Frost Read online

  “No,” he said. And especially not if it meant that she would listen to him.

  Steph’s head tilted. She studied him as she picked up a piece of his bacon and shoved half of it in her mouth

  After swallowing, she gave him a small smile. “I’ll listen. I can’t promise I’ll agree, but I’ll at least listen.”

  “Sweetheart, no sane man would expect to change your mind.”

  “Then why bother talking at all?” she asked, her eyes flashing with that fire he loved in her. It was so much better than the vulnerability, the wounded interior.

  He considered her for a moment. “Because the girl I knew was smart. Because the woman I see in front of me now is logical. I don’t need to change your mind. You’ll do that all on your own.”

  Her fork was poised mid-air, a piece of pancake hanging off its end. “You’re an arrogant bastard, you know that?”

  Thoughts of Keira, of her betrayal and the losses her infidelity had wrought pounded past the barriers in his brain. He knew. In the deepest, most secret part of his mind, he knew.

  Just as he understood exactly what that arrogance had cost him in the past.

  Trouble was he needed the cocky demeanor to get through the next few days. Especially if he was going to try and push past the glaring guilt of what he should have done — that he should have been better, should have stopped Seth, should have forced everyone to see reason.

  Arrogance was the only buffer he had against what had been obvious wrongdoing on his part.

  “I know,” he said softly. “Believe me. I know.”

  Steph went quiet for a moment, studying him for a change. Then her expression shifted, and mischief crawled into her blue eyes. “I’m eating. You’re supposed to be talking.”

  His lips twitched. “Pushy.”

  “Don’t I know it?” She surprised him by putting down her fork and reaching across the space between them. “We’ve all done things we regret.”

  “Steph.” His voice was rough, filled with remorse. “I really am sorry.”

  “I know.” She sighed before forcing a smile and clapping her hands together. “Okay, spill it, and I’ll attempt to listen.”

  “I returned to the Forgotten about four months ago.” When she frowned, he explained, “I’d left to try and find a cure.”

  There were some in his number who thought their magic evil, who refused to reproduce because of the violent way the Dalshie’s experiments had invoked their powers.

  He didn’t exactly feel that strongly, but Dominic did believe their magic was unnatural. It had brought him nothing aside from pain and grief and heartbreak.

  So when he’d heard from a Forgotten who’d struck out on his own that there was a man in Las Vegas claiming to be able to cure them of their magic, Dom had gone to investigate.

  Not surprisingly, the man had been a farce.

  “The moment I got back, Daughtry was there.”

  Steph’s eyebrows pulled together. “Daughtry… why does that name sound familiar? Oh! Little girl with pale skin and violet eyes. “

  “Not so little anymore, and she’s an Oracle. With the Rengalla.”

  Steph gasped. “Oh my God. But I thought she was one of us.”

  “I had no reason to believe otherwise. Her parents were running from the Dalshie when they sought shelter with us.” His lips pressed into a firm line. “But it turns out they were running from both the Dalshie and the Rengalla. Daughtry had been kidnapped from her real parents, her powers blocked and hidden amongst our number. The Dalshie wanted to use her powers once they matured for their own gain.”

  “But she never showed any ability to see the future when she was with us.”

  “I know. Her powers were hidden so deeply that we didn’t question when the people posing as her parents declared her Forgotten.”

  “Wow,” Steph said. “I— I don’t know what to say. I never thought I’d meet a Rengalla in my lifetime, let alone have been friends with one.”

  “I know,” he murmured. “I ran into Daughtry when I was returning home. I couldn’t believe it was her at first, but those violet eyes, and her hair is so distinctive…” He shrugged. “Anyway, I helped her out of a tough spot, and she helped save us from the Dalshie, and now we’re all living at the Colony.”

  “What?”

  Dom smiled at the obvious shock in Steph’s tone. Before they’d moved to the Colony, the Rengalla had achieved the almost-mythical status that was reserved solely for human celebrities or urban legends.

  The Rengalla’s elite warriors, the LexTals, had stormed into Ravensbrück and saved Dominic and the other Forgotten in the aftermath of WWII. But what the Forgotten hadn’t understood was that the Rengalla weren’t the bad guys. They’d feared the more powerful magical beings were just another group who intended to hurt and enslave them, and thus they’d fled.

  Then had continued to flee for decades. Because, while the Rengalla hadn’t pursued them, hadn’t even known the Forgotten were still alive, the Dalshie had.

  “I know.”

  Throughout the years they’d seen glimpses of the Rengalla in battle with the Dalshie and had slowly come to learn that the Rengalla were polar opposites of the immoral and cruel monsters that were the Dalshie.

  “But— I mean— How?” She waved a hand through the air. “Never mind that. What’s the Colony like?”

  “It’s…” He thought of the winding halls adorned with 3-dimensional magical murals, of the utter luxury, the sheer amount of space. It was by far the nicest place he’d ever lived. “It’s awesome. More importantly, it’s safe. But—“ He sighed. “—it also doesn’t really feel like home.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Wistful.

  Dominic’s voice was filled with such wistful longing that Stephanie felt her own heart squeeze in response.

  She knew the feeling, had experienced the same painful ache from the moment she’d left the Forgotten’s settlement.

  Their village had been small, the homes simple and with a closeness that fostered strong ties.

  At least, of course, until those binds had been cut.

  Daphne and Tiffany screaming as the Dalshie appeared out of nowhere and grabbed them.

  Stephanie swimming as fast as she could.

  Trying desperately to get to them. To do something.

  The sharp sounds of their shrieks cutting off as they’d disappeared alongside the Dalshie.

  Tiffany had been Seth’s sister.

  The emotions surrounding the kidnapping sat hard in Stephanie’s chest, compressed heavily on her lungs. The loss of the two girls — her best friends — had been devastating, further amplified by survivor’s guilt of not being taken with them and the utter relief at being spared.

  It had been too much.

  Especially when those who’d been her family in both blood and heart had turned on her.

  Seth. Tiffany’s parents. Her own mother and father. And… Dominic.

  “The Colony sounds amazing,” she said, firmly shutting the door on the past.

  “Come see it, Steph. Be safe. Start over.”

  The urge to do that was strong. She missed her sister, the community. The location wasn’t important as much as the people. Plus, being housed amongst the mythical Rengalla wasn’t exactly a deterrent.

  “And Tiffany’s parents. Mine? How do they feel about me coming home?”

  Dominic’s face sobered, the earnestness of his plea from the moment before disappearing.

  Her heart sank. “They don’t want me to come back.”

  It wasn’t a question. It was quiet certainty.

  “It doesn’t matter what they want. You’re Forgotten. You belong with us.”

  The pancakes and eggs she’d consumed suddenly felt like lead in her stomach. “How can you say that? Of course it matters.” She shoved to her feet, stumbled back a step. The memories choked her, threatened to pull her into the past. “Don’t you see? I can’t go. I can’t do that to them.”

&nbs
p; “You’re not doing anything to them,” Dom said, putting out a hand as though to stop her.

  Steph dodged the contact and the absolution it offered. It wasn’t that easy. She couldn’t just pretend the past didn’t exist, couldn’t rub in the fact that she’d survived when Daphne and Tiffany hadn’t.

  What kind of horrible person did that make her?

  Her fingers found the handle of the door and opened it. Two heartbeats later, she was out in the hall and running toward the elevator.

  “Steph! Wait!” Dom’s voice echoed down the hall.

  She didn’t wait. She couldn’t wait.

  The doors slid closed with a quiet snick of sound. It was followed by oppressive silence as she rode the empty, lonely metal box down.

  In the lobby, she struggled to keep it together as she snagged her purse from behind the front desk, waved to Floriza — the day shift concierge — and pushed out the side door.

  That was as long as her so-called strength held her.

  Breakfast coming up didn’t taste as good as it had going down.

  It took her a few moments to regain her composure. But once the heaving stopped and her breathing slowed, Steph swiped a hand across her mouth and staggered to her feet.

  Which was precisely the moment she realized she wasn’t alone.

  A prickling swept down her spine, a knot twisted her stomach, and the stench… the stench was awful, putrid, the smell of rotting garbage.

  She knew that scent.

  Knew it in the very marrow of her soul.

  It fueled her nightmares, lingered in her memories.

  “We’ve been looking for you.”

  She shuddered. The voice was familiar in its cold monotone. Every Dalshie spoke with the same bone-chilling coolness. Their red eyes gleamed in anticipation.

  For her. For what they would do to her.

  Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she barely held it back.

  And, goddamn it, Dominic had been right.

  Almost as if the thought had conjured him, he burst out the side door of the hotel. Floriza was shouting at him in Spanish, cursing him for being in the employee area, but one look at the situation had him slamming the door on her with a shouted “Stay there!”

  Floriza must have seen enough to be afraid or was smarter than Steph had ever thought because her fiery coworker kept the door shut.

  Then Dominic was in front of her, shielding her from the two Dalshie, a crossbow in his hand. An absurd wave of humor passed through her. No wonder Floriza had been shouting.

  Bows and arrows weren’t exactly commonplace in New Orleans. They had all sorts of crazy stuff, but medieval weapons? Not so much.

  Her lips twitched, and it had to be the fear that made her so confident, adrenaline that had flipped her mental switch from abject terror to focused calm. It was the only explanation for her sudden surge of flippantness.

  “Is this where you say you told me so?”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dom’s lips twitched, but he didn’t dare take his gaze off the monsters in front of him.

  They were always the same. Male. Female. White. Black. Asian. Hispanic. It didn’t matter. They always looked the same.

  Ebony markings crawled up their arms and across their torsos, writhing patterns that appeared almost as though they wanted tear themselves free of the skin they were imprinted on.

  But it was the cruel malice in the creatures’ crimson eyes that hit Dominic in the gut every time. He’d never seen mercy or peacefulness or even a blip of happiness in their gaze. The only thing close was the self-satisfied smirk that adorned their lips when they found pleasure in torturing the innocent.

  As usual, the Dalshie acted without preamble. This wasn’t an honorable battle or a movie-worthy fight.

  It was war. It was life or death.

  It was Steph’s — his — survival.

  A bolt of black magic, barbed and cutting, shot toward them. Dom barely had time to knock Steph out of harm’s way before it collided with his side.

  Roaring pain erupted in his ribs, hot agony that seeped into his extremities as rapidly as the blood pouring out of the torn skin.

  He wasn’t a Rengalla, his magic wasn’t easy to grasp, wasn’t instinctual. And he certainly didn’t have the combat powers of their warriors, the LexTals. But he sure as shit wasn’t about to let two Dalshie take him down.

  Not after all they’d done to him and his. Not before he got Stephanie to safety. Not—

  His fingers found the phone in his pocket, put in his security code, and shoved it into Stephanie’s hand. “Call Morgan,” he said. “Give him the address and tell him we need transport.”

  “But—“

  Another blast of magic burst over their heads. Missing them by an inch, hitting the brick wall and reducing it to powder.

  “Hurry!”

  When she started scrolling through the contacts, Dom stood and faced the Dalshie. The pain in his side intensified. He wavered on his feet.

  He needed to end this. Before they ended him.

  The crossbow was solid in his hand, a reassuring weight. He lifted the weapon, sighted his target — the one on the left.

  “Stay back,” he ordered.

  Their resultant laughter left a wave of goosebumps across his skin similar to a snake sliding over his foot or a spider spotted just two inches from his face.

  But he’d managed to compartmentalize his fears many years before, and no matter his body’s instinctual reaction, he wasn’t going to let the Dalshie control him.

  Not ever again.

  He dodged the twin shots of black magic, hitting the hard concrete in a pain-filled roll that brought tears to his eyes. Blinking, he paused, lined up his target, and shot.

  His wasn’t an ordinary crossbow.

  It was custom-built to fire razor-sharp knives. While heavier than its bolt-shooting counterpart, Dom’s bow held ten thin blades and was still small enough to fit in a holster between his shoulders.

  The knife flew across the space between him and the Dalshie. It hit with a solid thunk, directly in the Dalshie’s neck.

  It wouldn’t kill him.

  No, the Dalshie could only be killed by decapitation or a blade to the heart.

  But it would incapacitate him long enough to give Dom the chance to take out his comrade.

  Click.

  The next blade was primed and loaded even before the first Dalshie hit the ground. Dom aimed and shot.

  That knife sunk into the second Dalshie’s chest.

  Ash exploded, coating the air, making the dim morning light even hazier. Dom didn’t have time to worry about the way it stung his eyes. He risked a look over his shoulder, saw that Steph was unharmed and rapidly talking into the phone.

  His blood was hot where it still cascaded down his side, but the rest of him felt cold, sluggish.

  He staggered to his feet and crossed to the remaining Dalshie lying prone on the ground. The bastard hadn’t moved. Maybe he’d managed to sever his spine with the knife?

  Dom bent, his crossbow at the ready, his finger on the trigger.

  The Dalshie’s eyes were closed, unmoving. But shouldn’t he have turned to ash if he was dead?

  “Dom?”

  Stephanie’s voice distracted him for a split second, and that was all the Dalshie needed.

  Lids flashed open, revealing red eyes gleaming bright with fiery malice.

  Dom squeezed the trigger of the crossbow.

  It was too late.

  The bolt of black magic collided with his chest.

  His last thought was of Stephanie.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Steph screamed.

  She couldn’t help it. Seeing Dominic fly back like that, blood pouring out of him as he collided with the building on the opposite side of the alley, filled her with more fear than facing the Dalshie on her own.

  What if something happened to him?

  No. That was the stupidest thought she could have had in that mo
ment. Something had already happened to him.

  What if he died?

  That was what she was really worried about, and if she wanted to make sure it didn’t happen, then she’d better get her ass in gear.

  Sticking his phone in her pocket, she ran across the alley and scooped up the crossbow.

  The Dalshie was still on the ground, one knife in his neck, another sticking out of his chest. But he wasn’t ash.

  Which meant he was alive.

  And if the black flames gathering in his palms were any indication, he was recovering.

  Stopping a safe — her mind snorted at the thought, because really, who was safe when the Dalshie were around? — distance away, Steph set the crossbow on the ground and tore off her shirt.

  Creeping over to the Dalshie, she circled until she was a few feet behind his head. Then she tossed her shirt over his eyes, bent to press the crossbow to his chest, and pulled the trigger.

  Blade penetrated bone and tissue with a sick crunch.

  The Dalshie burst into ash. It clouded the air, coated her skin, and burned her eyes. Some even got into her mouth.

  She spat out the bitter, chalky substance and searched the alley, half-expecting another Dalshie to appear out of nowhere. When one didn’t, she ran toward Dominic and sank to her knees. Her fingers scrambled to find his pulse, her own heartbeat rapid and pounding until it finally began to steady as she found Dom’s even beat.

  He was alive.

  But he might not be for long if she couldn’t staunch the bleeding. It gushed onto the concrete, hot and sticky, and its iron tang scented the air.

  Steph bit back a shriek as the door to the hotel flew open. Floriza stepped out, her arms full of bright white towels.

  “Here you go,” Floriza said as she handed one from the stack to Steph, who immediately pressed it firmly to Dom’s wound. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  Her eyes flashed to Floriza’s, and she shook her head violently. “No,” Steph said, too quickly, too suspiciously.

  But God knew what would happen if Dom was taken to the hospital. Their bloodwork didn’t show up in the realm of normal, and humans didn’t know there were those amongst their ranks who could do magic. She and the rest of the Forgotten didn’t need another enemy on their hands.