by Elise Faber
Morgan, despite the injury, was already moving, shooting bolts of colored magic back across the space, whipping a gun out of somewhere and firing into the narrow opening.
He ducked, and a bolt of black hit the wall behind him, disintegrating the sheetrock and wood into a poof of white powder and slivers.
“How many?” Dom asked, sidling closer but not wanting to get in Morgan’s line of sight.
“Six.”
Well, hell.
“Reinforcements?”
Morgan dodged a pair of black shots, grunted when another one made contact with his arm.
“No time.”
Dom shored up his spine, pushed the pain of his injuries into the back of his mind. Steph was in danger. If they didn’t take out the Dalshie then—
Not the time.
“All right then,” he said, lifting his crossbow, indicating the apartment with a tilt of his head.
“What?” Steph asked. “No! Let’s just—“
He touched her cheek, handed her a small knife. “Not this time. Stay back, okay? Take this—” He pressed the blade into her palm. “—and if something happens, protect yourself. Like we used to practice?”
She nodded, and he knew she was remembering the same thing as him. Their late night practice sessions, him teaching her self-defense, her acting the reluctant student all the while picking up the skills with hardly any effort on her part.
His eyes flicked to Morgan’s. “Ready?”
Morgan glanced over, and his lips quirked up. “Hell yeah.” He tucked away his gun, pulled out a knife from the holster on his thigh, and stood. “3. 2. 1. Go!” A torrent of magic flew from his free palm into the apartment.
They burst through the open door.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Stephanie felt like screaming when Dom and Morgan disappeared into the apartment.
Stay back? Seriously? She may not have been the best fighter, but she had undergone some training.
Her fingers ached as she gripped the knife Dom had given her.
What if something happened to him and Morgan? Six on two weren’t great odds. She couldn’t just sit there and do nothing when they might need her help.
But Steph wasn’t stupid. She couldn’t just jump into the fray. Instead, she slipped carefully into the apartment.
The scene inside took her breath away.
Magic flew and filled the air with crackling intensity. It ricocheted off the walls of the apartment, burning sheetrock and wallpaper.
Morgan moved like a force possessed, his motions fluid and precise despite the wounds on his shoulders.
Steph had never seen someone teleport before, and it was even faster than she could have imagined. Morgan was sheathed in colored magic, and it propelled him across the room in a burst of speed that her eyes were barely able to track. At least not until she saw a glint of light reflecting off the blade of his knife as he severed a Dalshie’s head.
It was an abrupt and brutal end, the burst of ash almost shocking as it filled the air.
But Morgan didn’t stop. He shot a bolt of magic toward another Dalshie then pulled out his gun and pumped another’s chest full of bullets.
Neither would kill the Dalshie, but it did give them time.
Her eyes flashed to Dom. He was at such a huge disadvantage, already injured, slower, and with no combat magic of his own.
But he was a good fighter.
Defensive, using furniture as a shield, before popping out the side and shooting a knife from his bow into the chest of a Dalshie.
More ash.
And four left.
In quick succession, Morgan finished off two more. Then Dom took down another.
They turned, almost in unison, and started toward the final Dalshie.
But this one had different ideas; he glanced over his shoulder, and cold black eyes met Steph’s.
Her heart constricted, and her gut dropped to the floor. She fought the urge to scramble back.
Not that she would have had time anyway.
With a gruesome curling of fetid lips, the Dalshie disappeared… only to reappear right in front of her.
He grabbed her arm hard enough to make her cry out in pain — which he liked, if the flash in those inhuman red eyes was excitement. “Stephanie,” the Dalshie said. “We’ve been looking for you.”
She gasped and tried to scramble back, but the Dalshie held her tight. When she squirmed, fighting his grip, he shook her like a rag doll, rattling her teeth and stealing her breath.
“Steph!” Dom and Morgan shouted.
She knew things were happening in real time, in real speed, but in her mind, time had slowed.
Everything happened in sluggish, painful motion.
Morgan’s magic coalesced around him, readying to propel himself across the apartment toward her.
Dom lifted his crossbow.
The hair on her nape prickled. She could feel the Dalshie gathering his magic, readying himself to take her somewhere she really, really didn’t want to go.
A tinge of pain in her palm reminded her of the knife.
Without thinking about it, she lifted the blade and plunged it into the Dalshie’s chest.
It was easy. Almost too easy to get that piece of steel into his chest, to pierce his heart — as though the Dalshie were anatomically weaker there, didn’t have the same tough protection of bone and muscles and sinew she possessed.
The blade slid into its hilt.
Pop.
The Dalshie disintegrated into a burst of ash. It choked her, burned her lungs, her eyes, her throat.
She scrambled for her balance and ended up collapsing back against the wall, spitting out the disgusting bits of dust.
Morgan got to her first. Those hazel eyes were glazed with concern.
“You okay?” he asked, wincing a little as he bent to examine her.
She nodded, turned her head toward Dominic when he ran over.
“Steph!” His face was streaked with ash, his skin too pale. He was hurting, could have been killed in the blink of an eye and… he was worried about her.
Crack. The final shields around her heart shattered, fell away. She was completely vulnerable and somehow, somehow, it was okay.
“I’m alright.” She touched his shoulder when his brows pulled into a dark frown and those almost black eyes narrowed. “Really, I’m fine.”
“I—“ he began.
“Dom.” She paused, leaned forward so her forehead rested against his uninjured side. “It’s okay.”
He didn’t say anything in response, just wrapped his arms around her and held on tight.
The moment of peace lasted all of ten seconds.
“What the hell?” Trevor walked into the apartment, his face screwed up into a ferocious scowl. “What the hell happened?”
Steph glanced around their formerly pristine apartment, finally calm enough to assess the damage.
And yup. They’d never get their security deposit back.
The walls were filled with holes — blast marks from stray bolts of magic — and scorched. Furniture was overturned, some of it shattered into pieces. Stuffing from the sofa spilled out onto the floor.
Not to mention the ash. It was everywhere, coating everything in a sickening layer of black.
“Who the hell are you?” Morgan asked, stepping between them and Trevor.
“That’s Trevor,” Steph murmured, “my ex.”
Morgan threw a look over his shoulder that screamed “Really?”
She shrugged.
Trevor was good-looking in an overly preppy, too-southern way. Crisp shirts, always tucked in, loafers, khakis.
Looking at him, Stephanie couldn’t remember what had drawn her to him in the first place. Yes, he had some of Dom’s physical features. Dark hair and eyes. Broad shoulders.
But he wasn’t particularly nice or kind. He hadn’t treated her well. He—
The truth hit her like a lightning bolt. She’d been punishing herself, putting up with someone
who treated her like crap because she’d felt guilty.
She leaned away from Dom, from the warm comfort of his arms, and forced her still shaking legs to standing. “It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving anyway.”
Her belongings were in a box like she’d asked, tucked in a corner of the room that had somehow escaped unscathed.
She pulled back the flaps and grabbed the few mementos that meant something — a necklace from her parents, a book Dom had given her, a picture of her, Tiffany, and Daphne — and shoved them into a small backpack which she slung onto her back.
Reaching deep into the box, she fumbled for her… There it was!
She tossed it at Trevor. “Keep it. For the security deposit.”
Scrambling, he barely caught the little can. “Deodorant? How the hell is that supposed to—“
“Take off the lid,” she snapped, crossing the room and doing it for him. His eyes widened at the cash inside. “Let’s go,” she said to Dom and Morgan.
“Is this about those guys who came looking for you?”
She stopped, slowly turned, Morgan and Dom on her heels. “What guys?”
He couldn’t have. He hadn’t.
“They said they had information about your family, an inheritance. Wanted to know where you were, and I told them you worked at Hotel Toujours.” He stopped. “Didn’t you get my call?” His voice dropped. “About getting back together? I made a mistake—”
The crunch shouldn’t have made her smile, but seeing Dom’s fist make contact with Trevor’s face brought her a boatload of pleasure.
And saved her from the task of doing it herself.
She picked up the can of cash from where it had dropped on the floor and shoved it into Trevor’s hands.
“Consider that your inheritance.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Dominic’s hand hurt like a mother but not as much as the wounds on his shoulder and side. Morgan wasn’t much better off, given the pinched look on his face.
They needed to get back to the Colony.
Steph was shaken up, pale, despite the bravado she’d pulled around herself like a shield.
“How long until you can teleport?” he asked Morgan on an undertone. He didn’t want Steph to hear, to worry.
Morgan glanced over at him in surprise. “How’d you—“
“Dude. It looks like you slaughtered a pig,” Dom said. “I’m surprised you’re upright, let alone walking.”
“I’ll be okay. Just need some recovery time. An hour. Two tops.”
“Should we call for back up?”
“I’ve got Monroe on standby. But he’s supposed to leave with John on a recovery mission. So I’d rather deal with this ourselves.” He shrugged. “No need for him to be unnecessarily tired.”
Dom nodded in agreement. There were only three true teleporters in the Rengalla, and their powers had to be used cautiously. If their magic was depleted completely, it would take time to recharge.
If someone needed help, and Morgan or his brothers couldn’t get to them… well, Dom had experienced more than enough helplessness in his life to not want to impart that on anyone else.
“Come on,” Steph said and cut down a side street.
“Hey—“
Except she was already walking away from them. Dom exchanged a look with Morgan, who shrugged and followed.
He opened his mouth to ask where she was taking them but didn’t even get the first word out.
“Shh.”
Dom bit back a sigh and went quiet. Instead of protesting, he stepped forward and walked next to Steph. She wouldn’t take them somewhere unsafe. Or at least not willingly. So, though it was hard for him to trust anyone, he focused on the truth he knew in his heart.
Steph was the one person he’d always trusted.
Which meant he could go along with her game plan for a few minutes.
She was counting, very softly, and Dom’s gaze was caught on the lushness of her lips. The urge to close the distance between them, to taste that mouth for himself was powerful.
But now wasn’t the time.
Though it would be really nice if his body was on the same page.
“Screwed.” Morgan’s voice drifted in over his shoulder as quiet as a snake charmer’s whisper and laced with amusement.
“What are you talking about?” Dom snapped.
“You are in way over your head, dude.”
Dom’s eyes tracked Steph’s movements, her smooth stride, the way her ass bounced slightly in time to her strides. His body tightened, and desire shot through him.
Which was about the same time that Morgan’s words finally penetrated.
And yup. He was seriously screwed.
Steph paused at a door and fumbled with something. He frowned, tried to place why everything seemed familiar.
After a moment, he got it. This was the opposite side of the hotel.
There was a soft click, and the door opened. “Come on,” she said.
He and Morgan followed her inside, down a narrow hallway. Dom noticed everything he hadn’t when he’d been pursuing Steph through the maze of hallways just before the Dalshie had shown up earlier that day.
The space was obviously just for employees. Bland brown walls were marred with black streaks from fingers or carts or — hell, he didn’t want to know. The floor was littered with cracked tiles; the overhead fluorescent lighting was harsh.
“You both need to be patched up, and to rest. I figured given the way you two look, this would be better than waltzing in the front door.” She stopped at a break in the hallway and looked around. “Wait here.”
“Steph—“
“It’s just the lobby,” she said, her gaze strangely tender. “Save your energy for a minute. I just want to go talk to Floriza and check the computers.”
“But—“
She went up on tiptoe so her blue eyes were even with his. He had a split second of confusion before that mouth was on his.
Her lips were soft, softer than he’d expected. The heat that spread through him was instant and all encompassing, but just as he’d lifted his arms, readying to pull her against him, she stepped back.
“I’ll only be a minute.”
“Screwed,” he murmured as she walked away.
Morgan chuckled. “Better you than me, bro.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “Yeah right. For someone who’s uninterested, you’ve certainly put a lot of effort into flirting with Steph.”
“Seriously, bro. I may flirt, but I don’t get serious. Not ever.” Morgan’s hazel eyes hardened before his usual devil-may-care expression returned. “And as fun as it is to push your buttons, Steph isn’t interested in me. Not at all.”
“What do you mean?”
Morgan glanced heavenward, as though Dom were the biggest idiot on the planet. “What I mean is that she doesn’t want me. She wants you. Watches you when you’re not looking, moons after you like a love-struck teenager.”
“Steph watches me?”
“I can’t believe we’re seriously having this conversation.”
“Answer the question.”
“She watches you. It — she looks at you as though you’re her whole world,” Morgan said, his tone even, not filled with any trace that he might be screwing with Dom’s mind. “Steph likes you, not me, dude.”
Holy shit. Dom felt as though he’d taken another bolt of Dalshie magic. Except this time to the head. “Really?”
Morgan sighed heavily. “Really, really.”
“Oh.”
“So get it together. Go after her. Have your happily ever after or whatever crap it is that couples have.”
Dom just shook his head, but deep down he couldn’t deny that a happily ever after with Steph was pretty much the thing he was coming to want the most.
He leaned around the corner, watching as Steph approached the front desk. She said something to the olive-skinned girl with shiny black hair pulled into a ponytail, the same one who’d yelled at him when he’d bl
own past the Employees Only sign, and who was presumably Floriza.
Floriza nodded then reached across the counter to squeeze Steph’s hand.
Thirty seconds later Steph was walking back toward them.
She held up a black rectangular piece of plastic when she got close, a grin tugging up one corner of her mouth.
God. He wanted to kiss her again. A real kiss, not the gentle meeting of lips they’d shared a few minutes before.
Not that the sweet kiss hadn’t been nice. It had been fantastic. But he wanted more, wanted to soothe the ache in his bones, wanted to hold her in his arms and take her mouth until he’d satisfied them both. Until the heat in his body was extinguished… or at the very least banked.
His fingers clenched with the need to grab her, to strip off her clothes and—
“Everything okay?” he blurted. His voice had gone hoarse, like he’d swallowed gravel.
Morgan snorted, his amusement palpable. Dom ignored him as Steph turned the little piece of plastic over in her fingers.
“What’s that?” he asked.
Her grin widened. “Key to the penthouse.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Riding in the elevator with two huge men was an experience that Steph didn’t want to repeat.
Even injured, they took up too much space, overwhelmed her senses.
Okay, that was mostly Dom. But Morgan held his own. He was good-looking in almost a too-pretty way, with the leather and the muscles, the tan skin and gorgeous eyes.
But he didn’t make her heart speed up, didn’t make her body want to lean close and soak up his scent.
Nope. Only Dom did that.
Down in the lobby, Floriza had been sweet and surprisingly lacking in questions.
If it had been Steph in that alley, Steph who’d seen the Dalshie and magic for the first time in her life, she’d have run.
Or at least been filled to the brim with questions.
Instead, all Floriza had said was “There are more things in heaven and earth.” Then her coworker, a former emergency room nurse, had smiled and handed her the key card, saying, “I’ll be up in twenty with first-aid kits.”
“You shouldn’t,” Steph had said. “It might not be safe.”