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Ignoring the throbbing in his head, he turned on the water in the shower an
d let it get hot before stepping into the stall. For a few minutes he stood and enjoyed the spray beating down, soothing his tired, abused muscles. It did little to ease the pain in his head, however. In fact, the throb ramped up to a sharp stab behind his left eye that left him breathless, and warmth gushed from his nose.
“Shit.”
He swiped his hand underneath his nose, then stared at the blood. There was more this time, the bleeding heavier. It would stop, though. Always did.
Tilting his head back, he let the spray wash the blood away until the flow ceased. Then he finished his shower and stepped out, toweling off. In the bedroom, he dressed in jeans and a plain black T-shirt,
then pulled on his black boots, sliding his big knife into the right one. Typically he went light on weapons when he and the guys weren’t out on a call. But he couldn’t always shift into his wolf, especially in public, and it never hurt to be prepared.
As he straightened, his gaze found the small pill bottle resting on the dresser. He hated being dependent on that shit, so leaving it behind should be easy. Right? Yet the very thought of being in town, out in the field, or even across the compound, and not having it when the demons closed in? God, the idea made his hands shake and his heart race. Made him sweat.
Taking myst was like wrapping himself in a soft, warm blanket, chasing away the cold. The darkness. The stuff cocooned him in a layer of I-don’t-give-a-fuck, at least for a few blessed hours. Sweet relief.
Hating himself, he snatched the bottle with a curse and opened the lid, downed a couple pills, dry-swallowing them. Then he shoved the container into his front jeans pocket. Sucking in a deep breath, he let it out slowly and waited. Gradually, the medicine took effect and he felt the turmoil in his mind ease. His muscles relaxed, tension bleeding away.
There would be a price, though. Always was.
Leaving his quarters, he walked into the hallway and shut the door behind him. Everyone was probably at breakfast by now. The thought of eating made his stomach twist, but he didn’t want to be alone. Besides, acting normal, sticking to his routine, kept his buddies and his sister, Rowan, off his back. Mostly.
Fake it till you make it.
His boots shuffled on the carpeted floor as he made his way to his destination. Outside the dining room, he paused. The aromas of pancakes, bacon, and syrup simultaneously made his stomach rumble and stirred a flutter of nausea that rose in his throat. He was so hungry, he could have eaten a half-cooked goblin, but the side effects of the medicine prevented him from consuming much without getting sick. Another misery to add to the growing list.
“You gonna go eat or just stand there sniffing the air?”
Turning, he managed a grin for Nick Westfall, the Alpha Pack’s commander, and tried to ignore how the expression pulled strangely at the ruined side of his face. His boss was with his new mate, Calla Shaw, and the vampire princess was glowing. Nick appeared as proud and happy as any man would, being the reason for that glow—and the baby in her belly, which was several weeks along. Lucky bastard.
“Good morning,” Micah said, nodding to them both.
“Princess, you look more beautiful every time I see you. How’re you feeling?”
“Thank you.” She smiled as her mate tugged her into his side possessively. “Other than some morning sickness when I first wake up, I’m doing well.”
“I’m glad to hear it. After you?” Stepping aside, he gestured for Nick and Calla to enter the dining room first. His attempt to avoid further conversation wasn’t as subtle as he’d thought, and Nick kissed his mate on the lips, hanging back.
“Go on ahead, sweetheart. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay.” She threw Micah a look of sympathy before proceeding inside.
Once she was gone, Micah tried to head Nick off. “I’m fine, so there’s no need to start in on me again. Really.”
“Is that so?” Nick’s sharp blue gaze pierced him like an ice pick. “I suppose that’s why your eyes are bloodshot and have circles under them so dark, it looks like you haven’t slept in a month. Or why your hands are shaking.”
Suddenly self-conscious, he looked away, fisting his hands to still them. “I’m okay, Nick. Just a little tired. The meds are helping.”
“From where I’m standing, I have to disagree.” The other man’s frown deepened. “But I realize now isn’t the time or place to get into a discussion. I want to talk to you after breakfast, in my office.”
Fucking fantastic.
The commander was just concerned. Logically, Micah knew that, but it still sucked to
be singled out and pinned down. Unreasonable anger churned in his gut, but he managed to nod. “Sure.”
Appearing satisfied with Micah’s answer, the commander left him. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, Micah walked into the dining room and cast about for a good place to sit. For damn sure not with his boss. He didn’t want to give the Seer more opportunity than necessary to poke around in his biz.
At one table, he spotted Noah Brooks, Sanctuary’s head nurse, sitting with Phoenix Monroe, one of Micah’s Pack bros. Noah was a smaller guy, slim, with short, messy blond hair and big blue eyes that he currently had trained on the tall, lithe man who would be his Bondmate—if only the dumbass would cooperate. It took the anger already boiling in Micah’s blood and amplified it a few notches.
