Free Rise of the Fallen by Donya Lynne Page B

nodded toward the door Micah
had just walked through on his way out.
    Trace shrugged on his coat, already armed up. "Sure
thing. I was just on my way out, anyway. What am I looking for?"
    This was what Tris liked about Trace. The guy never talked
back. "Just follow him. I want to make sure he doesn't go hara-kiri
again."
    With a nod, Trace pulled a black skullcap over his shaved
head and went after Micah. Tristan trusted Trace to keep his distance and not
get caught spying. Micah was good and still might realize he was being
followed, but that was a risk Tristan was willing to take to ensure his best
enforcer didn't do something stupid, like get himself killed.
    * * *
    With long strides, Micah ate up the sidewalk, deep in
thought. Not only had it been too many days since he had seen the woman who
consumed his thoughts, but now he had to worry about John Apostle. Micah had
promised the dreck he hadn't been out to trick him and that he wanted him to
wipe his ass off the face of the Earth, but then Wonder Woman had arrived on
the scene and changed his fate.
    Surely, Apostle would be out for his blood now. Drecks
didn't like any kind of reneging and took a broken promise personally, even if
it had been out of Micah's control.
    Moreover, Apostle could have marked Sam, and that shit
didn't fly. Micah would break all kinds of promises and peace treaties to keep
Sam Garrett protected. Fuck Apostle and his bunch of rodents. If they made a
move on Sam, he'd fuck up their world so righteously the galaxy would shift
from the gravitational pull of his wrath.
    Even now, Micah's fists clenched at the thought of Apostle
or his cronies hurting her. He already thought of Sam as his, and it was
well-known in their world that if you touched anyone claimed by a vampire, you
touched the vampire, too. So, best touch lightly, and even then it was best not
to touch at all or risk retribution.
    As he turned a corner, the golden arches of McDonald's were
a not-so-subtle subliminal message for his stomach, glowing like a gateway to
gastronomical bliss while proverbial angels sang. His stomach was encouraged to
rumble its approval: Feed me. Micah had been on eating autopilot since
he had met Sam, his appetite roaring back to life like a pride of lions that
hadn't eaten in a month and found themselves in the midst of a herd of zebras.
Smorgasbord!
    Walking through the parking lot and stepping up to the
entrance, he hesitated before opening the door for a young, pregnant woman
trying to corral her two young, pajama-clad children.
    The woman's gaze lifted when she realized someone was
holding the door for her. With a nervous start, she eyed him fearfully.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me get out of your way." Her eyes took in his
black attire and what must have been a scary-ass mug to make her look at him
like he was Dracula.
    Frowning, Micah ran his tongue over his teeth, ensuring his
fangs weren't bared. He normally had this effect on people, both men and women
alike, but it was better to make sure he hadn't vamped out without realizing
it. He had been off-kilter the last few days, after all.
    Averting his gaze, he stepped back and tried to say in his
most congenial voice, "No hurry, ma'am. Take your time. Can I lend a
hand?"
    "No." The word snapped out. She probably thought
he had asked if he could help her so he could get her alone and have his way
with her or some shit. Sometimes, being the scary-looking, bad-ass vampire with
an attitude problem had major drawbacks. This was one of them. Why it suddenly
mattered, though, was a mystery.
    "Have a good evening, ma'am," he said. She ushered
her kids past him and out the door to the minivan in a nearby space.
    She ignored him and he sighed with disappointment as he
entered and approached the counter. As the barely-twenty-something girl behind
the counter shrank back, Micah mentally rolled his eyes. Shit. Couldn't he just
enter a McDonald's and order some goddamn food without everyone he came in
contact with thinking