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  And when had she started thinking of herself as part of the Forgotten again?

  Probably right about the time two freaking Dalshie had appeared outside her work declaring they had been looking for her.

  Yeah. That would do it every time.

  Floriza studied her for a long moment, her black ponytail cascading to one side in a sheet of ebony.

  Steph turned and ignored her, hoping that her friend would let the subject drop. Since Dom’s blood was already seeping through the towel she held to his side, she tore the remains of his shirt out of the way and pressed more towels to the wounds on his ribcage.

  Blood soaked the white cotton, coated her fingers, and she prayed that Morgan would get there as quickly as he’d promised on the phone.

  Floriza handed her another towel. Steph took it, pressed even harder.

  She couldn’t lose Dom. Not now. Not with so much unresolved. Not with the fragile tendril of hope for the future lacing them together.

  “Always knew you were different.” Floriza stood. “You have help coming?”

  Steph nodded but didn’t look away from the pallor of Dom’s skin, from the burn marks adorning his torso like gruesome tattoos.

  “Good. Stay safe.”

  With that, Floriza turned and walked back into the hotel, the side door closing softly behind her.

  “Come on, Dom.” The blood was still coming too fast, even with the pressure she was applying. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry.”

  “Shh…” His voice was jagged slivers of glass, his black eyes pain-filled. “…it’s okay. Morgan?”

  “On his way.”

  He sighed in relief. “Good.”

  Steph’s hands were shaking, and she dug them into the towels, not wanting him to know how scared she was.

  But as usual, he saw right through her. “You’re—” He sucked in a pained breath and reached up to cup her cheek. “—safe now.”

  “Dom.” Her fingers laced with his, wrapped around the cold digits, desperate to warm them.

  He was usually so large, a hot brand to her senses in real life, in her memories. To see him like this was—

  “Shh. Safe,” he murmured again, then his hand went limp, and Steph was left alone in a dark alley stained with blood and ash.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Dominic woke on a start, lids flying open and head pounding from the sudden influx of light. He was on a bed, his chest and side hurting like a mother, and basically feeling like he’d been run over by a train.

  Which was the last thought he had about himself because—

  Steph!

  His eyes flew across the room and — he breathed out a painful sigh of relief — there she was, sitting on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.

  “Steph?” He was surprised for a moment by the ragged quality of his voice, but then her eyes were on him, and he didn’t take note of anything aside from the deep circles marring the skin beneath them, her tangled hair, and bloodstained clothes. “You’re hurt.”

  He struggled to sit up. The pain in his side reared, making him see spots before he managed the upright position.

  “Easy, man,” a masculine voice said. “She’s fine. That’s your blood.”

  Dom’s gaze shot to the right. Morgan sat on the other double bed, looking like a freaking male model in a black t-shirt and leather pants.

  What was he trying out for Magic Mike 26 or something?

  “And that’s a whole lot of leather.”

  Stephanie snorted, but when she looked at Morgan, it was with soft eyes. That was the only way Dominic could think to describe it. Something had stitched her to the LexTal — the Rengallan warrior — and he really didn’t like it.

  Especially when she didn’t look at him the same way.

  Morgan grinned. “And I think the return of the snark means you’ll live.” He paused. “And this is nothing.” He smoothed his hands down the leather pants and winked at Steph. “I have the matching jacket.”

  “You’re an idiot,” Dominic grumbled.

  “Because I like clothes?”

  “Because you wear clothes—“ He waved a hand. “—like that to a potential combat situation.”

  “I wear leather because it hides the blood better.”

  Silence fell across the room, and for the first time since awakening, Dominic realized that he was in a hotel room. His hotel room. Why weren’t they at the Colony?

  “Speaking of blood,” Steph said as she stood up from the bed. “If you guys are going to argue about clothes, I’m going to get out of these.”

  She plucked at her ash-stained white button down, and both he and Morgan went quiet. Dom’s groin twitched in anticipation at the same time every male instinct in his body wanted to pin Morgan to the floor and force the other man to look away.

  “What?” Steph asked into the silence. She turned around and stared at them, clarity dawning in the form of a wicked scowl. “Oh! Come on. I didn’t mean right here.” She shook her head when Morgan smirked. “Seriously? You guys are idiots.”

  “I’m a man, baby,” Morgan said. “I’m not going to complain when a beautiful woman wants to undress in front of me.”

  It was Dom’s turn to smirk. Gingerly, he lay back against the pillows and crossed his arms behind his head, ready to watch the fireworks.

  Steph didn’t disappoint.

  She dropped her hand from her shirt and crossed over to where Morgan sat.

  “I’m not your baby.” She punctuated the word with a poke to his chest. “And maybe leather is functional, but I would bet my last penny that you think it makes—” Her eyes dropped toward his groin. “—your teeny tiny pencil dick look bigger. But I’ll tell you a secret.” Her voice dropped to a mock-whisper. “It doesn’t work. Maybe you should stick a rolled-up gym sock in there. That should do it.”

  Dominic tried really hard not to laugh. Okay he didn’t. Because watching this side of Steph come out, the fiery girl he remembered from all those years ago, lightened his heart.

  Maybe she would really be okay.

  Morgan rose from the bed, his hazel eyes dark and stony.

  Yeah, no. That wouldn’t do.

  Dom rolled painfully to his side and sat up, but then Morgan dropped to one knee and mimed opening a jewelry box in front of him.

  “Marry me,” he said, his eyes now sparkling, his lips twitching. “You’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.”

  “And you’re still an idiot.” She shoved his chest then rolled her eyes when he fell back with a fake wounded expression.

  “Don’t break my heart, Stephanie.”

  “You, sit,” she told Morgan, pointing to the bed. “And you—“ She turned to see Dominic upright and wavering on the bed, the pain of his bandaged wounds going straight to his head and black spots marring his vision. “—oh for God’s sake! Lay back before you pass out. I’m taking a shower.”

  With that, she turned and headed for the bathroom, snagging up his duffle bag along the way.

  “Feel free,” he muttered even as he did what she’d told him to do. Passing out would help no one.

  “I heard that!” she called then slammed the bathroom door.

  “Holy shit,” Morgan said once the shower turned on.

  “You’re telling me,” Dom said, but his lips were turned up.

  The hurricane that was Stephanie today was even more impressive than ten years before. Piss and vinegar and sweet, sweet curves.

  He was in serious trouble.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Stephanie let the shower run as she sank down onto the closed toilet and tried not to cry.

  She didn’t cry. Not anymore. Not ever again.

  Not even when Dalshie had almost killed the man who somehow had managed to hold onto a huge chunk of her heart — despite the years, despite their past.

  But seeing Dominic like that — prone, bloodied, pale, and so, so still — had shattered the barbed exterior protecting her feelings.

&nb
sp; She hadn’t wanted to lose him.

  It had been such a visceral reaction, felt in the depths of her soul, her cells, her memories. She couldn’t lose him.

  Morgan’s arrival had been the only thing that kept her from freaking out right there in the alley.

  He’d helped her get Dom up to the room, to safety, but hadn’t wanted to teleport him directly to the Colony. He’d been worried that transporting Dom such a distance might kill him.

  And that was the crux of her problem, wasn’t it?

  That she’d almost lost him.

  That she was somehow drawn to the man who’d basically kicked her out of her home and isolated her from her family.

  No.

  That wasn’t fair.

  She’d been party to her isolation, had been unable to deal with the guilt of what had happened to the girls. So she’d left.

  Run.

  Which had done her a fat lot of good. Because she was right back in the same damned place, with the same damned draw to Dominic. Unable to act on it, unable to move on from that catastrophic night.

  Shoving to her feet, she yanked out her ponytail then shucked her clothes. The water was scorching hot — not that she minded. The heat was necessary to wash away the rancid stink of the Dalshie, the ice of those painful memories.

  It was a good burn.

  The best kind, she thought, as the sting of the water flowed down her torso and legs, rinsed away the filth from the alley, the crimson of Dom’s blood. But it was almost punishing in its intensity, and there was still a small part of her that thought she deserved the punishment — whether it be too-hot water or isolation from friends, family, and home.

  Which was seriously messed up.

  Steph sighed as she dunked her hair under the water. “I am so incredibly screwed up.”

  “No. No, you’re not.”

  Dom’s voice on the other side of the shower curtain made her shriek. She popped her head out, clutching the thin plastic material to her body.

  His eyes flashed down. Hers followed suit… and she mentally groaned. The white curtain was stuck to her body and essentially see-through. She was all but giving him an X-rated peep show.

  The door cracked open as Morgan started to push his way in. “Everything ok—?“

  “Stay the hell out,” Dom growled.

  Steph’s gaze rolled heavenward, and she prayed for patience. “I’m fine, Morgan. Thank you.”

  Dom didn’t say anything further, just shoved Morgan out then slammed and locked the door.

  She let the curtain drop away, stepped back into the stream of water, and squealed.

  The water was really freaking hot. A fact she was much more aware of now than she had been ten minutes before.

  But before she had a chance to reach for the handle — to turn down the heat — the shower curtain was ripped back.

  “What is it?” Dom asked, frantic, his gaze tracing her body as she scrambled to cover the pertinent bits. “Are you hurt?”

  But as he searched her for injuries, the heavy weight of his stare transformed. It heated as it roamed over her, threatened to incinerate her, was hotter than the water at her back.

  Then his eyes narrowed, and he reached past her to turn off the water.

  “You’ll scald yourself.”

  Steph glanced down, surprised at the fierce tone of his statement. But then his fingers grazed her side, and she winced. Her skin felt raw, rubbed into submission.

  “Too hot,” he murmured and stepped back, reaching for a towel.

  Her eyes flicked down, saw that he was right. Her torso was painted in swathes of bright red, marred in a similar pattern as Dom’s blood had marked her skin not twenty minutes before.

  “I needed to get clean.”

  His expression went blank, the heat dissipating as quickly as it had come on.

  He wrapped the soft cotton around her gently, as though he were swaddling a baby, and Steph felt another piece inside of her shift, move aside, and leave an opening.

  It frightened her — petrified her, really — that little vulnerability.

  But it also broke through the ice that had encased her for so long, made her feel… like herself, like a real person with real feelings.

  Not the closed-off version she’d been pretending to be. The bitch. The frosty princess who never let anyone in.

  But that was the thing, wasn’t it?

  She hadn’t let Dom in. He’d stormed through her barriers, a white knight on horseback, and broke through the siege surrounding her heart.

  Perhaps that should make her feel violated. Taken advantage of.

  It didn’t.

  “Come here,” he murmured, sinking onto the toilet and grabbing her waist, practically lifting her out of the tub.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “The day I couldn’t lift a little thing like you would be a sad, sad one.”

  “But you’re hurt.” It was a weak protest, because the wide breadth of his chest, the strength of his hands, his arms, were more tempting than ambrosia.

  She wanted to lean against him and let him take her burdens. She couldn’t, though, knew she needed to shoulder them herself.

  But she wanted to.

  Scary thought that was.

  “Injured or not, you hardly weigh anything, Steph.” He pulled her into his lap. “Let me do this one small thing. After everything—“ His voice broke. “—just let me do this for you.”

  So that was how she found herself, skin sore, naked except for a thin towel, and perched on Dom’s thigh, trying not to melt against the mass of warm, hard muscles.

  For a moment, Steph sat stiffly, holding herself away from Dom’s body for fear of hurting him, for fear of getting too close and letting him permeate her defenses even further.

  But then, it all became too much.

  Because he was already inside of her, had been from the time they’d simply existed as friends, from the moment she’d felt more but had been unable to act, from the moment he’d shattered her heart and told her to go.

  She sank against him, leaned heavily against those capable muscles.

  He sucked in a breath.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, struggling for the previous distance. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Then what—?”

  The reality of the situation hit her — or rather was pressed firmly against her backside.

  She leaned back slightly, raised a brow.

  Dom’s lips twitched. “Not to quote Morgan, but I’m a man. You’re a beautiful, naked—“ His eyes were hot as they traced her exposed skin. “—woman squirming on my lap. I’d have to be dead not to respond. And… and it’s been a really long time for me.”

  Her gaze snapped to his, took in the rueful expression adorning his face. “Noted,” she murmured then threw every last bit of caution to the wind and leaned against his chest.

  She might get burned again, might have her heart broken for the second time.

  But she had this. For the moment, she had Dom’s arms around her and rightness seeping into her bones.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Those few minutes of holding Steph in his arms were the most peaceful moments that Dominic had experienced in… well, too damned long.

  He and Steph had spent a lot of time together before she’d left, despite the difference in their ages.

  A difference that was feeling very unimportant now that she was twenty-nine and a full-grown woman in her own right. Born well after the awful events of Ravensbrück, Steph was a cool four decades younger.

  It was an age difference that might seem odd to outsiders, but amongst the Forgotten — whose aging slowed to a snail’s pace in their early thirties and possessed an extended life that was only overshadowed by the Rengalla — it was hardly extraordinary.

  When one found themselves with the potential of centuries rather than decades with their partner, age truly was only a number.

  And he and
Steph had always clicked.

  Even after he’d taken up the mantle of leadership for the Forgotten, even after she’d begun dating Seth, they had spent time together.

  They were both night owls and had passed many an evening at the swimming hole, their bare feet in the water, their gazes locked on the stars overhead.

  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that. Her. Not until she was in his arms, making him feel more settled in a handful of minutes than he’d felt in a decade.

  Of course, it had never been quite like this. Before she’d been just a friend.

  The woman on his lap was different. She was all woman. All softness and sweet curves.

  Steph sighed and pushed back, found her feet. “Okay, enough of that.”

  His lips twitched. And still full of piss and vinegar.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  Dom obliged, already having gotten his look — and holy hell — what a look it had been.

  Steph was too thin, her collarbones standing out sharply, her bottom two ribs too visible. But that wasn’t what set his blood boiling. Nope, it was her breasts, soft and high, her hips flaring generously from a narrow waist.

  He wanted to grab on and go for a ride—

  The soft hiss of a zipper opening broke into his thoughts. Dom’s eyes flashed to the mirror, now conveniently located directly in his frame of vision — okay, out of the very corner of his gaze — and almost swallowed his tongue.

  She was bent over his bag, the towel gaping open, taunting him with glimpses of the skin of her upper thighs.

  Rock-hard.

  It was pathetic, his teenaged boy reaction, but he didn’t look away from that glimpse of her in the mirror. Instead, he watched as Steph rifled through his bag and pulled out a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt.

  She set them on the counter then bent and examined her clothes before making a sound of disapproval.

  “What is it?” he asked, his voice sounding strangled, even to his own ears.