Rise of the Fallen (7 page)

"Yep."

Ari wondered what a specialist like Sev was doing at AKM if
he had spent his life fighting with humans. "Fuckin' A. Trace says he can,
too, but I've never seen him do it, or heard tell of it. He says it's because
he just doesn't like to. Hurts his eyes or some shit."

Severin chomped on his gum and flicked his long, wavy hair
off his shoulders with a shrug. "I don't mind it. Keeps me nice and tan."
Sev lifted his arms, showing off the golden glow of his skin.

Rolling his eyes with amusement, Arion knocked on the door
again, louder this time. "Fuck, I hope we didn't waste a trip for
nothing."

Severin nodded toward Arion's inked up left arm. "Nice
tats."

With a glance at his arm, the corner of Arion's mouth
quirked upward. "Yeah, Io and I got 'em done together about five years
ago. He did the right arm, though. I went with the left."

Sev's brow lifted. "So, you and Io…?" His voice
trailed off curiously, as if he was trying to imagine Arion and Io together.

Arion chuckled. "No, man. Io and I are like brothers.
Just friends, but no sweat. You're not the first to think he and I have
something going under the sheets, but we're just tight. I've known Io a long
time. But if you knew Io, you'd know he doesn't swing that way. Not even
close." Io was the biggest homophobe on the planet, truth-be-told, so
getting with a guy was the last thing on Io's to-do list.

Severin looked away. "Hey, it's your biz if you swing
like that. Nothing wrong with it."

Arion was about to answer when he heard rustling inside the
apartment and glanced at Sev before pushing away from the wall. Clearing his
throat, he pulled his formal demeanor back into place.

After a pause in which Jackson had probably checked the
peephole, the door swung open. Jackson adjusted his robe, an erection evident
under the fabric. "What's up, Ari?" He was breathless, as if he had
been in the middle of something strenuous, and ran his fingers through his disheveled
hair before eyeing Severin.

Severin had joined AKM the week before Jackson and Micah had
broken up, so Jackson had never met the guy like the rest of them had.

"Can we come in?" Arion asked.

Jackson's attention returned to Arion as he pursed his lips.
He looked nervously over his shoulder down the hall inside his apartment.
"Um, I've got company and…"

"Forget it," Sev said with a shake of his head,
not hiding his disgust or lowering his voice. "It's been what? Two weeks
and you're already fucking someone else like Micah never meant anything…while
he's in such a fucking mess that no one's heard from him since you split on his
ass. Asshole. You didn't give a shit about him, did you? Go back and fuck your
little
toyfriend.
" Sev nodded severely in the direction Jackson had
looked just a moment before.

Arion stared at Sev in awed silence. The guy wasn't much of
a talker. The outburst had been the most he had heard Sev say at one time, but
it had been a doozy. He looked back at Jackson, whose face and neck blanched
crimson. Where had Sev's tirade come from? Sev didn't even know Micah that
well, having only seen him a couple of times at the compound. And, knowing
Micah, seeing him was probably all Sev had done. Micah wasn't known to be
social or talkative. So, what made Sev stick up for the guy like that? Was it
that he now considered Micah his brother in arms and would defend him
regardless? Or was this something personal?

Either way, there was more to Severin than he first
imagined, wasn't there? He was more than just a pretty face with luxurious
tresses and a stacked body. The male had substance. Arion approved, even if he
would have approached the sitch differently.

Jackson stepped toward Arion as if he thought that would
protect him, his wary gaze never leaving Sev. "What does he mean? What's
this about Micah?"

Sev inhaled like he was about to go off again, but Arion
hushed him with a raise of his hand, giving Sev a you-need-to-chill glance as
he answered. "Yeah, um, about Micah. We need to know where you lived with
him. He never told us and no one's heard from him in over two weeks. We're
getting worried. Apparently, he's taking it pretty hard that you left."

"Yeah, sure. Anything I can do to help." Jackson
nodded nervously under Severin's intense glare. "Micah got us a place at
The Sentinel downtown. I'll write down the address."

Jackson stepped away and returned a few seconds later with a
pen and pad of paper, scribbling down the address before ripping out the sheet
and handing it to Arion. He glanced at Severin as if he was seeking the male's
approval.

He wasn't going to get it. Arion could feel that vibe
without looking.

"Thanks, Jackson." Arion lifted the paper and
turned toward Sev, giving him a nudge. "Let's go, Sev."

"I hope he's okay. I never meant to hurt him,"
Jackson said.

Throwing a final, loathing glance at Jackson, Sev tore his
gaze away and let Arion direct him back down the hall to the elevators.

"What was that about back there?" Ari said,
hitting the down button. "You practically tore him a new asshole."

Shrugging, Sev looked away nonchalantly.
"Nothing."

"You sure?"

Sev's pale blues landed heavily on Ari's eyes. "What
are you, my mother?"

Shaking his head and sighing, Ari looked away. "Hey,
I'm not saying you were wrong for what you said. In fact, I'm glad you said it,
because I was thinking it."

"Can we just drop it?" Sev's jaw renewed its
gum-chewing intensity as he stepped into the elevator.

"Sure, whatever man."

Discussion over. For now, anyway. The two rode down the
elevator in awkward silence.

They needed to get this information into Tristan's hands
pronto. Ari could hit Sev up later about the rest when he cooled off.

Micah had spent the day eating the last of the bread, a box
of cereal – dry, since he hadn't bought milk in over two weeks – three cans of
green beans, a box of crackers with the last of an old block of cheese he'd had
to cut some mold off of, and a pizza. With his belly full, he had slept through
the final hours of the afternoon, well past dark, in fact.

Now that he was awake again, his stomach felt like an empty
pit of feed-me.

He was pacing in front of the oven, shoving the last piece
of another pizza in his mouth and making a mental grocery list, when the
doorbell rang.

He brushed his hands together then went to the door and
yanked it open. His boss, Tristan, stepped inside, holding – oh glory to Jesus
– a large bag of McDonald's.

"Hey, Tris."

He snatched the bag out of Tristan's hands and returned
wordlessly to the kitchen, leaving Tristan at the door like he wasn't even
there. He tossed the bag on the kitchen counter and ripped it down the side to
get at the large fry and a mouthwatering order of McNuggets.

* * *

Tristan arched an eyebrow. What the hell? Micah was usually
aloof, but something was different. It was as if Micah didn't realize anything
was wrong. Did he even know how much time had passed since the two had last
talked?

"Uh, yeah, help yourself there, buddy."

Tristan shut the door quietly and sat on one of the bar stools,
a bit aghast at the way Micah tore into not only the bag, but the food. He was
afraid to reach for the Big Mac he had bought for himself, fearing he would
lose his hand. Setting down the tray of large Cokes, Tristan popped a straw in
one and took a drink as he continued to scrutinize the situation.

He had to admit, Micah looked better than he thought he
would. The guy had lost major weight, though. Had he not been eating? If so,
why not? Maybe that was why he was scarfing the McD's down faster than a Dyson
sucks up dust. What was wrong with this picture? Everything.

"You okay, Micah?"

Micah flicked the Big Mac across the counter to him,
choosing the Quarter Pounder instead. "I just ate a pizza. You can have
the Big Mac. I don't need it. I know you bought it for yourself, anyway."

"Micah," Tristan said quietly. "You okay,
buddy?"

Grabbing the other Coke, Micah's scowl only met Tristan's
for a split-second before his eyes shot back to the array of food on the
counter. Washing down a half-chewed chunk of McNugget and fries, Micah nodded.
"I'm fine. Just hungry."

Concerned but not willing to push too hard, Tristan
unwrapped the Mac and took a bite, watching Micah go at it before asking,
"So, what have you been up to? We haven't heard from you at AKM, and you
haven't been answering your phone."

Pausing with a handful of fries halfway to his mouth, Micah
appeared to be trying to recollect what he had been doing lately. "I don't
know." He frowned at Tristan with his trademark piss-off face and shrugged
then returned to kill off the last of the McNuggets before drinking a long pull
of Coke.

Tristan stood up and walked around the apartment, munching
his Big Mac and sucking on his Coke, listening to the sounds of Micah stuffing
himself as he peeked around.

"So, you've just been taking some time off?" He
sounded like a suspicious detective.

Micah killed the fries and hit the Quarter Pounder with
newly-invigorated energy. "What do you mean?" He spoke with his mouth
full, cheeks stuffed. He looked like a squirrel with a mouthful of nuts.
"And, hey, how did you find my apartment? I never gave you this
address."

"You've been MIA for over two weeks, Micah,"
Tristan said. A bewildered frown coated his puss. "Ever since you and
Jackson broke up. He told us about this place so we could check up on you and
make sure you were okay."

At the mention of Jackson's name, Micah came to an abrupt
stop. No chewing, no swallowing, no nothing. The color drained from his face
and it looked like he was re-thinking which direction his food was supposed to
travel as he backed away from the counter toward the sink.

Tristan immediately thought about all the McD's Micah had
just packed in. "Fuck. Micah, you okay?" He never should have
mentioned Jackson's name.

* * *

Micah felt his gag reflex take hold as thoughts of Jackson
flooded him. The past two weeks rushed back as if someone had just hotwired his
mind and made all the necessary connections for shit to start working again:
Jackson leaving him, the despair, the cutting, the plot with John Apostle to
kill him.

His mind kept doing this to him. One minute he had no
recollection of recent events, and in the next, the past two weeks attacked him
with a vengeance. It was as if his mind couldn't sort itself out, trying to
catalog Jackson into the past but constantly throwing him into the present.

Fuck me.
He was going to lose it all – his mind and
his cookies.

Until Tristan had said Jackson's name, his mind had been in
one of its Jackson black-out modes. Tristan had triggered the violent rush back
of all the painful memories.

Just as he felt the overwhelming urge to evacuate his
stomach, the last piece of what had happened last night slammed into him,
replacing the nausea with the need to breathe. Hard.

The woman. Samantha Garrett. The one who had saved his life,
whose blood was like an offering from the gods, a nectar of honey and jasmine
wine. He sucked in his breath then started coughing to keep from choking on his
food. He reached for his Coke and took a long, steadying drink.

Sam. Who was she? Where was she right now? Did she remember
Micah? He had left her memories of him intact, so surely she remembered him.
When could he see her again?

"Who?"

Tristan's voice snapped Micah back. "I didn't say
anything."

"Yes, you did. Who's Sam?"

"Nobody," Micah said. He returned to his sandwich
and took a bite, eating more slowly than before. "I'm delusional," he
said indifferently. No way was Micah going to dish the dirt on the woman he had
met the night before. No fucking way. She was his. Nobody needed to know about
her. His, damn it! Micah wouldn't let anyone near her.

Micah swallowed heavily and mentally stumbled. When had he
decided Sam Garret was his? The realization smacked him in the proverbial
forehead, V8 style. What the fuck? Was he already tethering to a new mate? So
soon after losing one? It would explain his misfiring brain cells, but he and
Sam hardly knew each other. But then, mating didn't always occur between two
people who already knew each other. In fact, a lot of the time, it didn't. What
was happening to him? Was he seriously mating Samantha? And what if Sam didn't
share his feelings? Fuck! He was a walking disaster magnet, wasn't he?

"Fine, Micah, play that way. But you and I are going to
have a long talk real soon about what's been going on with you for the past
two-and-a-half weeks."

It was clear Tristan wasn't buying it, but he was the
delusional one if he thought Micah would sit through a one-on-one over the
matter.

"Quit bustin' my chops, Tris. I've got shit to
do." Yeah, like buy a tractor-trailer of groceries to feed the bottomless
pit known as his stomach, while trying to figure out what was going on inside
his body over this Samantha chick.
Hmm, I wonder if she'd be home tonight if
I swung by for a visit.

"Well, I expect your ass at the compound tomorrow
night, Micah. I'll give you tonight, but tomorrow night, you're checking
in."

With a roll of his eyes, Micah feigned a salute as he popped
the last bite of Quarter Pounder in his mouth then wadded up all the empty
wrappers and tossed everything in the trash with the empty Coke cup.

"Fine, Chief. I could use the gym, anyway." It had
been weeks since he had done any lifting and his body was craving the burn.

Thoughts of the short-haired blonde he had met the night
before invaded his mind. Her green eyes, her gentle lips, the way her hands had
felt so confident and sure as she had palpated him.