by Elise Faber
Another wave of regret. Her intestines knotted themselves even further. “Have they gotten her to calm down?”
She’d held tight to Tiffany for those final minutes to the Colony while her friend had screamed and struggled and fought. Had talked to her, said dumb-ass shit like “It will be okay” and “You will be fine” when Steph hadn’t a clue if that would ever be true.
But she hadn’t been able to watch as the Rengalla’s doctors had restrained Tiffany with magical bindings to a gurney, hadn’t been able to stand to hear her friend’s shrieks of terror.
Helpless. Steph had been absolutely helpless.
That was the point she’d waved the white flag and fled to the waiting room, barely making it to a chair before her legs gave out.
She hadn’t even noticed she wasn’t alone until a blond woman with kind eyes brought her a mug of coffee and a bar of chocolate then had taken the seat opposite Steph.
The other woman hadn’t said a word, had just sat silently — a quiet, reassuring presence.
It was a kindness Steph hadn’t expected. But it was appreciated. That silent support, reminding her she wasn’t alone… well, it warmed that block of ice inside of her.
The woman stood, and Dom glanced up at her, smiled softly. A gentle smile. One he’d never bestowed upon her.
Really?
Now she was going to get jealous? With Tiffany in the other room and all of them having just barely survived fleeing the Dalshie? It wasn’t even remotely close to the appropriate time.
But damn if she didn’t want Dom looking at any other women aside from her.
Steph wasn’t sure when that realization had sewn its way into her heart, when she’d begun to view Dom as hers, but clearly she was feeling that way now.
Seriously. Worst. Timing. Ever.
“Thanks, Gabby,” he said as Steph struggled to bottle up the ridiculous emotion.
“Anytime.” Gabby was gorgeous, with delicate features and a slamming body.
Steph hated her. Really hated her. Despite the chocolate.
“How’s Mason? The bonding going okay?”
A beautiful smile lit Gabby’s face, radiated like liquid sunshine into the space around her. “It’s literally the most incredible thing I’ve ever been a part of. And Mason—“ Her cheeks reddened. “—he’s just—“
“The man you love more than anything,” came another masculine voice.
Steph turned and saw Morgan. Then she did a double take.
Or not. It wasn’t Morgan. Not quite. This man’s face was more angular, his hair a little darker and shorter.
“Mason,” Gabby said. “Meet Steph. She’s the one from New Orleans.”
“Nice to meet you,” he said as he shook Steph’s hand carefully. “Sorry you had so much trouble down there. My brother should have called for help.”
Gabby snorted. “Unlikely.”
“Stupid is more like it.” Mason smirked.
“He did the best he could,” Steph snapped, the urge to defend Morgan exploding to the surface and too strong to push down. “He risked his life to help us.” She glared at Mason then Gabby. “You know that, right?”
Gabby glanced at Mason, her teeth biting down on her lip in indecision. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have—“
“You should have,” Morgan said, coming out of the hall. His face softened when he looked at Gabby, his usual grin becoming less sleazy playboy and more sincere. “Because you’re right. It was stupid to not call in reinforcements. Especially after the apartment.” He shrugged. “We could have driven to a safe house, sent for the plane. I was too confident in my magic. I should have known better.”
The room went quiet, and it seemed as though no one knew what to say. Steph certainly didn’t.
But Morgan was nonplussed. He turned and pointed at Dominic. “Your turn with the Dom.”
What? His turn with himself?
She glanced at Dom, who shrugged in confusion. Even Mason and Gabby wore bewildered expressions.
“I am not a dominatrix, Morgan!”
Steph’s head whipped around, and she saw Suz, the petite female doctor from earlier, barreling down the hall.
The healer had curves in all the right places and a slight rasp to her voice that was decidedly sex goddess.
She was also pissed as hell.
“You—” She stabbed Morgan in the chest with her pointer finger. “—are an idiot. And you—“ Her eyes whipped right past Steph and focused on Dominic. “—are coming with me.”
That got Steph’s back up. Who the hell had decided to let the bull into the china shop?
“Why?” she snapped.
The sharp tone of her question surprised Steph, and apparently, the room, which as a collective seemed to suck in a breath. But she didn’t back down, not even when Suz’s odd amber eyes focused on her.
“Why do you want him to come with you?” Steph raised her chin. “He did nothing wrong.”
The doctor’s tawny eyes stayed locked on her for a long moment. Then as though at some unspoken cue, they thawed, warmed, and a smile curled the woman’s lips.
“You’re right,” she said and though her words were friendly, there wasn’t an inch in them for negotiation. “We weren’t introduced earlier in the chaos, but I’m the main healer here, and it’s time for me to look at Dom’s wounds.” Her gaze went firm. “Now.”
“See? Dominatrix,” Morgan muttered. “Always cracking the whip.”
Suz sighed, rolled her eyes heavenward. “I am not a dominatrix. I’m not even bossy.”
Gabby snorted.
Mason rubbed his mouth and glanced away.
Dom exchanged an amused look with Steph. Even in the two minutes she’d known the doctor, she could tell that Suz liked things done and done her way.
Morgan was less tactful. He burst out laughing, great big guffaws that made Steph’s lips curve into a smile for what felt like the first time in a long time.
To Suz’s credit, she just sighed and raised her hands in surrender. “Okay, I’m a little bossy. But he needs to have those wounds looked at.”
“So much bossy in such a little package,” Morgan quipped.
“So help me God,” Suz began. “Morgan, I swear if you open your mouth again in the next five minutes, I’ll—“
“P.D.,” Steph said. That was it. Two little letters, and she’d gained Morgan’s attention.
“You wouldn’t,” he said.
“Keep pissing off the person who’s supposed to being healing Dom, and I might.”
“You promised.”
She grinned. “I’m ruthless.”
Morgan huffed out a huge, bone-jarring sigh. “I’m so underappreciated. You guys never—“
“Let’s leave them to it,” Gabby said, snagging his arm and dragging him toward the door. “I’ll see you in the morning. Don’t work too late and don’t hesitate to call.”
Mason was following them out, but at Gabby’s last sentence, he turned and met Suz’s eyes. “She needs sleep. Don’t call her.”
Suz nodded. “Take care of her.”
“Always.”
Mason shut the door to the sound of Morgan’s voice starting in about how he’d like to call someone.
Steph felt a wave of exhaustion pass over her. These Rengalla were a lot to deal with.
A whole heck of a lot.
It was like watching a freaking ping-pong match, her head whipping back and forth as she tried to catch all the words and actions and the undertones beneath them.
Suddenly the only thing she wanted to do was sleep.
But she had Dom to worry about… and Tiffany.
“Ready?” Suz asked, inclining her head toward the hall.
“Steph first,” Dom said. He touched her shoulder, gave it a little shove in Suz’s direction “She’s injured too.”
Steph glanced down at her arm, having completely forgotten that she’d been struck by the Dalshie’s magic at all. The injury was nothing, a flesh wound, hardl
y deeper than a scratch and much less serious than Dom’s various lacerations.
Before she could brush him off, gentle fingers probed her bicep and amber sparks of magic burst to life, floating in the air above her.
They coalesced into strands that coated her skin, layering atop one another, seeping into the wound. It was the strangest sensation.
It didn’t exactly hurt. No, it was more like the injury was filled with just enough heat to be uncomfortable.
And it itched, ants crawling beneath the surface, rising to a crescendo, the urge to scratch almost impossible to resist.
Then the fine filaments dissipated, poofed off into space.
She blinked. Her mouth dropped open. The wound was gone. Completely, totally erased.
Her eyes found Dom’s, amazement no doubt filling their depths. The magic — healing injuries with no trace of a scar — was the most incredible thing she’d ever seen.
Dom smiled at her. Just before his eyes rolled back in his head, and he crumpled to the floor.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Dominic woke and immediately wished he could go back to sleep.
His entire body hurt. His skin felt fragile, rubbed raw from the sheets and as easy to tear as a tissue.
“Hey.”
He slit his eyes, blinked against the bright lights, and smiled at Steph. “Hey, babe.”
“Much better than sweetheart,” she murmured. The words were joking, but the tone was concerned. She was perched in a plastic chair, the skin beneath her eyes marred with dark circles.
His fault.
“I love it when you talk sweet to me.”
Dom sighed. Of course Morgan was here, leaning against a bank of cabinets, devil-may-care expression in place. Suz fussed with something at the sink next to him.
“P.D., do I have to remind you?” Steph said, her voice laced with warning.
“When are you going to tell me what P.D. stands for?” Suz asked.
“Depends.” Steph’s lips twitched.
“On what?” Suz and Morgan asked in unison.
“On Morgan.”
Dom snorted in amusement then closed his eyes and concentrated on just breathing when the action made his insides feel as though they’d been shredded by a weedwacker.
A soft touch to his hand made him start.
“Sorry,” Steph murmured, pulling back.
Not going to happen. He reached out in a surprisingly painful moment — but worth it, the moment her skin touched his, he felt better — and snagged her fingers, weaving them with his.
“I’m okay,” he said.
“Yeah.” Her chin wobbled, and the word was so soft, so tentative, so unlike Steph that he blinked.
Shit. “Babe. Come here.”
She shook her head. A single tear trickled out of the corner of her eye. “I’m—“
Forget this.
He yanked her arm, grunted as he pulled her onto the gurney with him.
“Your—“
“Forget the injuries,” he snapped. “What’s going on?”
Another tear slipped free. Then another and another until they poured down her cheeks. Dom tucked her head into his shoulder and felt the hot moisture pool on his chest.
A wave of panic threatened to overtake him.
He’d had plenty of women cry on his shoulder in his role as leader, but none of them had ever meant as much to him as Steph. To see the strong, feisty woman he knew so torn up devastated him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Suz and Morgan quietly excuse themselves. The door closed softly behind them.
“Tell me,” he said.
Steph popped her head up and shook it. “I’m—“
Dom fixed her with a gaze. “If you’re about to say you’re okay…”
Her blue eyes, glistening with moisture and lightly rimmed in red were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
For God’s sake, he wanted to write poetry about them, tell her they were clearer than Caribbean waters, had more depth than the deepest ocean trench.
If the words would cure her tears, make her smile again, then he’d gladly turn in his man card and write the sentiments on a freaking billboard.
Anything. Just so she would stop crying.
“I thought I’d lost you.” A single soft sentence that sliced him to the core.
Aw shit. His pulse hiccupped. His nape prickled. And his heart swelled to astronomical proportions.
This woman undid him.
“Never.” He raised his arm and cupped her cheek, ignored the pinch of his freshly healed wounds. “Steph, I’m sorry about the past, about letting you leave. I should—“
“No.”
He frowned and waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he asked, “No, what?”
“No more past. No more being butt-hurt about things that neither of us could control. I could have stayed, could have fought to keep my place.” She laid her head back onto his chest, and Dom’s arms instantly came up to surround her.
It was right. Holding her like that was right.
“But I could—“
“Could’ve. Would’ve. Should’ve. The past is done.” Here her voice went a little tentative. “But I’d like to have a shot at a future with you.”
Dom’s heart squeezed tight. Typical Steph, laying it out there. He struggled to find something to say. Should he tell her he loved her? That he wanted to move forward? That—
His brain finally got it together. Tell her you want a future with her too, you idiot.
But the inner thought came too late.
Steph pushed back, out of his arms and off the gurney. Her face was pale, and the pain shadowing her eyes was a punch to the gut.
“Steph—“ He shoved up to sitting, and good God, that hurt.
“It’s okay, Dom,” she murmured. “I get it. I’ll always be that little girl to you. It’s fine. I can deal.” She turned to the door.
“Wait.” He slid from the bed, almost ate shit when his legs were way weaker than he’d anticipated.
She was there in a second, slinging his arm over her shoulder, trying to guide him back into bed.
He used the closeness to his advantage.
Sinking onto the edge of the gurney, he tugged her between his legs and kissed the hell out of her.
Her lips were hot and so damned soft.
Dom’s body ignited, and liquid heat poured into his limbs, settled into his groin. He wanted to tear her clothes from her body. To kiss every inch of her—
When he wasn’t at risk of passing out.
Right now, he had to be content with sipping her up, with enjoying the feel of her breasts against his bare chest, the brush of her thigh against his erection.
She tasted of every cliché his blood-deprived mind could think of. Honey. Flowers. Rich, sinful dark chocolate. She was everything and more, the puzzle piece missing from his life all these years.
And when she slipped her tongue into his mouth, took the kiss to stratospheric levels, Dom’s head spun with desire.
No. Wait. That wasn’t desire. That, the blackness pulling at the edges of his vision — was fatigue and his body needing rest to recover.
But he wasn’t about to let Steph go.
He leaned back — okay, he toppled onto the gurney — just managed to keep his arms around her and take her down with him.
Her lips came free from his. They were red and swollen, and clarity unfurled inside of him, exposing everything. His heart on a silver platter. Hell, his soul.
Steph tried to pull free, but he held her tight, even when she fixed him with a pair of thoroughly confused blue eyes.
“I love you,” he said.
If anything, her expression became even more perplexed. “What?”
“I love you.”
“You love me?”
He smiled. “Yup.”
“Holy shit.” She sagged against him. “Holy. Shit.”
Dom frowned. This wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. But
then amusement coursed through him. Of course it wasn’t. Nothing with Steph was ever what he anticipated.
“It’s just that I—“ She shook her head. “—I thought… No. I spent all this time thinking that everything was my fault. That I was unlovable or some other crap like that.” Her mouth brushed his chest as she spoke, little strokes of silk that undid him. “Logically I knew better. But deep down, I’m seriously screwed up.”
“You are lovable,” he murmured, stroking a hand down her hair. The pain receded enough so that he could breathe fully and wasn’t at immediate risk of passing out. “This mess was my fault. If I’d been a better leader. Protected the Forgotten. Not let them make you leave.” His voice broke. “You were alone because of my actions. My inattention and irresponsibility. It was my fault.”
“No more focusing on the past, remember?” She pressed her arms into the mattress and pushed up a little so she could gaze into his eyes. “You’re a great leader.”
Dom let the words roll over him, not quite able to believe them after the serious mistake he’d made with Steph’s situation, but still the sentiment soothed a wound within him. It didn’t exactly heal it — more like stitched up the aching cut, made him feel as though one day it might very well be mended completely.
“And—” He brought his eyes to hers. “—I love you, too,” she said. “Pretty much since forever.”
Relief, contentment, passion washed through him. “Good.”
He kissed her until his brain screamed for oxygen, until he had to lay his head back or risk passing out again.
He kissed her until the emptiness in his heart was filled to bursting.
And then he kissed her again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A few days later, Steph pushed quietly into the room where Tiffany was recovering. It was a small suite according to Rengalla standards. A simple bedroom with an en suite bathroom.
And — no big deal — the finishes were marble and bronze, silk wallpaper and Persian carpets.
Tiffany was awake, sitting up in bed, her pale green eyes fixed on the wall. Suz had combed her hair and helped her dress in a comfy sweatshirt and sweats.
Since she’d quieted that day in the infirmary, she still hadn’t spoken a word, hadn’t made a sound except to scream every time someone except for Steph or Suz tried to talk with her.