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Micah first became aware of the incessant beeping that he hated. Then the smells.
The one scent he was glad to pick out was that of his mate. She was the sole reason he’d struggled so hard to return to the living. To open his eyes. Otherwise he wouldn’t have given two shits if he ever moved again.
Micah tried to recall what in the holy hell had happened. An argument with Jacee. About what?
Oh. Shit. She’d found the bottle of myst. They’d had words. He’d left, intending to just go blow off some steam for a while. Damn, he wasn’t used to having to answer for his every fucking move, and he was trying. So hard. He hadn’t even taken any of the goddamn pills, but she hadn’t believed him, had she?
Maybe she had. But he remembered she kept saying Micah had lied. By omission.
Truth. No way around that. He hadn’t wanted to worry her, but maybe that hadn’t counted for anything. She’d felt she couldn’t trust him, and the hurt had driven him away. Temporarily.
Wasn’t like he’d planned to stay gone. But the creature had attacked first, blood and vengeance on its mind. It had intended to tear him to pieces, carry him away, and then finish the job. Perhaps even eat him for dinner.
God. He’d narrowly escaped that fate. The last real memory he had was of his Pack arriving, Aric shooting flames at the beast. Of falling. And then nothing.
Had he even hit the ground? Something told him he wouldn’t have been alive to talk about it if he had. Kalen was probably to thank for intervening there.
After quite a bit of effort, Micah managed to open his eyes. Focusing took a few more minutes, but when he did, he saw his mate sleeping on the sofa under the window. She looked so small and vulnerable lying there, his heart broke for what she’d endured because of his stupidity.
And the monster’s cruelty. He couldn’t forget that. Yes, he’d tortured innocents. But he was coming to understand that his friends were right—only a soul that was truly twisted to start with would end up at this extreme, killing and maiming. Perhaps Bowman had merely made sure the outside of the creature matched the inside.
The “good doctor” had tried to accomplish the same thing with Micah. He’d tried to mold Micah into a ruthless killer, but thankfully the lessons had never taken. Micah hadn’t been able to kill an innocent, no matter what punishments Bowman threatened him with. That was the truth, and he’d swear it in front of anyone.
As though sensing his stare, Jacee stirred and stretched. After a couple of minutes she opened her eyes to find him watching, and sat up fast.
“You’re awake! My God, I thought I’d lost you.” Tears flooded her pretty eyes, and she came to sit by his bed, taking his face in her hands.
“You didn’t,” he croaked. “I’m made of tougher stuff than that.”
“You almost died. It took my blood and Calla’s to bring you back. Don’t ever do that to me again. Please.” She kissed his lips tenderly.
“I’ll try. How long have I been out?”
“Since last night. You were really messed up. The doctors had to remove your spleen and appendix. But everything else healed on its own. Well, with some help.”
“I’m so grateful. Thank you, baby. I’ll thank Nick and Calla later, too.”
“They won’t want your thanks, just for you to get well. How do you feel?”
He thought about that. “Like hell. But it beats the alternative.”
“Yes, it does.”
She got quiet, and he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I was wondering if you remember having a dream about me last night?”
He smiled. “About us, at our cabin? Making love in the pool?”
She nodded, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”
“Because it wasn’t just a dream. We reached out to each other, and so I directed us in our dream. That’s what a Dreamwalker does.”
“So it happened, and yet it didn’t.”
“We met on almost a spiritual level. Our minds connected. I helped with the rest.”
“That’s just . . .”
