, pacing in the darkness, wearing a modest, moss-green kirtle that shimmered in the moonlight and accented her red hair. She reminded him of a woodland fairy, elegant and magical.
She stopped pacing the moment she saw him, and a relieved but nervous smile broke over her face. “Hi,” she said breathlessly.
It took all his strength not to take her in his arms and cover her mouth with his, but he forced himself to remain an arm’s length away, even as his gaze traveled over her alluring curves.
“Are you ready?” He reached for her hand.
She slid her fingers around his and nodded shyly.
“Then let’s go.”
As he led her through the forest, she clung to his hand and stayed close to his side.
The paths he’d used as a boy still existed, although the forest had thickened in places while thinning in others. But he could have traveled the terrain blindfolded, having spent endless childhood days and nights romping among the trees.
As they strolled hand in hand, they talked about the years he’d been away, how she passed her time reading and tending to the gardens, how homesick he’d been when he first arrived in the king’s city, but how he’d grown into his own person among strangers who later became friends. But it all felt like small talk. Chatter meant to distract them both from the intense attraction growing between them with every step they took.
When they came to a shallow stream, he hoisted her into his arms without a thought.
“Micah!” She yelped and slapped her arms around his neck as he swept her feet out from under her and cradled her against him. “What are you doing?” She laughed as he started across the stream, carefully treading over a slippery path of rocks and boulders, which forced the water to gurgle as it rushed through the narrower passages.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m making sure you get across without getting your feet wet.”
She glanced down at the water. “I’ve crossed streams before, Micah.” Her eyes danced with amusement as she turned back toward him. “I’m sure I could have managed.”
He stopped. “Would you like me to put you down then?” He pretended to loosen his hold.
She let out a squeal and clamped her arms more tightly around his neck, pressing more firmly against him.
“You’re incorrigible, Micah Black!”
He chuckled and continued across. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentlemale if I allowed you to get your hem wet, now would I?”
She sighed and settled into his arms as she flashed him a playfully wicked smirk. “I detest coddling.”
“Then I’ll be sure never to coddle you.”
She rolled her eyes and let out a breathy laugh as he reached the opposite shore and set her down. “I may be a proper female, Micah, but that doesn’t mean I’m a delicate flower.”
His blood heated at her spirited rebelliousness. “Really now? You always seemed like a delicate flower to me when I was a boy.”
She raised her chin and brushed her palms down the top of her skirt. “It might surprise you to know that you’re not the only one who’s changed in the past fourteen years. I’m not the same female I was when you left.”
He drew in a slow, steadying breath, doing his best not to sweep her in for a blazing kiss right then and there. He liked this new, fiery Katarina. The sweetness he remembered from his youth remained, but now he saw a passionate side to her he’d never witnessed before.
“I can see that.” He reached for her hand.
When she didn’t immediately reach for his and instead crossed her arms in a faux, haughty show of impatience, he grinned and lowered his hand to his side as he arched one brow. “Fine. I won’t coddle you.” With an amused snort, he turned and started along the path again. “Follow me then.”
She fell in step behind him then sped her paces to walk alongside him again, and even though she remained silent, Micah could feel her arousal. It clung to her like a wraith, ever present but invisible, its ethereal fingers stroking him and awakening a desire inside him he’d never known. He’d always found Kat beguiling, but now she was overwhelmingly irresistible.
. . . never knew he would grow up to stir my blood so wickedly.
Micah frowned and glanced down at her. He could swear he’d heard her voice, but he was certain she hadn’t actually spoken. “Did you say something?”
She turned a quizzical expression on him. “No.” Her cheeks flushed and she quickly averted her gaze back to the path in front of them.
His eyes . . . the way he looks at me . . . his gaze penetrates my soul as if he can see deep inside my heart. As if he can see how infatuated I’ve become with him.
Again, he heard her voice, but he was looking right at her. Her lips hadn’t moved. No words came from her mouth. And yet . . .
Oh God, what’s happening to me? He’s only been home a day, and already I’m lost to desire and can’t stop fantasizing what it would be like to . . .
Her voice inside his head cut off. That’s when he realized he was hearing her thoughts. But he hadn’t tried to see inside her mind. Her thoughts had magically materialized inside his head without him making any effort to probe for them.
That had never happened before, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it. He glanced at her again, but no more of her words sprang to life inside his head. Not that it mattered. He’d heard enough to know what she was feeling for him. That she was as excited to be alone with him as he was with her.
He smiled to himself, and an instant later, her hand eased around his.
“I thought you weren’t into coddling,” he said, glancing down at their joined hands.
She flashed him a demure but heated glance. “I think I like it when you do it.”
Breathing more easily than he had in over a decade, he secured her hand in his and, a few minutes later, led her into a clearing along a beach bordering the lake where he’d spent so much time fishing and swimming as a youth.
“You’re going to show me how to shoot a bow and arrow here?” She shot him a dubious glance as she let go of his hand and meandered closer to the water.
“Do you doubt me?”
Her laughter flittered in the air like angelic chimes, stealing across the lake’s still, glassy surface. “I don’t think I know you well enough to know whether or not I should doubt you.”
Taking his bow from over his shoulder, he pretended to be hurt. “I may have changed since you last saw me, Kat, but I’m still me. My sense of honesty has remained. Only my body has changed.”
Well, a few other things had changed, too, such as his knowledge of a female’s body. Of how a male and female gave each other pleasure. He had become quite skilled in the art of physical intimacy, all in anticipation of one day coming back to his Katarina. He hadn’t wanted to make a fool of himself by fumbling ignorantly over her body, so he’d been quite the student under Mary’s tutelage. And now, here he was, ready to show her all that he’d learned.
Kat tilted her head affectionately. “I’m only teasing, Micah. Of course I don’t doubt you.”
The breeze lifted her hair and wafted her floral scent in his direction, making his pulse race. God, he just wanted to touch her, feel her heat, taste her.
“Good. Then come here.” He chucked his head in a come-here motion.
Her scent strengthened as she drew nearer, and enticing warmth raced down his spine, landing between his legs. Being this close to her was either going to drive him mad with desire or kill him. He withdrew an arrow from his quiver to keep his hands busy so he didn’t grab her and take her to the ground.
“First, the stance.” He turned his back to her to illustrate. She drew nearer and at an angle to peer over his shoulder at what he was doing. He pointed to a tree directly in front of his left shoulder. “See that tree?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what we’re aiming for, so set your feet perpendicular to your sight line, which extends from you to the target.” He planted his feet shoulder-width apart, parallel to one other.
“Like this?” she said.
He glanced behind him. She stood less than an arm’s length away, her eyes gleaming in the scant light of the moon. He tore his gaze away from her lovely face to look at her feet, which peeked out from under the hem of her skirt. They weren’t quite wide enough, but he would fix that later.
“That’s good.” He swiveled his head around to the tree again. “Now . . . stand up straight, rotate your chin so you’re looking over your left shoulder, rotate your hips so they’re tucked under, and push your chest, ribs, and shoulders downward.”
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 easiest, 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.”