Rebel Obsession (35 page)

The guard’s eyes wavered, probably because he understood as well as Miriam did just what was happening to Io right now. The
calling
without a mate was the equivalent of being kicked in the nuts with a sledgehammer dropped from a ten-story building, and like any sane male, just the thought was enough to make even the guard mentally cross his legs and wince.

“My orders are to ensure you stay in your room, Daughter of Bain.”

Miriam screeched in frustration, throwing her hands in the air before pounding her fists against the guard’s chest.

“Let me go! He needs me! You bastard, he needs me!” And she needed him.

Withdrawal was reclaiming her, and she didn’t have Io’s tonic. Any progress they’d made to get her off cobalt was about to go out the window, because if she didn’t get either tonic or cobalt soon, she would be in as bad a shape as Io, and it wouldn’t be pretty for anyone who got in her way, if her outburst at Io’s house the other day was any indication.

Another heart-ripping cry shot up from the dungeon, and Miriam threw herself against the guard, sobbing.

“Can’t you give him something? Something to ease the pain or knock him out again so that he doesn’t have to feel what he’s feeling?” Miriam clung to the guard’s shoulders, her head bowed in surrender. “Please. If you won’t let me go to him, tell my father to give him something so he won’t feel the pain anymore.”

The guard shifted against her hold, and Miriam looked up. The guard’s expression was cautious and dark. He almost looked guilty.

“What?” Miriam’s blood ran cold. Something was wrong.

The guard remained silent, pursing his lips stubbornly.

“TELL ME!” She shoved him back against the door, her mounting withdrawal making her strong as she screamed at him.

He gasped and stared at her in shock, then said, “He who defiled you is to be put to death by moonfall, Daughter of Bain. He will be out of his misery soon enough.”

By moonfall. By morning.

Miriam stumbled backward, her mental faculties short-circuiting. “No.” The word licked from her on a staccato beat, and she fixed the guard in her gaze. “No. I don’t believe you.”

“It is to be so, Daughter of Bain.”

Her room seemed to draw in on her as if she were flying backward into a tunnel as the walls caved and collapsed. Io was her mate. He was her life. They had sworn themselves to each other in the ancient words of commitment and devotion. She couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not when she had just found him.

Io had been the only one to understand her. He had made her feel alive again and had given her hope. Could her father really be so cruel as to take the one thing — the
only
thing — that mattered away from her?

She turned and staggered away from the guard, scratching her arms violently. The news that Io would be executed within hours got along with her growing withdrawal about as well as T-Rex would get along with New York. She was sinking fast, her mind fritzing out and blinking back on as if she were a lightning rod in a storm. Io. Cobalt. Io. Cobalt. Each took turns being more important than the other in her mind as she fell further into withdrawal. Five minutes passed, then ten, her staggering turning to agitated pacing, her thoughts turning to drug-fueled need and obsession, as well as revenge.

She had to make her father pay. Her father and everyone else who had stolen away her happiness. What had they taken from her again? Oh yes. Io. That’s right. Io…Io…where was he again? Her brain was misfiring. She couldn’t remember. Where was she? She looked around her bedroom. The place looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite recognize it. Oh yes, this was her room. Where was Io? He should be here. She darted her head around toward the guard, scratching—endlessly scratching her arms.

Through the drug-induced haze, Miriam was swiftly losing her mind. And behind the withdrawal, another feeling—a much stronger one that she couldn’t identify—tormented her, pulling and rattling her thoughts to…what? What was the important thing she couldn’t remember? Rage boiled inside her…and a need that was almost sexual. Reality became a blur. Something important was happening, but all she could see was cobalt, cobalt, more cobalt. And retribution. Her body trembled for both, inner voices screaming at her to run, just run, and find her next hit and then to punish her father for hurting her.

Cobalt. She needed to find more cobalt. Now. And make her father pay. Cobalt and revenge. Revenge for…? Why did she need to make her father pay? She couldn’t remember, but it was important. He had stolen something precious from her, and she needed to hurt him as payback. She knew she had to get away and punish him.

In a panicked frenzy, Miriam spun around and around, making herself dizzy as she looked for an escape. Out. She needed out.

She grabbed her purse, her entire body twitching as the incessant itching intensified. Turning toward her bedroom door, she stopped and frowned.

“What are y…you doing h…here?” she said to the guard.

The guard looked at her as if she were a stranger. “I’ve been assigned to watch you,” he said slowly, as if he was confused by Miriam’s behavior.

“Watch me?” Miriam spat at him. “My father’s lackey.” She curled her lip in disgust. “Get out of my way.”

The guard stiffened as if readying himself to fight.

“Move. Now.” Miriam took a single, stalking step toward him, her eyes narrowing.

“I’m under king’s orders—”

Before he could utter another word, Miriam rushed him, shrieking, rage and need making her powerful. She shoved him back against the door, which he hit so hard the thick wood cracked and splintered. With an animalistic snarl, she grabbed the collar of his shit-brown, military-style T-shirt and pulled as she fell backward and rolled, tossing him behind her. When she flipped herself up to her knees and spun, her wild hair fanned and flew around her face. Not giving the guard a chance to pull his weapon or defend himself, Miriam landed on him, clamping her legs around his torso on either side of his chest as she thrust the butt of her right hand against his nose, shattering it.

The guard cried out then grunted into silence as she tightened her legs against his torso, rocked, lifted him, and then slammed him into the floor again.

He tried to push her off, but she grabbed one of his wrists and twisted. As a pure-breed vampire, she was strong, but riding a violent wave of cobalt detox-induced withdrawal—and whatever else this sensation was that raged through her body—made her even stronger, and the guard’s wrist snapped like a dry twig.

As he screamed in pain, she clamped her hand over his mouth, the blood from his broken nose coating her skin, and bent down so that her disarrayed hair hung in his face. “The k…king is a fool,” she said, her body shuddering violently. “You tell him I’ll m…make him pay. I’ll make y…you all p…pay. You’ll all be sorry for w…what you’ve d…done.”

The door busted open behind her, the sound of splintering wood ripping the air, and Miriam spun around and hopped up in a crouch, hissing.

More like a savage animal, she was lost in withdrawal’s grip—withdrawal and something else—something primal and savagely protective. Seeing her exit suddenly closed off, she hissed again, snatched her purse from the floor, and leaped for the window. She punched her fists through the glass and crashed through, somersaulting to the ground below.

As soon as she touched down, she took off running. She heard footsteps behind her, but the farther she ran, the farther behind the footsteps grew. No one but her father could run faster than she could.

A guard materialized in front of her, but she ran him over.

The woods. She needed to escape into the woods. She could lose them there then dematerialize to the city once she could focus.

Hustling into the shadows, she led her pursuers farther into the blackness. Quieter and quieter their footsteps became until she couldn’t even hear them anymore. But they were still following. She knew they were tracking her scent like the dogs they were. Her father’s dogs.

Miriam ducked around the trunk of a large maple tree then shimmied down the slope of a hill sideways until she hit the bottom. Following the shallow ravine, she let her body calm and her mind focus so she could dematerialize to the city.

Footsteps tromped over the leaves, growing closer, but they were too late. They would track her this far, but then the trail would go cold.

Miriam closed her eyes and turned to mist and then was gone.

Free. At last. She never wanted to set foot inside that house again.

Never.

But she’d left something behind. Something important. If only she could remember what it was.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Micah looked around the small room where he and Trace were being held. He knew from the thoughts of those who had put them in the cell that this place wasn’t the king’s residence—it was too small and official looking for that anyway. The king conducted business here. Mostly trials and legal proceedings.

Even though he couldn’t tap into the king’s thoughts, Micah could feel his presence, just as he had when Miriam was taken to AKM to be returned to Io. Micah had been surprised to sense the king in the back of the limousine, knowing that King Bain never went out in public. It showed just how much he cared for his daughter, even if his way of showing it was unorthodox and a bit…well, tyrannical.

Back in the Middle Ages, Micah had trained King Bain, who had only been a young prince then. He had been a serious student, and Micah’s training had likely saved his life on more than one occasion over the centuries.

But now wasn’t the time to be thinking about the good ol’ days. He and Trace needed to talk about what had happened back at the apartment.

Trace sat in silence next to him, his eyes closed and his head resting back against the brick wall.

He, Sam, and Trace had developed an unusual, intimate bond in the past couple of months. One where they found pleasure in exhibitionism, voyeurism, and a touch of BDSM, but Micah wanted more from Trace. As in, more submission, more calling him “Master.” More desire to be tied up and dominated in a way only Micah could provide.

Glancing at his friend, frustration welled inside him over how Trace had reacted back at the apartment. For two months, he had wanted nothing more than to become Trace’s master, but Trace hadn’t taken that step with him. Until today. Now Micah wondered exactly where they stood. Clearly, Trace wanted to be Micah’s submissive, but why now? Why hadn’t he taken that step before today?

“What’s on your mind, Micah?” Trace kept his face forward, eyes closed.

Micah stared at him, not sure if he was mad, excited, or confused.

Trace’s eyelids cracked open and his pale eyes slid to Micah’s, all cool calm and impassive. For several seconds, they only stared at each other.

“Why haven’t you approached me before today about being your dom?”

Trace broke eye contact, sighed, and leaned his head back against the wall again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He closed his eyes almost wearily. Or maybe he was just preparing himself for Micah’s response.

“Fuck that shit. Don’t give me that line of crap.” He tapped Trace’s temple with the tip of his index finger.

Trace blinked his eyes open at the contact, but otherwise didn’t move as his gaze lifted to Micah’s and he frowned. “You saw my thoughts?”

“I didn’t have to.” Micah pointed to his own eyes. “You showed me everything I needed to know in the way you looked at me and called me ‘Master.’” Micah squinted at Trace, trying to figure the guy out. “So, what’s going on? Why haven’t you allowed me to be your master? Your
only
master?”

What he had seen in Trace’s eyes at the apartment had made his inner dom jump up and wave its little, leather-clad hands with excitement.
Lemme at him! Lemme at him!

Trace shook his head and looked away. “You’ve got Sam. I’m not going to get in the way of that, Micah.”

Ever since he had introduced Sam to his playroom at his home in the suburbs, she had come to enjoy bondage games and let him unleash a little of his mastery on her, but he would never go total dom on Sam. She wouldn’t be able to take that. But Trace? He was a different story. From what Micah had seen at the BDSM party, Trace liked it rough and harsh. In fact, the harder the better.

“What the hell does that mean?” Micah’s inner dom was already checking its supply of isopropyl alcohol and oiling the whip. Damn, when was the last time Micah had engaged in fire play? Playing mind games with Trace was one thing, but the thought of getting more physical and giving Trace the pain he so desperately needed to keep his powers at bay was enough to make him pant. Shit, he needed to stop thinking like this or he’d start drooling.

“What are you thinking about there, Micah?”

The two exchanged glances, and Micah swore Trace could see inside his thoughts. An eager glint lit in those pale depths—a hunger for what Micah was capable of sparking to life. So, why did Trace hold himself back when Micah clearly wanted to give him what he needed?

“You answer me first.” Micah kept his eyes on Trace, watching for his nuances, not that he had many.

“What? Why I didn’t tell you how badly I needed it? Or how I’ve wanted the pain you can give since I met you?” Trace dropped his gaze and rubbed his palms on his thighs.

“All of it.” Micah frowned at Trace’s uncharacteristic, nervous behavior.

Trace shrugged. “I knew how you were.”

In other words, Trace was afraid Micah would have told him to go fuck himself and exactly how he could place his hand on his own cock to do so. Until recently, he hadn’t been the nicest or most approachable guy on the block.

“Things are different now, Trace. You know that.” Micah leaned forward and eyed Trace. “I’m not that person anymore. Thanks in large part to you for watching over my sorry ass. And you should know by now, after all that’s happened between you, Sam, and me that I would never turn you away.”

“Whatever.” Trace waved him off.

“Fuck that. You tell me what’s going on? Why, Trace? Why don’t you want me to dom you?” Why was Trace being so evasive?