“What are you doing here?” Steph asked.
Her blue eyes were glacial, chips off an iceberg. And her lips… It only took one glance, one heartbeat in her presence, and the past reared up and threatened to swallow Dom whole.
He remembered the feel of her mouth, the way her body had molded to his, had been so soft in his arms—
No. That wasn’t what this was about.
All of the reasons for leaving Steph alone still existed. Dom was too old. Too damaged. Too—
“We need to go,” he said, pushing the memory — the one time he’d given in to his urges with regards to Steph — aside. This wasn’t about the past. “It isn’t safe.”
Dom had come from the Colony, where he and the rest of the Forgotten — humans who had been experimented on during WWII in an attempt to activate genes in their DNA that would enable them to control elemental magic — had been living after they’d fled certain death at the hands of the Dalshie.
The Dalshie could appear mortal, could assume the guise of humanity, but they weren’t. The immortal beings were evil, completely corrupted by dark magic that had erased all traces of compassion and morality.
They’d viciously hunted the Forgotten. Until now.
Because Dom’s people were safe.
Well, most of them.
There were a few stragglers; a few like Steph who’d left the Forgotten thinking it safer, or the opportunities better, outside of their numbers.
But now the Forgotten really were safe. They’d allied with the Rengalla, a group of immortal humans who possessed extended life and the ability to control elemental magic. The Rengalla also happened to be sworn enemies of the Dalshie and fought to protect humans and Forgotten alike.
Which meant he and his people were finally, finally safe.
Or Steph would be if he could just get her to come back to the Colony with him.
“I can’t just—“
“What are you doing in New Orleans, anyway?” he asked, interrupting what would no doubt be a long-winded reprimand of his high-handedness. Steph wasn’t what one would call easy or malleable.
She was hellfire. Spit and vinegar. Had been a nineteen-year-old hormonal girl on steroids the last time he’d seen her.
Of course, things were a little different now.
Namely, the fact that there was nothing girl-like remaining about Steph. She was — his gaze traveled down the half of her body he could see — curvy and beautiful and… going to be a giant pain in his ass.
Tearing his eyes from the peekaboo of cleavage only partially hidden by her plain white button-down shirt, Dom forced himself to focus. This wasn’t about his desires, his urges. This was about Steph and getting her safe.
It was important they move and quick. He needed to get Stephanie to pack up her life and get back to the Colony as fast as possible. There had been reports of Dalshie activity in the area.
“I’m in New Orleans because I want to be,” she snapped and seemed ready to tear into him when the phone rang.
“Front desk. How can I help you?” she said into the receiver. Her voice was liquid honey, way sweeter than Dom had ever heard.
He listened as she charmed the person on the other end of the line, her eyes fixing him in place, a hardness creeping into the indigo depths.
Witnessing that softness in her demeanor freeze, frost over like a person trapped under ice, was spectacular.
And also a little sad.
“Certainly. I’ll get those sent to your room right away,” she eventually said and hung up.
Had her years with the Forgotten really damaged her so badly?
Dom didn’t think so. Steph had been carefree, confident and tough, but also light. Like the rays of sunshine beating down on a hot, summer day. Intense. Sometimes blistering. But mostly just welcome.
So when had the innocence in her faded? Perhaps it was on that night when everything changed. Or perhaps — worse — it had happened to her after she’d gone.
The thought gave him pause, stalled his next words before they came. A tense silence descended, the rat-a-tat of the rain against the windows as the storm raged outside was the only noise in that quiet lobby.
Steph glanced away, those piercing blue eyes finally leaving his. “I’m not leaving my life here.” She paused. “I’m happy.”
“Is that why you were arguing with your boyfriend when I walked in?” Dom asked. “Because you’re so happy?”
He hadn’t posed the question to be mean. Not that he wouldn’t use whatever tools were at his disposal to get Steph home where she belonged. But he was genuinely curious.
His last memories of the girl she’d been were shaded by those horrible events of ten years ago. Death and kidnapping. Tainted magic and broken families. And Seth.
Seth blaming Stephanie for everything.
Twin spots tinged her cheeks red. “I’m a hell of a lot happier here than I ever was with the Forgotten.”
“No one believes that you were at fault for the events that night.”
She snorted. “The families do. Seth does.”
Dominic felt a thread of rage weave through him at her words. They were bitter, laced with the hint of a broken heart and disillusionment.
“Seth doesn’t,” he said.
“Oh yeah?” Stephanie slammed her hands down onto the counter. “And how the hell do you know? Last I heard you were a telepath who couldn’t actually read minds.”
His lips twitched. He wasn’t a normal telepath — if such a thing were even possible to say — and could only hear thoughts that were projected. And since not many of the Forgotten could do that, it was a pretty useless ability.
Of course, it wasn’t like he’d ever honed the skill.
Not after he’d discovered firsthand that the downside of being telepathic meant you might hear things you really didn’t want to.
Learning his wife hadn’t been faithful, that the child she carried wasn’t actually his… yeah, that kind of ruined the fun for him. Especially when his ex-wife, also a telepath, had accidentally projected the thought while spending some quality time with the other man.
“I may be a telepath who can’t read minds,” he said, shaking off the past and taking a step toward her.
It had taken a damn long time to get over the betrayal. To trust again.
He wouldn’t go backward.
Dom leaned down so that the only thing separating them was the counter itself and watched Steph very carefully as he told her the rest of it. “But I do know when someone is dead. And Seth is very much so.”
The surprise was predictable, even the relief. But he hadn’t expected Steph’s eyes to fill with tears, for her legs to buckle, or for her to collapse to the floor.
He didn’t bother finding the door to the counter. Instead, he vaulted the smooth granite and crouched next to her.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice soft as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “He didn’t suffer.”
Much anyway. His death at the hands of the Dalshie had been brutal but quick.
At his words, Steph looked up, those blue eyes swollen and red… and filled with fire.
“I wish he had.”