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“Sure. Peace out. See you later.”
Frowning, Micah watched Aric go. Apparently, his friends had a preconceived opinion about Jacee that was less than complimentary. That pissed him off more than a little. They hadn’t even given her a chance. All things considered, he’d play things close
r to the vest when it came to telling the others about Jacee. At least until he could figure out what they were freaking out about—or Jacee told him herself.
After checking the time on his phone, he sighed. Hours to go before he could pick her up. Might as well make himself useful.
He couldn’t help but note the spring in his step, which hadn’t been there before.
* * *
Nick rubbed his eyes, tired.
Keeping a compound full of testosterone-driven shifters busy and out of trouble was more work that it seemed worth some days. Some more than others. Today he simply wanted to go back to the quarters he shared with Calla, take a long shower, and hit the bed early. Not like him at all.
But the visions were coming more frequently and in greater detail. Especially the one he’d seen moments ago and was still recovering from. The terrible one he’d warned Micah about. Closing his eyes, he thought back to recall every single thing, out of necessity.
Micah and Jacee Buchanan faced off in an unfamiliar bedroom. “What the fuck is this, Micah?” she shouted, shaking a small bottle in her fist. The contents rattled ominously between the couple. “You told me you’d stopped using! You lied to me, to your team!”
“Jacee, please—”
“Please, what? Give you another chance, and another, while I wait for the day one of your brothers comes to tell me you’re dead of an overdose? Or were gutted by the enemy because you were stoned during a fight?”
“No,” he denied, voice tight. “That won’t happen.”
“You need to go.” Looking defeated, she turned her back on him. “Now.”
“Baby, please. Don’t throw me away. I’ll get help. I’ll quit. Anything—”
“Now, Micah.”
She meant it. Micah had no right to stay, no grounds to defend himself. Taking a breath, he said, “I love you. That won’t change, ever. I’m always here if you need me or change your mind.”
Numbly, he walked past her and out the bedroom door. Kept going, all the way outside to his motorcycle, where he sat and stared at her house for long moments. A tear trailed down his face, and he wiped it away with his sleeve. Trying to keep it together.
Failing.
Cranking the bike, Micah sped away from the house. From the loss tearing out his insides. He ran from his ruined life, the destruction of his hopes and dreams. With the Pack, with his mate.
And so he didn’t see the shifter with the huge wings swoop down from the sky, talons extended, intent clear. Nick couldn’t scream. Couldn’t warn Micah of the danger.
The creature hit Micah from the side, hard, knocking him from the speeding motorcycle. Micah went airborne, flying through the air for awful seconds—until he slammed headfirst into a tree. Falling to the ground in a crumpled heap, head at an unnatural angle, he stared into the sky. Struggled to breathe.
And then stopped, brown eyes fixing on a point he could no longer see.
And that wasn’t all. Another vision hummed at the edge of Nick’s awareness and slid slowly into his consciousness like a snake through tall grass.
A predator watched from the shadows, seething with hatred. He was careful, keeping himself hidden. Always hiding in the shadows. No one could see what he’d become.
But the one who’d done this would pay. He would see.
And he would die.
Nick stood, shaking off the exhaustion. Micah’s fate hadn’t changed, but it would. It had to. He hadn’t lost one of his men yet.
And he damn well wasn’t going to start now.
Four
