Chapter fourteen
The door shuts, and I stand in the middle of Micah’s private quarters, the Overseer’s quarters, with the scent and feel of him surrounding me. I wait for some incredible understanding to slide into place, but there is blank space.
My mind has shut down.
I cave to the laden sensation overtaking me and search for the bedroom, certain a hot shower or a bath will do me a world of good.
I enter a bedroom that is a masculine masterpiece with a four-poster bed as the focal point.
The wood is expensive, dark, and heavy. The nightstand’s the same.
The television, a massive flat screen, is facing the bed.
But for all the room’s glamour, there’s nothing personal about it.
There’s no story of Micah, no interests, and no photos.
And yet, he is here, his scent, masculine and earthy, lances the air.
I’m in trouble with Micah. He has all the power.
I have none. The way I fix that is to learn how to stand on my own in this new world.
Then any place I end up is my choice, not his.
If I am like him, a future leader, as he called me, he would expect nothing less.
I cannot be in a part of the world that places me on my knees.
I walk to the door I presume to be a closet and flip on the light.
Sure enough, it’s a walk-in, and a collection of leather, denim, and T-shirts lines the wall, along with a few suits.
After a little searching, I snag the smallest T-shirt I can find, as well as a pair of giant sweats. I’ll make them work.
With my new garments in my arms, I enter a truly luxurious bathroom.
The décor is oh so Micah—utterly masculine with deep brown tile and wood tones everywhere, including the frame of a soaking tub I’m not passing up.
I shut the door, start a bath, and then strip, washing my clothes in the standalone shower before hanging them on the top edge of the door.
I find a spicy-scented shampoo and conditioner and suds up every part of me.
An hour later, my hair is dry, my face scrubbed clean, and I’m in the clothes I’ve chosen from the closet.
I exit to his bedroom, grab a pillow and a blanket, and head to the living room.
I’m starving, but I’m too tired to scavenge the kitchen.
Sleep claws at me, a wild animal mauling me from within.
I curl up on the couch and drag the heavy blanket over me, fully intending to doze off until Micah returns.
Then I have questions. A lot of questions.
I close my eyes, ticking off a mental list—the lure of slumber an enchantment that’s hard to deny.
For a few moments, there is nothing but the sweet bliss of relaxation, of sleep, but strange images permeate the darkness.
Me as a baby, impossibly tiny. A woman handing me to a stranger, a man.
My mother crying for me, yelling at my father for allowing this to happen.
I reject the images, shoving them away. None of it is real.
It can’t be real. I was a baby. The images transform to Ryker on top of me.
I’m fighting, thrashing about. Then there is ash.
Then I am standing tall with a star in my hand, and I know how to use it.
I’m fighting demons, killing demons, and I feel no fear.
But all of the bravado in me is yanked away.
I’m back in the courtroom with Jeremy, and he touches me.
The murders begin to play in my head. I battle to escape the prison of my mind, but I cannot.
I’m trapped, screaming for them, trying to save them.
“Ember.”
My name echoes in the shadows of pain and sorrow, cutting through it all, familiar but too far away to reach.
“Ember.”
I jerk to a sitting position and twist around to find Micah on a knee beside the couch, and he has clearly showered and changed, now wearing a black T-shirt and jeans. “What time is it?”
“Six in the morning.”
“Morning?” I blink away grogginess. “I didn’t hear you come in last night.”
“I didn’t until just now. I thought you’d use my bed.”
And he was in another, I think, and I hate that this bothers me. I don’t know this man. He’s not mine. “I wasn’t going to take your bed. I was waiting on you.”
His lips quirk. “I didn’t know you were waiting on me for bed.”
I hold up a hand. “Not to be in your bed with you. To talk to you.”
“Right. Talk. That’s what most people do in bed.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
He laughs, low and soft. “I know. I’m just—”
“Being an asshole?”
“An asshole whose clothes you’re wearing.” There’s a hint of intimacy in his tone. “Which you were welcome to, by the way. I told you I was going to give you space to deal with everything I told you. I slept in the training facility. Alone.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I wanted you to know.” He stands up and offers me his hand.
I throw the blanket away and slide my hand into his before standing. “I don’t want to run you out of your own home.”
“I can promise you, Ember, I wanted to be here.” He catches my chin in his fingers. “I’ve had months to get to know you. You haven’t had that luxury in reverse.”
“And what do you think you know about me, Micah?”
“You’re brave. Determined. Intelligent. And so damn beautiful you could break me just by letting me look at you.”
My cheeks heat with the rasp of his words along my nerve endings. “I don’t—”
“I do to whatever you’re about to say.”
“You didn’t answer me last night. Why do you feel familiar? Why do I to you?”
“I’m working on that answer, Ember, not avoiding it.
” His hands settle on my waist. “Today is all about teaching you about your new life.” He motions to a pile of clothes at the end of the couch.
“A few of the ladies in the garrison put together a care package for you. There are some clothes and a bag filled with things they assure me you will want and need. Get dressed, and we’ll eat.
When our bellies are full, we’ll get to work. ”
“That was very kind of them.”
“Don’t let the cold greeting when we arrived fool you. We’re royalty. You’re royalty.”
“Royalty?”
“Yes. The elite. We are the ones that save the world when it needs saving.”
I draw in a hard-earned breath and confess. “A fortune teller declared me the end of the world.”
There’s a beat, in which he’s as unreadable as a tarot would be if someone placed it in front of me, and then, “That’s your choice, Ember. Remember that.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s what I told you about Jeremy. He can’t take what you don’t give. Neither can I. Free will is a gift no one can take away from us.” He reaches behind him to the coffee table and hands me the big bag he’d mentioned. “Go get dressed. I’ll go make breakfast. Food will be ready when you get back.”
“You actually cook your own meals?”
“I’m the Master Chef of demon hunters.”
“Does this mean you’ll be wearing an apron and holding a spatula when I get back?”
“Go get dressed.” He turns me the other direction.
I’m actually smiling as I head toward his room.
My name slides off his tongue with a hint of warmth I feel in every part of me. There is something about Micah that burns like fire in my belly. “Yes?” I say, pausing at the doorway to find him unmoved, still standing in the same spot where I’d left him.
“Next time, don’t wait for me.” There’s steel in his words. “Never wait on anyone.” He doesn’t wait for a reply or offer me the chance to ask him to explain what he means. He’s already dismissed me, walking toward the kitchen.
I can’t possibly know what he meant, but I don’t think I like it.