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 magic 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.