Frost Page 10

  “Hi,” Steph murmured as she pulled a chair over to the bed and sat down. “How are you feeling?”

  As usual, Tiffany didn’t answer.

  So Steph told her about her day. Yapped about what she’d eaten, how the Colony was so different from anywhere she’d ever been.

  She even told Tiffany how she and Dominic had managed to get Suz to stop hovering enough to manage a dinner with both of them sitting upright. The doctor hadn’t left the pair of them alone together for any significant amount of time after finding out that Steph had let Dom out of bed that first night.

  Morgan was right; Suz could double as a dominatrix.

  Not that she’d say that to Suz’s face.

  Steph laughed aloud as she told Tiffany that, and for the first time since her friend had reappeared in the sky outside Hotel Toujours, Tiffany seemed to come out of the layers of nothingness that had enveloped her. Her lips twitched, the barest smile curled the edges of her mouth.

  It was huge, that small curve, and gave Steph hope enough to press on. “I went to visit the Forgotten today.”

  She hadn’t mustered the courage to visit her people until that morning. After her last interaction with them a decade before, she hadn’t known what to expect.

  Pitchforks. Torches. A one-way ticket out of the Colony.

  Not that Dominic would let that happen.

  But he would be out of the infirmary in the next couple of days, and Steph had wanted, no needed to fight her own battle. She’d spent too long doing so to let someone — even the man she loved — fight it for her.

  “Your parents—“ Steph’s voice broke. “They’re so happy you’re home.”

  They were. They were also devastated that Tiffany was so broken.

  But the hatred, the blame and anger Steph had expected hadn’t materialized. Everyone was tentatively friendly, thankful she’d brought Tiffany home, even though it hadn’t been her doing.

  So, no pitchforks, but still a boatload of questions.

  What had happened to Tiffany in her time with the Dalshie? And where was Daphne? Daphne’s parents were deceased, but she still had family and friends who worried and cared about her.

  “Your mom would like to see you. Would that be okay?”

  “No.”

  The unexpected response shocked Steph into silence, and as Tiffany turned her head, fixed Steph with pale green eyes, she had to force herself to not react, to not shrink back from the wealth of pain in those peridot irises.

  Initially, no one had been allowed to see Tiffany aside from the healers — as even their contact had upset her to the point of complete hysterics. It was only when Suz had called Steph in for an extra set of hands when the doctor was short-staffed and attempting to change a challenging bandage that they’d discovered Steph was the only person Tiffany didn’t freak out with.

  She’d since warmed up to Suz — or at least didn’t scream every time the doctor checked on her.

  “You don’t have to,” she told Tiffany. “Of course you don’t have to see anyone you don’t want to. But I know they’re worried.”

  The words seemed to thaw Tiffany further, and her shoulders dropped.

  “Daphne is dead. The Dalshie killed her.”

  The news was a punch to the gut. Steph couldn’t hold back her gasp of dismay.

  “How? When? What happened?” The questions were rapid-fire, and she forced herself to slow down when she saw panic glaze Tiffany’s expression. “I’m sorry.” She sucked in another breath. Tried to steady her pulse. “Can you talk about it?”

  Tiffany shook her head, shuddered. “No.” Her eyes slid closed. “Not yet. The — the experiments. They were horrible. The Dalshie wanted. God! I don’t know! Something about needing all the elements. And there were more of us. More Forgotten. Not just girls. But boys too and different abilities.” She sucked in a heavy breath. “It was like they were trying to build something. Cobble us together into something… evil.”

  Tiffany broke off and bent over her knees, gasping for breath. “It — It—“

  “Shh. It’s okay,” Steph said. She placed a tentative hand on Tiffany’s back, and when her friend didn’t flinch, wrapped her in a gentle hug. “You’re safe. I’m here.”

  After a long moment, Tiffany glanced at her with those haunted eyes. “I’m not sure any of us are safe.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Dom watched Steph walk into his room in the infirmary and felt a smile curl his lips.

  She was beautiful.

  “Hey,” she murmured. Then hesitated, shifted from foot to foot. “You ready to blow this joint?”

  He stood, the pinch from his wounds barely evident. “More than ready.”

  “Good,” she said.

  He grinned, pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “Good. Let’s go.”

  They walked out of the infirmary, and he was surprised at how well she knew her way around.

  When he mentioned it, she shrugged. “I’m good with directions.”

  The Colony was a complex structure, with twisting corridors and a maze-like atmosphere. It became easier once the Rengalla implanted the magic in their minds, a special lens-like piece that enabled them to see past the glamour that kept humans at bay. But Dom still got lost, and he’d been there six months.

  Steph? Nope. Of course not.

  “God,” he said and pulled her close for another kiss. “I love you.”

  She looked up at him, and his heart stopped. Literally stopped. If it were possible — and not hideously gross — he’d take it from his chest and put it in her capable hands.

  “I love you too.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment until Steph glanced behind her and tilted her head in the direction of his room. “Come on. I want you to myself for a few hours before the Forgotten come knocking.”

  “Are you—“ He stopped, tried to think of the way he wanted to ask the question. “Are you going to be okay if they do?”

  She laughed. “I’ve already seen them. We didn’t exactly make peace, per se, but I think they’re as ready to move forward as I am.”

  “Oh.”

  She was always surprising him. Or maybe not, since it wasn’t a surprise she’d want to deal with her own problems. Steph was tough, competent. Of course she wouldn’t have waited for him.

  Dom grinned inwardly. With another woman, that action might have irritated him. With Steph, it was just life. He didn’t expect her to act differently now that they were together, and her independence didn’t bother him in the least. In fact, it was one of the things he liked most about her.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, you kind of did my job for me.” He nudged her shoulder. “You always going to take over?”

  Her lips pressed flat, and the slightest tinge of a guilty flush colored her cheeks. “No. Okay. Well, probably.”

  He laughed as they turned a corner and approached his room. “Good. I like it when you take over. Sometimes…”

  “What?”

  Dom told the truth. “Sometimes it feels like too much responsibility. I didn’t ask for the Forgotten to make me their leader, didn’t anticipate having to make every damn choice. But no one else would step up, and if I hadn’t, we would have died. Or at least been right back in the Dalshie’s hands.”

  “But when I think about how I screwed things up, how I fumbled my way to our survival, I’m surprised so many of us are alive. I failed our people. You. Tiffany. Daphne. So many others.” His vision blurred, and he bit his tongue hard. “I should have done better.”

  “Dom—“

  He had to get this out. “Our people are good at hiding, great at living in the shadows. No one wanted to investigate the chance for a cure, so I did. No one wanted to move here or was willing to go after you or the other Forgotten. So I did — with the help of the Rengalla.”

  “It was the right thing to do.”

  Dom opened the door to his quarters, pulled her inside, and shut the door. “I know it was. B
ecause I want us to have the freedom to live in peace, to not have to run.” He thrust a hand through his hair, released a pent-up breath. “But I can’t do it alone. The rest of the Forgotten have to be willing to take the risk.”

  “And you think it’s selfish because it’s something you want.” Steph’s quiet words made his lungs tighten. Because that was exactly what he felt.

  “Yeah.”

  They were quiet for a long moment. “And you don’t know how to do it. How to gain our freedom.”

  “Yeah, that’s part of it.” He brushed a stray strand of hair back from her cheek. “There is the logistics side. We don’t have any money or property — it’s all been seized or destroyed by the Dalshie. We don’t have our own place to live. We’re basically refugees. We—”

  Steph stepped away from him, pulled her shirt over her head, and kicked off her shoes.

  Dom’s throat went dry.

  Her fingers found the button of her jeans. Blond hair slipped from her ponytail and curled over her shoulder, teasing at the white strap of her bra. “Go on.”

  He shook his head, tried to clear the sudden haze of desire at seeing Steph’s perfect apple-sized breasts barely contained by sheer white silk.

  “Refugees,” she prompted.

  “Uh.” Dom coughed. “Yeah. But the bigger problem is cultural. We’ve spent so long hiding I don’t know if we’ll be able to make the leap.”

  “We will,” she said confidently.

  The rasp of her zipper nearly undid him.

  “How do you know?” When had he swallowed gravel?

  Blue eyes focused on him. “Because we can do anything together.”

  “Yeah?”

  Her fingers slipped into the waistband of her jeans and — thank you, God — pushed. They dropped to the floor. She stepped out of them and turned for the bed.

  Dom’s eyes were fixed on the curves of her butt — the cheeks jiggling slightly at the movement. It was the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, that ass.

  “You coming?” she tossed over her shoulder.

  He was on fire, and Steph’s words burned away the last threads of his control.

  “No,” he said, closing the distance between and catching her up in his arms. He tumbled them to the bed. “But you’re about to.”

  He pulled down the cup of her bra and sucked a nipple into his mouth, the sound of her moans washing over him.

  “Dom…”

  A row of kisses across her collarbones, down her sternum. “I like the way you say my name,” he murmured.

  “It’s just a name—“ She broke off when he nibbled on the underside of her breast.

  “I like it,” he said again and began to lavish her other nipple with its due attention.

  “I — uh… holy shit—“

  His fingers slipped between her thighs, shoved the scrap of lace to the side, touching, stroking, teasing, and when she was writhing beneath his hand, he let his mouth trail down and follow suit.

  “Oh Dom. Oh God! I’m—“

  He helped her ride the wave then slid up and kissed her softly. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Steph peeled back her lids, a satisfied smile on her lips.

  Dom reveled in that for a moment then grinned. “I told you so.”

  Her brows pulled down. “Told me what?”

  “That you’d co—“

  “Seriously?” She snorted, rolled her eyes. “You’re all talk.”

  “Um. No actually. I think I just proved myself.”

  “Hmm…” Slowly, the innocent quirk of her lips transformed into a smirk. “I’m not sure. I can be really convincing when it comes to faking orgasms.”

  “Convincing? Fake? Oh, forget it.” He flipped onto his back, pulled her over him, then spent the next few hours proving he was true to his earlier words.

  And when he held Steph in his arms much, much later, felt the soft puffs of her breaths, as she lay fast asleep across his chest, Dom knew she’d been right.

  No matter what the Dalshie were after, no matter how difficult the journey would be, he would help his people be free.

  And he would do it with Steph by his side.

  The knock on the door later that evening was the only thing that separated them. Dom slipped on a pair of pants and answered it.

  Morgan stood outside with a tray of food. “Eat, sleep, and be ready. The rest of your lives start tomorrow.”

  Dom took the platter and nodded his thanks. But— “The rest of my life has already begun.”

  Morgan grinned in return. “Take care of her.”

  “Never in question.”

  “Good. Because—”

  He closed the door, cutting off the rest of the statement, and heard Steph giggle behind him. She’d tucked a sheet around her, looked sweet, innocent, and so damned tempting.

  Just as he was about to set the tray to the side and sweep her back onto the bed, there was another knock.

  “Food, bro,” Morgan called through the door. “You’ve got to at least feed her first.”

  Steph snorted as Dom sighed, but he dutifully carried the platter to the table and started uncovering plates.

  The Forgotten weren’t alone, either. The Rengalla had their backs.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

  I hope that you’ve enjoyed Dom and Steph’s story. The mystery of the Dalshie’s involvement in the kidnapping and experiments on the Forgotten will continue in the third Phoenix book (out early next year). If you want to see more of Morgan and the other Rengalla, please check out Phoenix Rising and Dark Phoenix (Books 1 and 2 of the Phoenix series). From Ashes (Book 1 in my LexTal Chronicles, a series of standalone novels featuring the Phoenix world) is also available and shows how Gabby and Mason came to be. More books from that series are forthcoming as well.

  I always love to hear from my readers, so please feel free to contact me on Facebook (facebook.com/elisefaberauthor) or follow me on Twitter (@faberelise) or Instagram (@elisefaber). Questions, comments, loves/hates, or even random cute puppy videos are always appreciated! My website (www.elisefaber.com) has loads of free content including short stories and character interviews.

  Readers are the backbone of any author’s success, and I sincerely appreciate you taking the time to read and support my story and the fictional characters who live inside my mind. 

  -XOXO, Elise

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Every book is like giving birth to a baby. It has to be nurtured and grown and then when it’s ready, it has to be disciplined! Thanks to my editors, betas, and last but not least, my Fabinators, who always know what my characters need, whether it’s support or a kick in the ass. Love you guys.

  And as always, I couldn’t do this without the support of my kids and my husband, who’s never balked at having a wife who writes steamy romances. Love you to the moon — wait, that’s not enough — to the other side of the universe and back!

  XOXO, E

  RENDEZVOUS IN ROOM 311

  By K.D. Wood

  For the service men of US Army UH-60 Blackhawk who gave their all on March 10, 2015 and the loved ones they left behind.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The grandfather clock tucked into the alcove bonged out another hour. Brock frowned at his watch to double-check the time.

  Three hours? Keely’s never been this late before on our anniversary.

  By this time ten years ago, they’d been pronounced man and wife. He could still picture her face. Flushed with excitement, she’d walked toward him glowing against the dark sky over the gulf in an oh-so-soft-to-the-touch dress of antique lace. With her shoulders bare, the intricate pattern had flowed over the gentle curve of her breasts and hips, sleeves fluttering in the breeze as the hem brushed the back of her calves. She’d carried a small bundle of her favorite Tropicana roses. Not red, not yellow, but both, and they’d stood out in a striking burst of color against the cream of her dress. She’d said the flowers were a perfect picture of how much marriage should be a mi
x of friendship and love. Soft candlelight had flickered off her sun-kissed cheeks as she’d stepped up beside him and taken his hand.

  The simple words by the minster joining them, glittering silver bands slipped onto trembling fingers as a symbol of their promises, and a lingering kiss that sealed their union had taken all the chill out of the sharp December air. Her smile had nearly blinded him with love as they’d marched down the street in full New Orleans style to the shouts of friends and the jaunty tune of the band. The soft hum of pleasure still echoed against his ear as they’d slowly twirled through their first dance as husband and wife.

  She’d tasted of buttercream and champagne during that first heated kiss once they’d escaped the throng of well-wishers to go up to their honeymoon suite. The same suite, and kiss, he was eager to get her into tonight and slam the door behind them to shut out the world for a while.

  The revolving door began another lazy turn, and then like magic, she appeared. Keely’s ebony waves blew over one shoulder as the door finished its revolution and deposited her into the Hotel Toujours lobby. Brock’s breath caught at the sight of his gorgeous wife, and all the aching of their year apart instantly fell away. She’d worn his favorite dress, and her hair hung loose and free in that same way he remembered from the night she’d became his forever.

  Twinkle lights on the huge flocked tree in the lobby’s alcove flashed from white to red, and gas lamps framing the entrance to the café flickered with each turn of the door. The sparkling garland and shiny baubles draped about the railings, and furnishings were nothing compared to how amazing their candle-lit ceremony in Jackson Square had been all those years ago. Her tan face had seemed backlit then, now, the glow from the candles highlighted the perfect constellation of freckles smudged over the bridge of her nose. A broad white smile and dark eyes that had glittered with tears as she’d promised to love him until her last breath. This place would do right fine for their celebration evening. Brock could be anywhere with her by his side, and he’d be perfectly happy.