Free All the King's Men: The Beginning by Donya Lynne Page B

away.
    Tristan had had enough. He jumped out of his chair, and before anyone knew what was going on, he had Micah by the throat and dragged him away from the others. "I've had enough of your shit, Micah. You'd better calm the hell down and NOW!"
    Micah snarled. "Or what? You'll pull rank on my ass and rip out my trachea? Go ahead. Do it." Blind fury with an edge of anguish shone from his navy blue eyes, and for an instant, Tristan felt as though Micah wanted him to do exactly what he'd just said, which would kill him. The look on Micah's face told Tristan all he needed to know about the state of Micah's relationship with Jackson. It was getting worse.
    Part of Tristan—the new father he was going to be within the year—wanted to pull Micah in, hug him, tell him that everything was going to be okay. But hugs and consolation weren't Micah's thing. He was too macho for shit like that. Besides, hugs and sympathy weren't what Micah needed. That shit would only piss him off more. Still, Tristan didn't want to lose him. Micah had trained him, for God's sake. He was the toughest fucker Tristan had ever known, and he was the most lethal with a blade and a bow and arrow. The guy could hit a flea from fifty yards.
    By rights, Micah should be in charge of the team right now, not Tristan. Hell, as brilliant as Micah was in the field and in matters of battle, he should be in charge of AKM, not just the team, but his mental state after Katarina's death had prevented his promotion. Time and again, as opportunities to advance within the King's Guard, which eventually became All the King's Men, presented themselves, Micah had been passed over. As those around him moved up in the ranks and took positions he should have filled, Micah remained a grunt, lagging behind because mated suffering compromised his mind, as well as his body. During the transition to AKM, Micah had only barely squeaked in as an enforcer, mostly on his reputation and his former relationship with King Bain, who refused to see Micah's skills wasted. Tristan felt nothing but respect for Micah, but respect only went so far when an inferno of misery smoldered from losing a mate, waiting for Jackson to leave so it could rekindle and burn Micah from the inside out this time.
    "Micah, just cool off." Tristan pushed Micah away and turned his gaze on the others in the room. "Everybody else, shut up and sit down." The look he gave them must have conveyed his worry about Micah's mental state, because some of their bluster evaporated, and they slowly fell back into their respective spaces as Micah growled and backed toward the wall near Trace, who kept a watchful eye on him.
    A few tense moments ticked by, but when no one mouthed off or took a swing at anyone else, Tristan finally sat back down. "Okay, now that we're all better," he arched an eyebrow at Micah, and then at Ari and Io, "we can get started. As you already found out from blabbermouth, Josie's pregnant. We found out a week ago."
    Subdued congratulations rose again from everyone except Micah. Well, and Trace, who simply nodded and slipped a matchstick between his lips like it was a toothpick.
    "She's due next August, and, depending on how things go, I might need to take time off occasionally to tend to her." It was the male's duty to take care of his female during pregnancy, so Tristan would be given a long leash for the next nine months. "When that happens, Malek will be in charge." He shot Micah a glance as if he expected him to protest, but his dark-haired mentor kept his gaze on the floor, frown firmly in place, arms crossed defiantly over his broad chest. The guy was like rock, both solid and apathetic, as if being passed over yet again in the rank and file didn't bother him, but Tristan knew it had to grate Micah's nerves to be notched ever lower in the pecking order. Setting Micah on the sidelines as merely an enforcer and not a leader was like benching the star quarterback, but what else could Tristan do? Micah was