“I like clothes that are more casual.”
“You like clothes that hide you. I like clothes where I can see you.”
She didn’t have a good answer for that. “Are we going somewhere?”
“Yeah, baby. We are. Get dressed. I got a shake for you. Tomorrow, we will have us some bacon and eggs. You like them? It’ll be bacon day. We get a tithe of it every three weeks for helping folks out. Tantie has this recipe where you add stuff to it. I don’t know how to make it. Don’t imagine the vampir let you do much cooking?”
He sounded hopeful. Sophie answered, “There was a bakery down the street where I lived that served humans and others who don’t like vampir food or all-meat. They had omelets a couple of times. Is that what you are talking about?”
“Omelets. Yeah. That’s the thing.” He put his hands on her waist and kissed her bare shoulder.
Micah touched her often, and Sophie soaked it up. She liked the way his hands opened on her waist to lift her or change her position, the way his palm fit around her throat when he tipped her head back or wanted her to look at him. His random unasked-for kisses landed frequently and went everywhere. He fit her against him every chance he had, or at least took her hand or played with her hair. A known trait of shifters was their touchy-feely nature. The attention made her feel hot and glowing inside.
There were other effects too. When he touched her, she stopped thinking. They didn’t have sex; they didn’t talk about how she lost her virginity, the changes that had taken place in her life, or Alexi. His touches were sweet and romantic, a different, easier Micah that Sophie welcomed with open arms.
She thought she’d shatter into a million pieces if he did anything else.
Last night she woke up with him pulling her body half under his, tangling his legs with hers, and wrapping her up in his arms while he made grumbly, impatient noises and scolded her for going too far from him.
He was waiting. Hunter that he was, kept her close, waiting for her to say something. Sophie had a plan. She would out-wait him.
“Where are we going?” She didn’t want to leave this safe space. Was he going to take her back to Avó’s? Even the idea made all the moisture in her mouth dry up.
“An imp brought an invitation.” Micah said.
“An imp?” The world dropped away. Imps belonged to the vampir. Subterranean garbage eaters, their relationship bordered on parasitic. About the size of skinny raccoons, imps had a vaguely humanoid shape with small bodies, large heads and eyes, and extra-long claws. Every brood house had its own imps. Her archon made his wear little black vests embroidered with the brood house crest.
“Spidery buggers, aren’t they? I had a hard time not stomping on him.”
Sophie nodded. They moved like spiders too, crawling on all fours and clinging to ceilings, grouping in corners. “What was the invitation?”
“We’re gonna settle things. I’m keeping you, don’t you worry about that. Ol’ Silver-head has promised safe passage, and the ice-hearts are too proud to break a public promise. They’d need an excuse first, right? So some of the boys will come along and there will be no excuses. I want to hear what your old archon has to say.”
Sophie had questions too, but going there was dangerous. Returning without her brother, painful. She wanted the world to stop spinning a moment so she could catch her breath. The concern slipped out, more to herself than to Micah, who answered her anyway.
“Doesn’t happen that way. And you’re no mindless pawn, now. You left your safe little gray stone house in Hyde to go look for your brother. That day was a choice, wasn’t it, Sophie? You set your own world spinning and now you get to live in it.”
He was right. She knew he was right.
They piled in the gas guzzler again as the sun went down, with Dante and Jumper in the back. This time, however, the boys Micah mentioned, ten shifted males ran beside the car.
Sophie tried not to look at them. Shorter and less bulky, different colors, they still reminded her of Micah in his fur.
Bite me.
Sophie had said that to Micah’s shift. She didn’t know who that person was. But looking at the wolfish dog faces of the werewolves was too much. Too close. In desperation, she fumbled about for a safe topic. “The slave ring!” she blurted, interrupting Jumper and Dante arguing in the backseat over which was better, Avó’s ribs or brisket.
Micah gave her a look of confusion that quickly changed into a knowing smirk. “Yeah, baby, what about it?”
An embarrassed blush started spreading on her chest, so hot that she felt it under her fingers. He was wearing it, she knew. It had been dark, and she’d barely been able to hold her eyes open, but he had taken her hands in his and made her put it back on his cock. And she felt it against her every time he pulled her deep into his body and hooked his legs around her.
“Why do you wear it?”
His face closed down. “Some things don’t need to be talked about. That’s one of them.”
From the back, Dante said, “At least tell her about Ranalf. She got caught up in his bid to get rid of you, and that’s not her fault.”
A rumble went through Micah.
