“You wanted to speak with me?” I mumbled. Silver brows knit together, Micah’s eyes flickered across my face, my neck, lingering on every bruise and cut and scrape, then he bent to kiss me. His mouth was hot on mine, flavored with despair and longing.
He pulled away slowly, deliberately. “Every second you were gone, new versions of what could have happened to you flashed in my mind—you tortured, you dead, I…” He pressed his forehead to mine. “You are alive and that matters more to me than any anger, at you or at your father. You are alive.” He kissed me again, gently. “Tell me everything,” he said between kisses. “From the moment you left the manor to the moment you returned.” I did as best I could while Micah reacquainted himself with my mouth and neck and hands.
“And that was when I realized that the cell we’re in now wasn’t warded,” I concluded. I’d decided to leave out the doubts I’d had about our relationship and how we’d met—it would be too much to get into now, when I could be awoken at any moment. Micah had dragged me onto the couch and was gently pressing his lips against my scraped knuckles. “I mean, why else would they inject me and Max, but not Sadie?”
Micah tugged down the collar of my shirt and kissed the injection site. “Your father has been absent during your captivity?”
“Yeah. He was separated from us at the beginning. Girard seemed to have a bone to pick with him.” And me, I thought, absently touching my cheek. “But we know that Dad’s escaped, since he got word to the resistance.”
Micah nodded, thinking, then stood and pulled me to his feet. “Bring me to your body.”
In the blink of an eye we were there. Sadie and Jerome had rolled, or possibly dragged, Max and me against the wall, and they stood between our bodies and the door. You would have thought that Micah’s attention would have been captured by the sight of his wife crumpled and bloody on the floor. Instead, he glared daggers at Jerome.
“Why is that man here?” Micah demanded.
“I told you, Jerome was with us when we were captured,” I said, lacing my fingers with Micah’s. “Dad sent him from the resistance. He got us out of the first prison.”
“Only to land you in a second,” Micah said. “That man finds too many ways to make himself close to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I began. I’d really only seen Jerome a few times, far too few for him to have any interest in me. Then Jerome crouched next to my body. He brushed my hair back from my face, pausing to stroke my cheek.
“If Micah ever finds out you did that, he’ll rip your fingers off,” Sadie said.
“I can’t help it,” Jerome murmured. “She’s so beautiful. Ever since your father first showed me her picture…”
Sadie held up her hand. “Don’t. Please, whatever you were going to say, don’t. She’s married, end of story.”
“Your father showed this man pictures of you?” Micah asked, his voice deadly calm.
I turned to him, my mouth gaping wide. “I—I had no idea.” I remembered my chance meeting with Jerome that day on Real Estate Row, how Dad made those comments about how he’d always thought that Jerome was a good match for me, and wondered what Jerome’s motives really were. Before I could dwell on that much longer, Max’s dreamself appeared.
“Ma’s on her way,” he announced. “And, man, she is pissed.” He got a look at Micah and me and wisely retreated into his body. As Max stirred to wakefulness, Micah grabbed my shoulders.
“Sara, call my body to yours.”
“What?” I looked up and down his dreamself. “Can I even do that?”
“My physical form has never been anywhere close to this place, so I need an anchor. And,” Micah grasped my right wrist, tracing the silver mark, “part of me is always with you.”
You know what? He was right. I slipped my arms around Micah’s waist, pressing my cheek over his heart, and tapped into the strongest desire I had, stronger than my desire to escape, stronger than my need to breathe. I wanted Micah’s physical arms around me.
And then they were. Both Jerome and Sadie yelped as Micah materialized next to my body. I suppose having the Lord of Silver appear in a cell alongside you was somewhat startling.
“Hey,” I said, looking into those silver eyes.
“Hey, yourself,” he murmured. I smiled, wincing as my injured cheek protested. While I’d been dreaming, I’d managed to forget just how beat up I was. Micah kissed my lips, then my cheek, and helped me to my feet.