eyes on him, but when he stopped and searched the shadows, he saw no one. It was probably nothing. He'd been feeling watched for weeks now, but no one was ever there when he looked, and if someone really was tailing him, wouldn't he have revealed himself by now? So, yeah, the sense of being watched had to be all in his head, even though his instincts told him otherwise.
He didn't know how long he had been walking—a long time, though—when he lifted his gaze and found himself approaching Berlin, the club where he had met Jackson. That had been a strange night. He'd been in an especially foul mood, kicked off his shift early, stopped by the Garter, drooled over Scarlet, and then found himself here as he searched for someone to ease the ache in his balls when Scarlet had been unavailable. Berlin was known for its gay and lesbian patronage, so why he had ended up here that night was a question he couldn't answer. But he had, and Jackson had made eye contact with him from the dance floor, where he'd been grinding up on some other guy. It had been instant attraction between them. Jackson ended up ditching his dance partner, cozied up to Micah at the bar, and the two of them had ended up in the men's room, with Jackson on his knees in front of him and Micah's hands fisting Jackson's dark brown hair. Micah hadn't intended for it to be anything more than a casual one-nighter, but the rest that happened between them had been history from that moment on.
And now their relationship was history. They fought too much, and unlike others who argued, he and Jackson had stopped making up. There were no more apologies. No more requests for forgiveness. No makeup sex. No sex at all. Jackson's needs were getting satisfied elsewhere. The guy enjoyed fucking too much to have gone celibate altogether, and Micah had already seen in Jack's mind what he was doing and where and with whom he was spending his nights.
Speak of the devil. Micah's heart lurched as if stabbed as Jackson spilled from Berlin's doors in the arms of another male. A human. The one Micah had seen in Jackson's thoughts. The two hesitated then locked into a passionate kiss, arms squeezing each other, hands groping body parts that had been meant for Micah. Even from over a block away, the smell of Jackson's arousal stung Micah's nostrils.
His mated male side roared to life, just as it had with Scarlet a little while ago. That was his mate, goddamn it! How dare he find pleasure with another! How dare that human grope what belonged to him! And unlike with his reaction to Scarlet, he would do something about this betrayal, goddammit!
Micah was about to barrel in and strangle the asshole groping Jackson's crotch and sticking his tongue down his throat when a hand closed around his wrist.
"Hey, Mike. What's up?"
Micah spun to find Traceon, that quiet, dark-skinned mixed-blood who always stood off to the side chewing a matchstick during team meetings, standing beside him. His pale green eyes scrutinized him, narrow and shrewd. Trace hadn't missed anything. He knew what Micah was up to.
"What are you doing here?" Micah snapped, yanking his arm away. He looked back up to find that Jackson and his new beau were gone.
"Following a lead." Trace's deep voice held no emotion. No inflection. It was almost monotone. "Where's Malek?"
Micah began walking toward Berlin's front entrance, searching for Jackson. "Who are you, my mother?"
Trace fell into step beside him. "Not since the last time I checked."
Micah regarded him with a sidelong glance. "What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you following me?" He thought about the odd feelings of being watched and wondered if Trace was to blame. The guy did come pre-packaged with special gifts, being that he was a mixed-blood. Maybe one of his gifts included being able to hide in the shadows. No one knew for sure. Trace never talked about himself and kept his life pretty hushed and closed off. And his mind was like a locked box. For all
He didn't know how long he had been walking—a long time, though—when he lifted his gaze and found himself approaching Berlin, the club where he had met Jackson. That had been a strange night. He'd been in an especially foul mood, kicked off his shift early, stopped by the Garter, drooled over Scarlet, and then found himself here as he searched for someone to ease the ache in his balls when Scarlet had been unavailable. Berlin was known for its gay and lesbian patronage, so why he had ended up here that night was a question he couldn't answer. But he had, and Jackson had made eye contact with him from the dance floor, where he'd been grinding up on some other guy. It had been instant attraction between them. Jackson ended up ditching his dance partner, cozied up to Micah at the bar, and the two of them had ended up in the men's room, with Jackson on his knees in front of him and Micah's hands fisting Jackson's dark brown hair. Micah hadn't intended for it to be anything more than a casual one-nighter, but the rest that happened between them had been history from that moment on.
And now their relationship was history. They fought too much, and unlike others who argued, he and Jackson had stopped making up. There were no more apologies. No more requests for forgiveness. No makeup sex. No sex at all. Jackson's needs were getting satisfied elsewhere. The guy enjoyed fucking too much to have gone celibate altogether, and Micah had already seen in Jack's mind what he was doing and where and with whom he was spending his nights.
Speak of the devil. Micah's heart lurched as if stabbed as Jackson spilled from Berlin's doors in the arms of another male. A human. The one Micah had seen in Jackson's thoughts. The two hesitated then locked into a passionate kiss, arms squeezing each other, hands groping body parts that had been meant for Micah. Even from over a block away, the smell of Jackson's arousal stung Micah's nostrils.
His mated male side roared to life, just as it had with Scarlet a little while ago. That was his mate, goddamn it! How dare he find pleasure with another! How dare that human grope what belonged to him! And unlike with his reaction to Scarlet, he would do something about this betrayal, goddammit!
Micah was about to barrel in and strangle the asshole groping Jackson's crotch and sticking his tongue down his throat when a hand closed around his wrist.
"Hey, Mike. What's up?"
Micah spun to find Traceon, that quiet, dark-skinned mixed-blood who always stood off to the side chewing a matchstick during team meetings, standing beside him. His pale green eyes scrutinized him, narrow and shrewd. Trace hadn't missed anything. He knew what Micah was up to.
"What are you doing here?" Micah snapped, yanking his arm away. He looked back up to find that Jackson and his new beau were gone.
"Following a lead." Trace's deep voice held no emotion. No inflection. It was almost monotone. "Where's Malek?"
Micah began walking toward Berlin's front entrance, searching for Jackson. "Who are you, my mother?"
Trace fell into step beside him. "Not since the last time I checked."
Micah regarded him with a sidelong glance. "What are you doing?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you following me?" He thought about the odd feelings of being watched and wondered if Trace was to blame. The guy did come pre-packaged with special gifts, being that he was a mixed-blood. Maybe one of his gifts included being able to hide in the shadows. No one knew for sure. Trace never talked about himself and kept his life pretty hushed and closed off. And his mind was like a locked box. For all
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