"It was nice to meet you, Sam." Mistress Diamond
turned toward her pleasantly.
"Uh, nice to meet you, too." Sam gave those pearly
whites one last, fixated stare.
Micah joined her, took her hand, and began to lead her out
of the room.
"Are we set?" she said.
"She now thinks Trace arrived at the party with
us." Micah ushered her back through the basement.
"So she won't think it's odd Trace is leaving with us,
right?"
"Exactly."
Sam stopped and pulled him back. "Should we talk about
this first?" She needed to know what Micah expected of her once they left
here.
"Upstairs." Micah motioned for her to come with
him.
Once upstairs, Micah pulled her into a quiet corner. Most of
the party attendees were still downstairs watching the other scenes being
played out.
"Is Trace okay?" She kept her voice quiet despite
the lack of an audience.
"Yes. He's better than okay, actually." Micah
looked a bit unnerved. Obviously, he hadn't expected to see Trace here either,
and hadn't counted on having to help his friend get off.
"No, I didn't," he said, answering her unasked
question.
Micah wasn't acting like himself. He seemed upset, which
wasn't how he'd acted downstairs.
Sam touched his arm. "Are you okay that I was
involved?"
Micah nodded. "Yes, oddly enough, I enjoyed that you
helped. It was…sexy." His navy eyes darkened and flitted away from hers
almost as if he felt guilty.
"Then why are you so agitated?"
Micah's gaze found hers again. "Because I didn't know
how fucked up he is."
"Fucked up how?"
"His mixed-blood powers are stronger than I
realized."
So, Micah wasn't upset about the mindfuck — that's what he
called it, right? — he had pulled on Trace or about what had gone on in the
storage room. He was upset because Trace was more powerful than he thought.
"That's right," Micah said, keeping his voice
hushed.
"Why is that a problem?" And then suddenly Sam
remembered what Micah had told her about mixed-bloods and mutants. "Oh,
God!" She covered her mouth and gazed up at him, suddenly scared for
Trace. "You don't think…?"
"No, Trace isn't going mutant." Micah smoothed his
hands over her arms to reassure her, but he was obviously worried. "Being
a submissive is how he keeps his power under control, though, so he doesn't tip
the scale."
"Is he going to be okay?"
Micah shrugged. "I don't know. I hope so."
She had only known Trace for a few weeks, but the thought of
losing him was intolerable. "So, now what? After what just happened down
there, what am I supposed to do?"
Micah glanced over her shoulder as if looking for him then
he looked back at her. "Actually, I think it would make Trace feel better
for you to talk to him. I think he's relieved that you and I know his secret,
now."
"Okay. Do I pull him aside? Do I ask him
questions?"
Micah shook his head. "No, nothing like that. Just be
conversational. Can you do that?"
She nodded.
"Oh, and one more thing." Micah glanced over her
shoulder again. "He's going to be tired. After he comes down off his high,
he's going to be exhausted. And he needs caring for. I've never dommed him, and
I take care of those I dom. If he had been anyone else, I would have turned him
back over to Diamond to tend to. I would have sat with him for a while and made
sure he was okay, but I would have let Diamond care for him. But since it's
Trace, I'm going to do that. I want you to help. Do you mind? He seems to be as
attached to you as he is to me."
"No, I don't mind." No question about it. Sam
would do whatever Micah needed her to do. "How can I help?"
"Just reassure him. Make him comfortable. He needs to
know he's okay with us and that we're okay with him…that his secret doesn't
change how we feel about him."
No problem. She could do that. This was Trace, after all.
And Trace was already closer than a brother to her.
Micah waved and Sam turned around. Trace had just walked
into the room and was glancing around as if looking for them. He bobbed his
head in their direction when he saw them.
She and Micah walked toward him.
"You ready, buddy?" Micah took his duffel bag.
"Yeah." Trace looked at her and nodded in
gratitude but said nothing further, the expression on his face saying
everything he needed to convey.
"Hi, Trace." She smiled up at him and took his
hand. Doing so just felt natural.
"Come on, let's go home." Micah led them out.
She kept her hand linked with Trace's as they followed Micah
outside. The valet took their ticket and hurried off for their car.
"How you feeling?" Sam looked up at Trace's dark
face, his pale eyes unreadable but heavy.
"Tired, actually."
"Yes, Micah mentioned you might be tired."
Trace stretched. "Yes, but I feel good. You?"
Sam squeezed his hand and smiled up at him as he glanced
down at her. "I'm good."
Trace nodded and grinned sheepishly before looking away.
The Camaro pulled up and Micah headed around to the driver's
side.
"Um, when did you buy this fine piece of
automobile?" Trace let Sam lead him down the steps.
She let go of his hand and opened the passenger door.
"Couple of days ago," Micah said. "It's
Sam's."
Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah, but he wouldn't let me
drive it tonight." She waved her hand at Micah as if he was a big kid with
a shiny new toy then gestured toward the inside of the car. "You want the
front or back?"
"Back's fine." Trace ducked down and climbed in
after Sam pushed the front seat up for him.
"It's a tight fit for a giant like you," she said
as he got situated.
"Yeah, but I can sprawl out a bit. Relax."
Sam blinked and smiled at him then stood up and looked over
the car at Micah, who gave her a look as if to say
I told you so.
Then
they both climbed in, Micah put the car in gear, and they pulled away from the
mansion.
No one spoke the entire trip back to the apartment, but Sam
looked in the back seat a couple of times to see that Trace had closed his eyes
and was rocking gently with the motion of the car.
He looks exhausted.
Micah's gaze flicked to her briefly, and he reached for her
hand.
Here they were, the Three Musketeers of S&M. Well, Sam
felt more like part of the Three Stooges for all her knowledge, or lack
thereof, in what Micah and Trace seemed to be experts in.
An amused expression swept over Micah's face, and he laughed
quietly but didn't say a word. Obviously, he found her comparison to Curly,
Larry, and Moe funny.
With narrowed eyes, she huffed at him.
Well, it's true. I can't hold a candle to you two.
His expression softened and he lifted her hand to his mouth
and kissed it before turning toward her at a stoplight and mouthing,
I love
you.
Okay, so Micah knew how to allay her trepidation and her
fears, and he knew just what to say to make her all better.
I love you, too.
* * *
Trace was exhausted. The combination of Micah's mindfuck and
of the powerful orgasm afterward had him on the brink of sleep. The hum of the
Camaro's engine, as well as the soft rocking as Micah navigated them through
the streets of Chicago, lulled him even further.
He knew Micah and Sam were having some kind of silent
communication, but he didn't have the energy to question them. Were they
concerned about him? Worried? Was Sam upset? She hadn't acted upset.
That female never ceased to amaze him. She was a stalwart
rock, unmoving and resistant to the hardest pounding anyone could give her.
She'd been through a shit storm in the past month, finding out vampires exist,
almost dying from a dreck bite, saved from death by Micah's venom, and coming
face-to-face with her abusive ex-husband who had wanted to drag her back to her
former life with him.
Maybe that was why she was taking all of this with him so
well. After surviving what she'd been through, seeing a guy get mindfucked and
then holding him through a monumental orgasm was child's play.
The car slowed and turned, and when Trace blinked his eyes
open, he saw they were in the parking garage at the Sentinel. Within moments,
Micah parked, shut off the engine, got out, and pushed up his seat.
"Come on, buddy. Time to get you to bed."
Trace swatted away Micah's outstretched hand. "I'm
fine."
Fuck, he hated moving. He just wanted to stay in the car and
sleep.
"Yeah, uh-huh." Micah chuckled. "I can see
that."
Trace flipped him the bird then slowly peeled himself out of
near-slumber to climb out of the car.
Micah shut the driver's side door, and Sam joined them as
they headed toward the elevators.
"I'll make you some tea and fill a bath for you."
Micah rubbed his hand affectionately over Trace's bald head.
"No. I just want to sit and rest a bit."
"Okay, I can do that, too."
They rode up the elevator in silence, got out on the
eighteenth floor, and Sam linked her hand with his as they headed down to
Micah's apartment.
"I love you guys." Trace looked down as they
reached Micah's door.
"We love you, too, buddy." Micah unlocked the door
and let it swing open before wrapping his arm around Trace's shoulders.
"Now, come on. Inside with your ugly ass."
He grinned and flipped Micah off again as he trudged
drowsily inside, feeling like he finally had a family again.
"Go have a seat on the couch, Trace." Micah
released him and extended his arm toward the living room. "I'll make us
some tea and get you something to eat."
Trace didn't protest and walked into the living room and
grabbed the TV remote and clicked it on to ESPN.
Sam rubbed Micah's arm to catch his attention. "I'm
going to change. I'll be right back."
As Sam slipped down the hall to the bedroom, Micah went to
the kitchen and prepared a pot of chamomile tea and started making sandwiches.
Turkey with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and mustard.
His gaze lifted toward Trace, who sat with his back to him.
For all Trace's toughness, the guy really was troubled. Micah would never have
guessed it was so bad for Trace, but then he couldn't get inside that cranium
to see whatever pain Trace was dealing with. Was it really so bad?
Micah felt as if he was only just touching the surface of
Trace's secrets. Tonight, he had revealed just one of what Micah feared were
many secrets Trace kept snugly tucked out of sight.
How surreal this was. Only a few weeks ago, Micah had been
the one who was monumentally fucked up. But Trace and Sam had pulled him out of
that fire, and the scars he had carried for centuries were finally healing.
Micah was becoming the male he had been before Katarina's death.
Unfortunately, one of his two saviors now seemed to be
revealing that
he
needed saving, but Micah didn't know how to do that.
How did you remove a threat that couldn't be removed? If what Trace said was
true, his power could destroy him at any time. If he didn't subject himself or
receive his fix of pain and degradation, his power could eat him alive like
cancer.
Was this why Trace needed him? Was this what Trace wanted
from him?
Micah wouldn't assume anything, but if Trace ever came to
him and asked him to be his dom, Micah would do it in a heartbeat. In no way
would he let Trace fall prey to his powers. Micah wouldn't lose his new and
best friend — his brother — like that. No way. Trace had taken care of Micah,
now he would take care of Trace. If that's what it came to, Trace would become
his charge, just as Micah had become Trace's.
They would find a way to overcome this together.
* * *
Sam changed into sweats and a T-shirt then returned to the
living room, offering a smile to Micah as she passed the kitchen before joining
Trace on the couch.
"You look like you're about to fall asleep," she
said.
He nodded.
"Does doing a scene always do that to you?" She
might as well speak candidly. Micah had told her it might help him if she
showed him what she had seen didn't bother her.
Micah quietly entered and set a tray of sandwiches and tea
on the large ottoman in front of them then sat down beside her.
Trace chanced a cautious glance at her as he picked up one
of the sandwiches.
"Yes. Scenes are pretty exhausting."
"How come?" She grabbed a sandwich and began
eating as she looked at him.
Micah's arm wrapped around her shoulders, but he kept quiet,
almost as if he purposely wanted to stay out of the conversation.
Trace shrugged and kept his gaze averted. "The pain is
a lot to deal with." He took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and
swallowed. "And when I'm in a scene is the only time I can truly relax, so
I guess that naturally makes me tired."
"Go on." She was truly curious. After what had
happened in the storage room, as well as how excited it had made her, she found
fascination in what she had experienced, both as an observer and a participant.
He turned and searched her face, his brow furrowing
curiously. "Are you sure?"
She nodded. She knew from what Micah had said that this
wasn't the normal and usual way to react after a scene, but more seemed to be
brewing inside Trace and she got a sense he wanted to talk about it.
Trace glanced between her and Micah. "Well, it's my
powers," he said slowly. "Being a submissive and putting myself
through that is the only way I can…." He hesitated. "Well, it's the
only way I can actually feel free."
"Free?" she said.
He nodded. "Most of the time, my powers keep me locked
in a state of tension. But when I'm in a scene, the pain and humiliation push
my powers back. For just a little while, I feel normal."