Phaedra slowly shook her head, horrified at the violence in him. To say nothing of his disregard for destiny or things that were far bigger and beyond the grasp of anyone or anything that existed on the temporal plane.
“How do you know your men weren’t going to die that night regardless of whether you followed the doe into those woods that night?”
“How do I know?” A bitter smile curved his lips. “Because I’m still here, and that’s not how it’s supposed to be. I was their captain, their leader. I was their friend.” His deep voice lowered to nearly a whisper. “I belong with them.”
There was a rawness to the words, punctuated by the flash of amber sparking in his irises.
Phaedra knew the Breed wore their deepest emotions in their changeable eyes, and in theirdermaglyphs. Micah’s skin markings were covered by the all-black patrol gear he’d worn when he emerged from the Order’s infirmary in Rome. Still, she could see them in her mind’s eye as if they had been seared there from the first moment she glimpsed him in person, half-dressed and wild with blood hunger, pain, and rage.
Only the slightest hint of aglyphpeeked out above the neckline of his shirt. The arcing tendril snaked up the side of his strong throat, pulsing from bronze to indigo to black as he stared at her in silent accusation.
Jenna’s voice broke the heavy quiet. “When Tegan called in from Rome, he said the two of you had been having the same recurring dream every night for a week before the incident in the Deadlands. I’d like to hear more about that.”
“So would I,” Lucan said. “Micah, I’ll start with you. Darion will get you settled, then both of you report to the war room in ten minutes.”
Micah gave a curt nod of compliance, then Lucan turned to Phaedra. “Gabrielle prepared a guest room for you. I’ll send someone for you when I’m ready to hear your side of the situation.”
Without waiting for her agreement, the Order’s leader turned to Tegan. “We need to bring you up to date on some recent Rogue activity since you left to find Micah.”
“Rogues? Just what we don’t fucking need.”
On a low growl, he fell in beside the Order’s leader, who gestured for Gideon, Brock, and Zael to join them.
Micah’s gaze lingered on Phaedra for a moment before he, too, stalked off in the other direction, with Darion at his side.
“Phaedra, this way,” Gabrielle said, her voice a bright contrast to her intimidating mate’s commands. “I’m sure you’d like to relax for a while. Let’s take your bag to your room and then we can all have something to eat.”
“Thank you,” she replied, although comfort and her empty stomach were of little concern to her.
As she watched Micah disappear down a long corridor, she couldn’t help thinking fate had made a colossal mistake dropping her into the Dreamscape with him. She might not be able to deny the dream that brought them together, but she refused to imagine that destiny could have inextricably tied any part of her to a snarling, violent-minded Breed warrior like him.
Forcing a smile she didn’t truly feel, she followed the trio of women to the opposite end of the mansion.
CHAPTER 8
When Lucan said he’d send someone for Phaedra once he was ready for her in the war room, Micah hadn’t anticipated that he would be the gopher dispatched to retrieve her.
After rehashing the details of his leadership fuck-up and reliving the loss of his entire team, all he wanted was to hit the headquarters’ weapons room and work off some of his self-directed aggression for an hour or ten. Instead, he found himself cutting an irritated path through the white-marble corridors of the mansion toward the guest room where he’d been informed Phaedra was resting.
The door to the large suite was open. At some point since he last saw her, she had changed out of the lightweight summer dress she wore on the flight from Rome. Now, she sat on the edge of the king-size bed with her back to the room’s entrance, wearing a wine-colored tunic and dark jeans. Her rich, long hair fell in a loose twist down the center of her spine, the curling ends brushing the top of the dove-gray duvet beneath her.
Her soothing voice was soft with affection as she spoke into the phone she held to her ear. “Please, don’t worry about me. I’m sure I’ll be fine. Yes, all right. I will. I can’t thank you enough for all you’re doing—”
Sensing him, no doubt, she swiveled her head and her gaze collided with his over her shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmured hastily into the device. “I’ll have to call you back.”
Micah said nothing, merely stood at the threshold of the room, leaning casually against the jamb as she severed the connection and placed the phone on the bed.
Her golden eyes narrowed, she stood up to face him. “Do you always intrude on other people’s private conversations?”
“If you meant it to be private, you should’ve shut the door.”
Her pretty mouth twisted with obvious doubt. “Somehow, I don’t think that would’ve mattered. Besides, I have nothing to hide from you or anyone else.”
“So you’ve insisted.”
“It’s the truth.”
He grunted, not yet ready to admit he was starting to believe her. “Who were you talking to?”
