Bound Guardian Angel (44 page)

“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.