by Elise Faber
“Let’s use the lower speed then.”
Dom slit his eyes, saw Morgan’s amusement.
“We’ll use the lower speed, and I’ll up the shield.”
“Good.” She was quiet for a moment. Dom’s pain was receding. Morgan’s idea for the bandages had been a good one.
Dom opened his eyes fully, stretched his neck, and Morgan plunked his head back onto the chair.
“You know my ability to teleport isn’t really teleportation at all, right?” he said. “It’s just that I can move faster than mortal — or immortal eyes — can process. Then I combine that with air magic so I can fly through the air really, really fast. Now, Dalshie… They can teleport like you see in the movies. Flash in or out, blink in or out of existence.”
The thought made Dom’s gut clench. He shoved the last of his pain away, and sat up.
“Speaking of Dalshie,” he said. “We should leave—“ A flick of color — of black — caught his eye.
Dom turned his head, registered what he was seeing, then promptly whipped back and threw himself atop Steph.
Her bony shoulder pressed into his wound, made a wave of agony flash through him. But it didn’t matter because—
“Dom?” She struggled to get out from beneath him as Morgan flew to his feet.
“No! Down, Morgan! Now!” he shouted, shoving Steph’s head beneath his chest and holding on tight.
The windows exploded into a volley of razor-sharp glass.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Steph screamed; she couldn’t help it.
But the moment she realized it was her making the awful, ear-piercing noise, she clamped her mouth shut against the shock and fear.
The glass stung as it collided with her skin, littering her exposed legs and arms with burning cuts. Above her, Dom grunted in pain, but then Morgan was wrapping an arm around each of them, hauling them up to their feet.
“Hang on!” he shouted. Magic — brown and green and gold — burst to life. It whipped around them, blew the hair back from Steph’s face, and surrounded the three of them in a colored cocoon.
Gravity disappeared.
Steph’s feet slid off the floor, and she literally floated in space. It was disconcerting and a whole lot of scary.
Especially when they began accelerating toward the windows.
Which were at the top of the very tall hotel.
“Uh—“ she began as a wave of dizziness made her eyes water. Her brain slammed into the back of her skull, like one of those too-fast-to-be-good-for-you roller coasters.
“Later,” Morgan said.
It was the first time she’d heard his voice like that. Tense. Sharp. Worried.
A flash of black across her vision made her gasp, but Morgan didn’t stop. He propelled them toward the group of Dalshie that floated outside the broken windows, shooting barbed strands of ebony magic at them.
One after another of those dark bolts connected with the woven threads of Morgan’s power, and a sharp unsettling crack rang out at each collision.
It was as they flew through the threshold of the window that she saw it.
Or, more precisely, whom.
Shock, hope, and fear swept through her. Paralyzed her vocal cords, her body.
They moved fast, the abrupt motion making it hard for her to speak, but finally she managed to call out, “Stop!”
Morgan didn’t.
He just tightened his arm on Steph’s shoulders and shot past the Dalshie.
“Stop!” she yelled again. “Stop!” She reached past Morgan and gripped Dom’s arm hard. Hard enough to make him wince in pain. She felt bad about that, but— “It’s Tiffany,” she shouted above the cacophony of magic and wind. “It’s her!”
Dom’s head whipped around.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. “It is her. We have to—“
Morgan hesitated, and they slowed, hovering mid-air.
Another bolt of black magic collided with the shield surrounding them. It was a powerful one, and she could practically feel the sting of it through the protection of Morgan’s power.
But that wasn’t what made her gut sink clear down to her toes.
No. That happened when Tiffany looked up.
Her friend’s eyes were dead.
There was literally no other way to describe it.
The light, the brightness that had radiated from Tiffany a decade before was gone. In its place was a blank slate, a listless form with literally nothing penetrating the shell of emptiness.
A Dalshie held her by the arm, keeping her twenty stories above the ground without the least inclination of strain.
Steph shivered. “What should—“
The Dalshie holding Tiffany let go.
She plummeted toward the street below.
Morgan reacted before Steph could utter a sound. They shot down, moving at a speed that made her eyes tear up and her head spin. Dom made a pained noise, and Steph wondered how his wounds were faring.
But then she didn’t have a spare moment to think.
The magic around them began breaking apart.
They began falling faster.
And still Tiffany plunged toward the concrete.
“Get ready!” Morgan said and retracted the shield.
Wind whipped loudly across her ears. “What?” Steph asked, frantic with worry, the words making absolutely no sense.
“Grab her,” Morgan ordered, removing his arm from her shoulders and widening the opening in the magic surrounding them even further.
The command penetrated the haze in her mind with the speed and impact of a bullet.
Steph didn’t worry about the strands of black magic flying around them, didn’t even react when one sliced across her arm, nor when Dom shouted in protest.
She leapt from the shield, collided with Tiffany.
Her friend didn’t struggle, just limply lay in the air as they both fell from the sky. Tiffany felt the same in her arms as she had all those years before, and Steph was filled with such a sense of relief that she forgot her circumstances for the barest of a moment.
She glanced up, saw Morgan and Dom a handful of feet away, and reached for them.
But the distance might as well have been the Grand Canyon.
A Dalshie appeared at her side, her gruesome lips curved up, menacing, red eyes glittering. She reached for them, that black-stained hand littered with writhing, malignant magic.
Steph cringed back, held onto Tiffany tighter, and found herself almost wishing for their impact with the ground to come sooner.
Anything was better than being taken by the Dalshie.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Those moments of watching Steph plunge toward the street below were the most frightening of Dom’s life.
More than watching the Dalshie’s magic slice open his side earlier that day and thinking he was going to die. More than the first time he’d realized that somehow he’d become the leader of his people. Even more than those initial experiments in the concentration camp all those years before.
Dom didn’t know how to describe what a huge hole Steph had filled in his life. A hole he hadn’t even known he possessed. Not until he’d seen her again and felt… well, whole.
She meant so damned much and losing her wasn’t an option.
He reached for her through the opening of the shield, the pull of his wounds hardly a passing sensation, the air rushing past Morgan’s shield a physical barrier to push through.
Then the Dalshie appeared and losing her seemed all too likely.
Dom lurched forward. To do what, he had no clue. But he wasn’t about to let Steph be taken—
“What the hell are you doing, bro?” Morgan yelled and grabbed him tight just when he would have leapt clear of the magic. The limb squeezed Dom’s torso hard enough to make black spots appear in front of his eyes. “Don’t move!”
“Steph—“
“Will be fine so long as you don’t screw this up. Now, stop!”
Dom froze and felt Morgan’s ma
gic increase in speed, in intensity until the colored strands whipped around them, until pain surged back into the forefront of his mind, and he struggled to not blow chunks in that circle of power.
The ground was getting closer.
Steph and Tiffany fell.
The Dalshie reached toward them, black flames coating her arms and filling the air around the three of them.
With one last burst of strength, Morgan shot them forward, straight into the cloud of ebony magic.
“Now!” he shouted. The front of the shield disintegrated completely.
Dom lunged forward and grabbed Steph and Tiffany, wrapping an arm around each of them then yanking them backward into the safety of Morgan’s power.
“Go!” he yelled above the din of wind, crackling magic, and one shrill shriek of frustration from the Dalshie. They landed in a heap at Morgan’s feet. “I’ve got them!”
Morgan bent, gripped Dom’s ankle, and closed the threads of magic around them.
The noise cut off, and all was quiet in their little bubble.
Dom took one long second to revel in the fact that they’d survived.
Then he looked down. Cursed.
They were still falling, and the ground was only feet away.
“Hang tight,” Morgan said. “This is going to be rough.”
It was.
This time there was no easing up to full speed, no slow, careful acceleration. This was straight to flatten-your-brain-into-the-back-of-your-skull rocketship velocity.
Steph groaned, and Dom was a hairsbreadth away from blacking out. Even Morgan cursed. “Sorry.”
The only one who didn’t respond was Tiffany. She lay prone in Steph’s arms, pinned by Dom’s weight to the floor of the shield.
Morgan was crouched, still holding Dom’s ankle, the magic rotating voraciously around them.
“Steph? You okay?”
“Yeah,” she said, her words almost inaudible.
Dom shifted enough to see her expression, to assure himself she was okay. The fear in her gaze almost undid him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s my—“
She turned her face so that it was aligned with his and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Shut up. I’m fine. I—I just need a second.”
“It’ll be better in a minute,” Morgan promised. “I just want to get us far as hell from here.”
“I’m one hundred percent behind that plan, P.D.,” Steph said.
Dom snorted, already knowing where she was going with that.
Morgan, apparently, didn’t. “P.D.?” he asked.
“Pencil Dick. I thought I’d abbreviate it, considering you’ve saved our lives several times over.”
“Really?” Morgan snorted but didn’t shift his gaze from where he was watching the horizon. “Heroics only get me an abbreviation?”
“How about Gym Sock?”
Morgan groaned, but the lines of his face had relaxed significantly. “Okay, P.D. it is, so long as you promise not to tell anyone what it stands for.”
“Deal.”
Dom’s heart lightened considerably at another glimpse of Steph’s former personality. She’d always been ready with a quip, with a joke to break the tension. It had been part of her acidic charm and just another of the things he’d loved about her.
Loved?
Shoving back that thought to ponder at a more appropriate time, Dom concentrated on looking behind them.
“Why aren’t they pursuing us?” he asked.
“Who’s to say they aren’t?” Morgan asked. “Keep your eyes open.”
And just like that, the tension was back.
“Should I move?” Dom asked long minutes later when they were speeding at a constant click, no longer accelerating and making him feel at risk of plastering the side of the shield with the remnants of his breakfast.
“Don’t.” Morgan shook his head. “At least not right now. Can’t spare the energy.”
That was when Dom noticed the other man’s pale skin and sweat-covered face. He should have been aware of the sheer volume of magic Morgan was using, should have remembered that the Rengalla hadn’t been at full strength to begin with.
But he hadn’t. Because the only thing his mind had been worried about was Steph.
He cut a look toward her. She was concentrating on Tiffany, talking to her friend, trying to get some sort of reaction.
“Got enough juice to get us there?” he asked quietly.
“Yup.” Morgan nodded. “Or close enough.” He flashed his eyes to Dom’s. “How’re the wounds?”
Dom glanced at the bandages on his side, studied the magic around his torso that was staunching the cuts. Surprisingly, they looked okay. Of course, they hurt like a bitch, but that was becoming a common problem for him.
More importantly, he wasn’t bleeding out.
In times like this, it was all about the small victories.
“They’re fine.”
“Good.”
There was a beat of quiet, but Dom couldn’t let the moment pass without stating what needed to be said. “Thank you. I know you didn’t exactly sign up for this.”
The other man shrugged. “I’m a LexTal. It’s what we do.”
“You’re a Rengalla.”
“I’m a solider first.”
That surprised Dom. Not the honor and sacrifice so much — he’d witnessed it time and again amongst each and every one of the LexTals — but the humility in the statement. That wasn’t typical Morgan. “Never known you to be humble.”
“There’s a first time for everything.”
He snorted and Steph chuckled, drawing his attention back to her. “You okay?” he murmured, running his fingers along her arm. She hissed at the same time Dom registered the sticky liquid on her limb, her torso.
“You’re bleeding!” He leaned back, tried to get a better look.
“Unless you want to fall out of the sky,” Morgan said. “I’d hold still.”
Dom froze, started to speak, but Steph interrupted him.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It’s not deep.” She turned her eyes to Morgan and smiled. “Nice mid-air rescue. I thought—“ Her voice cracked, “—it was going to turn out differently.”
“No,” Dom said, stroking her hair off her face. “Not on my watch.”
“He’s right. It was never going to happen, sweetheart.” Morgan grinned down at her then focused back on the sky. “I’m too good at my job.”
“There’s that world-renowned humility.” Her chuckle lightened Dom’s heart. “And just so you know, I’m only going to let that endearment slid once, P.D.”
“Noted. But who needs humility when you’ve got confidence?”
Steph rolled her eyes. “Good to know.” A moment of quite. “So how soon until we get to the Colony? Not that I’m not extremely comfortable being the peanut butter in the Dom-Tiffany sandwich, but I’d really like to be out of mortal danger.” She wrinkled her nose. “And maybe to shower.”
Morgan laughed, even his eyes went slightly unfocused. “At this speed…” He went quiet, as though mentally calculating. “Fifteen minutes.”
“I think I love you.”
“Right back at ya, sweetheart.”
“P.D.,” Steph warned.
Okay, that was enough. Dom opened his mouth, ready to tell Morgan to back off.
That was when Tiffany began screaming.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Steph’s ears were still ringing an hour later. She sat in a sedate but cheerful waiting room, the walls a soft lavender, the furniture pale beige and cozy looking.
They’d arrived at the Colony to surprisingly little fanfare. Morgan had plunked them outside a shield of interwoven strands of brilliant violet and emerald green then made a quick call.
Suz, the head healer, and her crew had arrived in moments, stepping through a small section of peeled-back shield, and accompanied by three tall, muscular men who wore t-shirts with a crest on the breast pockets.
LexTals, appar
ently, grew on trees at the Colony, and while the men had been attractive, they’d also been a little intimating.
Too big. Too built. Too pretty. Just too much.
Combine their presence with Tiffany’s screams… well, she’d been relieved when Suz had taken her friend straight to the infirmary.
Once they’d gone, Dom had introduced her to the Rengallan leader, Dante. He’d inserted a bit of magic into her mind, allowing her to see through the glamour that kept unsuspecting humans away from the Colony.
Simple magic, as Dante had described it. The smallest filament of power. But it had still blown her mind.
In less than ten seconds, the building in front of her had transformed from a crappy, 1980s-style building into a beautiful manor, complete with a wall of windows taking up one full side of the structure.
It was lush and gorgeous and way nicer than anything she’d ever been inside.
“You okay?” Dom asked, startling her out of her thoughts as he sank down in the chair next to her.
It was a really freaking stupid question to ask her right at that moment, but she bit back the harsh retort sitting on the tip of her tongue.
Dom was worried about her. He cared about her. She was just as concerned about him and his injuries.
But the thing was, she was okay. He was okay.
And Tiffany might not ever be.
The guilt at that notion was a raging burn that made her throat swell, her heart pound, her eyes fill with tears.
Which was what finally pulled her back out of herself.
Everyone was trying to help. Dom had risked his life for her, for Tiffany, and he had to be feeling just as agonizingly useless as her. So instead of snapping at him, she leaned into the touch of his warm palm against her cheek and said softly, “No. I’m not okay.”
He grimaced. “I’m so sorry. I…”
Steph shrugged, ignored the way it made the cut on her arm sting. “It’s not your fault.”
“I’m still sorry.”
A change of subject was in order. She hadn’t meant to add to his guilt. “Have you been in to see the doctor yet?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet. They were still… busy with Tiffany.”