Bound Guardian Angel (24 page)

Io shook his head. “Nope, and I’ve scanned
all the footage. He went into the Heritage and stayed there.”

“Doubtful.” Micah’s instincts told him he
was missing something.

“Maybe he
wants
you to find him.”

“Why? So I can kill him?” Because killing
the guy was right near the top of his to-do list. Right under
stuffing his foot up the guy’s ass.

“Maybe that’s the game he’s playing. Maybe
this was all just an elaborate ploy to get your attention, and he
wants something from you.”

“Oh, he’s got my attention all right.” Micah
considered his options then pulled out his phone. He hit Severin’s
speed dial. As he waited for Sev to pick up, he said to Io, “I want
you to do background checks on everyone who lives at the
Heritage.”

“That’ll take some time.”

“I don’t care. Do it. I want this asshole.”
He started for the door.

“On it.” Io turned back to his console just
as Sev picked up.

“It had better be burning, bleeding, or in
the middle of an apocalypse for you to interrupt me right now,
Micah.” Sev sounded out of breath.

Micah heard Ari moan in the background.
Those two fucked more than he did, and that was saying something,
because his favorite pastime was exploring Sam’s body as often as
he could.

“Don’t you two ever quit?” he said.

Sev let out an irritated sigh. “Either tell
me why you called, Micah, or I’m hanging up.”

Micah grinned. He respected Sev’s style. “I
need you. Now.”

Sev cleared his throat, and Micah heard a
rustling noise that sounded as if Sev’s head was planted firmly in
a pillow. “Um, not only am I in the middle of something right now,
but you’re gonna make Ari jealous saying shit like that to me.”

“Like what?” Ari said in the background.

It sounded like Sev put his hand over the
phone, but Micah still heard him say, “Nothing, I’ll tell you
later.”

Micah chuckled softly. “Fuck your mate, Sev,
but make it a quickie. Then get over to the Millennium parking
garage.” Micah marched down the hall toward his office.

“The Millennium garage? Why?”

“Just hurry and fuck your mate and get
going. I’ll e-mail you the details.” Micah disconnected.

He needed a day walker for this task, and
since Trace was cooped up with Medusa’s daughter, that left
Severin.

Sometimes, being a full-blooded vampire
pissed him off. Mixed-bloods had all the fun. They could go out in
the sun, came with a variety of nifty powers, and had a lot more
flexibility, in general.

No more than ten seconds after he e-mailed
the video and all the pertinents to Sev, Micah’s mobile rang.

He answered without checking the caller ID.
“Micah Black.”

“Micah.” It was Brak.

Shit, he’d forgotten to call him.

“Brak, hey. I’m sorry I haven’t called about
Trace. It’s been . . .” He thought back over the
last twenty-four hours. “Crazy. Very crazy.” Understatement.

“Oh, okay.” Brak sounded disappointed.

Micah felt like a cad for dropping the ball.
“He knows you’re here, Brak. He knows you want to see him. But
things got a little out of hand, and there’s been some personal
shit going on . . . and the bitch—I’m sorry,
female—who was supposed to sign for his release has got a hair up
her ass and—”

“When can I see him? It’s important I see
him, Micah.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ll make sure to set
something up soon.”

“And our father. Is he doing better?”

Maddox had been moved to the new underground
facility a few days ago. He’d been too much of a loose cannon to
keep here, where they couldn’t secure him without strapping him to
a hospital bed about a foot too short to hold his massive form. And
Micah wasn’t going to have any of that shit. The new facility had
Plexiglas hospital rooms for these exact situations. Maddox could
remain safely tucked away until his mental synapses began regularly
firing to the tune of less violent outbursts. Right now, his mood
blew with the wind, sometimes creating a tidal wave and sometimes a
refreshing ripple. And sometimes he was a tsunami, like he’d been
the day he redecorated his hospital room by breaking just about
everything not bolted down and putting a few holes in the walls for
good measure.

“Your father’s safe. He’s behaving
erratically, so we thought it best to keep him—”

His desk phone blared, then the incoming
speaker turned on. “Micah! We need you in the trauma unit! NOW!”
Urgency shot through Dr. Snow’s voice as something crashed in the
background.

Trauma was where the victims of Bishop’s lab
had been taken, and a couple of them had been in pretty bad shape.
This couldn’t be good.

“Brak, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go.
There’s an emergency.” He was already racing out of his office.
“I’ll call you back.”

He disconnected before Brak could say
anything more.

Trevor strolled around the corner up ahead,
wearing nylon shorts and a sweat-drenched T-shirt. His face was
turned downward as he read something on his phone. Micah was glad
Trevor had chosen to stick around for a while now that his friend,
Gina, was settling in as Malek’s new mate. The guy came in handy in
tight situations at a time when they were badly shorthanded. Like
now.

“Trev! I need you.”

Trevor glanced up then immediately stuffed
his phone in his pocket and snapped to attention. “What’s going
on?”

“Trauma unit. We’ve got a problem.”

Trevor fell into stride alongside him as
they ran down the hall. “Any idea what?”

“Something that requires some muscle if they
called me.” So the more muscle he could take with him, the
better.

They cranked around a corner and almost ran
into Stryker, who jumped out of the way.

“Where’s the fire?” Stryker quickly
recovered and joined them.

“Trauma unit,” Trevor said.

A few seconds later, the three of them
plowed into the medical ward and were greeted by angry shrieks
coming from behind the double doors where Bishop’s victims had been
taken.

Holy hell! That shit sounded more mutant
than vampire.

God help them if one of Bishop’s vics had
turned.

Micah busted through the double doors to
find the staff scurrying every which direction, some with
hypodermics, others simply trying to get out of harm’s way. One
ducked as a flesh-colored upchuck tray flew through the air.

“What’s going on?” He and the others rushed
into the fray.

One of the nurses pointed toward the second
room on the right. She was out of breath and bleeding from a gash
over her eye. Fear blasted from her gaze. “It’s Kieran. He’s
melting down.”

Melting down. Hopefully that wasn’t the
medical term for a patient who was going mutant.

The commotion from inside the room
intensified. Machines buzzed, and metal crashed against metal as
someone yelled for help.

“Help them!” Micah said to Trevor, pointing
to the nurses rifling through medical supplies. Then he snapped his
fingers at Stryker, who looked like a howitzer in a T-shirt.
“You’re with me. Now!”

He and Stryker rushed into the small room
just as Kieran picked up a nurse and tossed her as if she weighed
nothing more than air. She slammed into the wall and crumpled to
the floor.

“Get her out of here!” Micah shouted at the
other nurses.

Dr. Snow struggled to get close enough to
inject Kieran with what Micah assumed was a sedative.

Shit better be strong enough to knock out a
brontosaurus. Kieran was severely out of control.

“Micah!” She caught his eye. “I need you to
hold him down.”

Just how was he supposed to do that? By
asking nicely? Not gonna happen. He and Stryker would have to do
their best cement truck impersonation if they had any hope of
restraining this guy.

One of the other nurses shouted, “Grab him!
Don’t let him go!”

Kieran strained for the door. The muscles
and tendons of his neck were strung tight, his fangs exposed, black
eyes full of fear, panic, and something else. Evil. Pure evil.

Fear, panic, and evil. There was a Hallmark
moment if he ever saw one.

Kieran spotted Micah, and evil took the lead
as his eyes narrowed into malicious slits. “You’re dead.” He
sounded more like a gorilla trying to speak English. The black mass
of tattoos covering his arms, chest, and torso shifted and
slithered over his skin.

Okay, that was fucking bizarre. Who was this
Kieran character, and how the hell did he have tattoos that
moved?

“Jesus, he’s . . .” Trevor
stood in the doorway, his mouth hanging open as he stared at
Kieran.

Micah dashed a glance at Trevor. “He’s
what?” But he didn’t have to hear Trevor’s answer. He could see it
in his mind.

“Beautiful.” Trevor breathed the word more
than said it.

“Yeah, well, he seems about ready to tip to
the dark side, so put your tongue back in your mouth and give us a
hand.”

Trev hurried into the room. “I’m there.
Just . . . damn!”

Great. Trevor had a hard-on for the
Antichrist.

“You’re all dead!” Kieran seethed violence.
“I’ll kill you all for doing this to me!” He flung off one of the
nurses trying to contain him. She tripped over her own feet and
fell ass-first to the floor in her haste to get away from him.

Micah jumped over her and shot around him,
wrenching Kieran’s phantasm-covered arms behind his back before he
could take another step. Shit, Kieran was strong.

Kieran growled and thrashed, tugging against
Micah’s hold. Then one of the wispy, black markings lifted off
Kieran’s skin and began to curl around Micah’s wrist.

And freaked Micah the fuck out!

Are you shitting me?

“Stryker! Trevor! Get over here! Take his
other arm.”

Whatever those tattoos were, they weren’t
ink.

Within seconds, he, Stryker, and Trevor had
Kieran in a stronghold and dragged him to his knees. The black
tendril left a trail of ice as it continued winding its way up
Micah’s arm. What the hell was it doing to him?

“Doc! You’d better hurry up if you’re going
to get that needle in him!” Micah clenched his jaw and pulled on
his reserves, his muscles straining.

Dr. Snow rushed forward and stabbed the
hypodermic into Kieran’s shoulder, plunging the contents into his
arm.

Kieran screeched, and Micah winced as the
sound split his eardrums. But the black-tattoo-ghostly-devil-mark
thing released Micah’s arm and snapped back onto Kieran’s skin.

Thank God.

Within seconds, Kieran’s body sagged, but he
wasn’t unconscious. Just super chilled.

“Please, God,” Kieran said, voice ragged,
“just kill me and get it over with. I can’t live like this
anymore.” Desperation, sorrow, and fatigue wrapped around Kieran’s
words, and he sounded as if he were surrendering, but to whom? Then
a weak but malevolent chuckle rose unexpectedly from inside
Kieran’s chest. “God can’t help you, and I’ll never let you die.”
This voice was different than the one Kieran had just used to beg
for death. It sounded as if someone—or some
thing
—else had
taken up residence inside his body and was using Kieran’s voice to
talk to him. Talk about your split personalities.

Micah eyed the freakish tattoos as he let
Kieran go and hastily backed away. The farther he got away from
that devil paint, the better. Given the conversation Kieran had
just had with himself, Micah was starting to think there was a lot
more to Kieran than met the eye, and he would bet those living
tattoos weren’t ink, but something worse. Much worse.

Kieran’s drugged gaze wobbled to his. “Who
are you?” He was back to voice number one. The normal voice. The
one Micah guessed was Kieran’s true voice.

“Name’s Micah.” He raked his hair off his
face, breathing hard. “How about you help me out, Kieran, and stay
calm so we can get you back into bed so that nobody else gets
hurt?”

Kieran’s face relaxed further, and his lips
parted. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just sat there on his
knees in the middle of the floor as he looked around. “Where am I?
What is this place?”

“You’re in Chicago. At AKM. We rescued you
from Bishop’s lab.”

A shallow frown crossed Kieran’s brow, and
Micah sensed the pain of cobalt withdrawal assaulting him. “It
hurts.” Kieran tried to pull out of Trevor’s and Stryker’s hold,
but the sedative Dr. Snow had given him was doing its job, making
him docile. Manageable.

The nurses shrank away as Micah warily
stepped forward, eyeing those wicked black markings, and lowered
onto his haunches. “You’re in withdrawal. Bishop drugged you. He
was giving you cobalt. We’ve been detoxing you, but it’s not going
to be easy. It’s going to hurt. But that’s a sign it’s working and
the shit’s getting out of your system.”

Kieran’s face contorted painfully as he
tried to free himself again. “It HURTS!” Kieran threw back his head
and shrieked toward the ceiling. The nurses cringed and skittered
from the room. He doubled over and groaned, his tattoos breaking
through their outlines and bleeding black into the surrounding
skin.

Micah frowned as the images rolling through
Kieran’s mind began splintering into fractured shards, as if
Kieran’s brain was running into interference and could no longer
process rational thought.

Then Kieran’s body went deathly still. His
demeanor changed so suddenly that it felt like a wizard had slammed
his magical staff against the floor and sent a shockwave of silence
through the room. An instant later, Kieran’s head snapped up. His
eyes glowed red.

Ummm, okay . . .

“Let me go.” They were back to voice number
two. The one that belonged to someone—some
thing
—else.

Kieran tore himself out of Trevor’s and
Stryker’s grip and lurched to his feet, knocking Micah over. The
fist he took to the jaw sent his brains into next year. The one
that landed on his abdomen a split-second later nearly made him
lose his breakfast.