Chapter 24 Laura #2
Turning around takes way too long. When I do, Dom lies crumpled on his front on the ramp, his arms outstretched. As if he’s reaching for me.
Blood trickles from a small hole in his temple. A tiny wound. Too small to take down such a big, warm, caring guy.
“Dom.” I croak.
There's silence in my head. I thought it'd be a calm quiet open space, like a wide meadow, but it's actually like the dark depths of the sea. Lonely, empty. Alien and crushing.
My feet rush me up the ramp without conscious thought. I have to do something, but what, I don't know. Why don't I know what to do? Why didn't I get pointers on alien first aid? Why did I insist to him and myself that I could handle this? My chest clenches; the words never said are daggers now.
Dom's eyes are closed and he’s… still. No, he can’t be.
“Dom, wake up right now!” My voice cracks. I'm aware ordering him is futile, but it's the only thing I can think of to do.
I failed him. The bond echoes like an empty corridor; his presence, always warm, always there, torn away, leaving only cold walls.
Hot tears blur my vision. “I failed you,” I whisper, choking on the words. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave me. Please.”
Boxy alien vehicles tear through the sky, sirens whooping, clearing the crowd. They land in a wider circle surrounding us and more guys pile out, scales all flashing different colors, blue, red, gold, purple.
Two long sleek cars with eights sets of shining wheels glide up to the scene, one silver and one gold, smooth as liquid metal.
Out of the silver one steps a female with an air of authority, her gaze locking onto me.
She strides over with silver curls bouncing behind her and hands me a pair of headphones without a word, gesturing to my head before going to her knees at Dom's side.
Immediately the Parthiastocks gasp, staring at her like she's a magnet.
She must be the All-Mother.
“Fix him,” I order. No, the tone of my voice wobbles too much for that.
I'm begging her.
She points to my head again, then at the headphones. The moment I slip them on, voices flood into my ears, alien language transforming into words I can understand.
“What’s happening here?” A woman in long honey-colored gauze approaches the scene from the gold car. Her voice is sharp, used to being obeyed.
I know a senior executive voice when I hear one.
She looks between Dom and me, her lips curling. “More humans, or is this the same one?”
The woman in silver says, “She's clearly different to the other two.”
“I can't tell. Where are they all coming from?” She sneers at Dom's slack form. “And this one's crying over a Parthiastock.”
One, this bitch is going to get my fist in her face. Two, I'm not crying. I'm too amped for that, but I'm not doing anything useful either.
My hands start roving over Dom's back as if I can prise open his scales and check he's okay. He has to be.
The woman in silver—she must be the All-Mother—examines his wound with a practiced touch. She clears away blood with the end of her see-through skirt, revealing a glint of iron.
“He’s still breathing. The blast was stopped by a metal plate,” she murmurs.
Dom's head plate. It saved him.
“He’s alive?” I check.
“Yes, he's alive,” the All-Mother says, silver eyes warm, like molten metal, as she looks at him.
My breath leaves in a shaky exhale. That was close.
But my relief is short-lived. The woman in gold, whom I can only assume is the Prif, Samara, scowls down at Dom’s prone form with icy contempt.
“Kill him,” she commands.
A gun moves to my left.
“No!” I scream, shoving the barrel away.
It fires wildly, the blast catching one of the other Parthiastocks in the shoulder. He staggers back, clutching his wound, his face twisting in shock and pain.
“Do not fire!” another Parthiastock snaps. “You might hurt a female!”
The injured Parthiastock slowly pushes himself to his feet, hand pressed to the injury on his shoulder. His flesh begins knitting itself back together, scales shimmering until the burn seals without a trace.
Nanites. Their regenerative abilities are astonishing. Dom’s wound is starting to close too, new skin forming over the wound, leaving a scaleless patch on his temple.
He stirs, shoulders bunching as he pushes up from the ramp, and his unfocused lavender eyes find mine.
‘Law-rah.’ His mental voice is so small. Then he draws it back with a whispered, ‘Sorry.’
At first I think he's sorry for getting shot or worrying me, but then I remember he's been trying not to talk to me in my head.
I clasp his fingers, holding them tightly. My skin tightens as my resolution surges through me like fire.
I won’t let anyone hurt him ever again.
“Stay with me, Dom,” I whisper. I say it again in my head, hoping I'm not shouting. ‘Stay with me in here, too.’
His eyes widen like I'm the one who came back from the dead in a miracle, but then he goes limp. I cry out, but his chest rises and falls. The quiet along the bond has a reassuring warmth on his side. He's only lost consciousness, not… gone forever.
The All-Mother rises, her gaze locked on Samara. If there was warmth in her face before, now there's a flash of grief, quickly replaced with a cool smile. “Samara. How nice of you to come down, but this is my ship, and I can deal with the visitors.”
“Your ship has been transporting too many exiles and aliens around our airspace,” Samara replies, golden scales hardening. It's an advantage their native language is so guttural; she's biting off every word. “What are you up to, Shara?”
“Certainly not breaking any laws, Prif. I thank you for the concern, but I can assist these visitors. You're needed elsewhere, no doubt, and I'd hate to waste your valuable time.”
Samara barely looks at Dom. “Not breaking any laws? He identified as an exile. Any exiles who dare to return are not just breaking the law, they're mocking it.”
Shara's cool gaze briefly sweeps to me. “That may be, but they must have a good reason for returning.”
Both women turn to me, and side by side they're fire and ice, Samara's sultry anger against Shara’s cool calm. I get the feeling both will latch onto and twist what I'm about to say for their own ends, and I don't know either of their agendas.
I have to take charge, get this situation under my control.
I begin, “We're aware Dom's return is unwelcome, but it's not unprecedented. We've encountered an issue and want advice and guidance from Oloria to come to a solution.”
Samara's jaw ticks. “What issue?”
I squeeze Dom’s limp hand. “I got tangled in the mind-sync, and now I'm stuck.”
Shara's cool demeanor slips, a gasp escaping her lips. She looks between us as if she can see the mental connection.
The Parthiastocks glance at each other. Do they understand?
Samara blinks, as if she expected another answer. “Then simply shoot him and be done.”
“No, this is fascinating,” Shara exclaims. “We have to study their connection and—”
Samara scowls. “Enough with your ridiculous pseudoscience. You're not using that excuse again to get another clone off his sentence.”
Samara’s tone is the big sister of the one I take with Arabella sometimes, when her never ending chattering gets a bit much for me. Samara is Totally Done With Shara's Shit.
“Is it a just punishment?” I ask.
Samara's icy gaze pierces through me, a faint sneer curling at the edge of her lips. Can she understand me?
She ignores me. "My laws are clear," she declares to the All-Mother, her voice as sharp and unyielding as a blade.
My heart might be racing, but I meet her gaze with every ounce of steel from my career. She won’t intimidate me.
“Your laws?” I echo.
Samara grimaces at me. She definitely understands me when I talk, she just doesn't want to answer.
“What law has he broken?” I demand, my voice steady and unrelenting.
“Returning from exile,” Samara says, like I'm stupid.
But I ask innocuous questions to lawyer people into a corner all the time.
My grip tightens, protective instinct flaring up inside me. “Was that a fair sentence?”
Samara scoffs. “More than fair. You humans must have such a strange culture.” Her gaze shifts. “Tell me more about it.”
I can use this. If she’s interested, that might buy me time, keep Dom safe.
“I’ll tell you general things, sure. As long as Dom isn’t harmed.”
Samara smirks.
Two men either side of her step close behind her.
They're scaled too, one with short cropped hair and spikes on his forehead, and the other with long curly hair and a willowy figure.
She nods, and they march up the ramp and hoist Dom up by his shoulders.
He dangles between them, his legs dragging behind him as they walk away. My heart lurches as he groans,
“Where are you taking him?” I demand. I'm not panicking. I'm not.
Samara turns to me, arching a brow as if amused by the question.
She gestures to her car and her goons load Dom into the rear of it, dumping him in like luggage.
Samara strides over to the door held open by a male with golden hair and scales, and slips inside with the effortless grace of a movie star.
The door slams on Dom as the All-Mother touches my arm. “Come. We can talk at my apartment, try to construct an argument to stay the Prif’s hand.”
Shade crawls down the ramp, and I scoop the plant up, hands trembling. But that's not where Dom is going to be, and moreover, the All-Mother doesn't have a lot of power. From what I've just seen, she has to be seen to agree with Samara in public, and do her quiet engineering behind the scenes.
Samara holds the power, and now she has Dom.
There's no decision to make here.
Holding Shade to my chest, I march over to the golden car and climb into it, ignoring the looks of surprise from Samara’s guards.
Samara’s golden eyebrows lift. “You’re bold, human.”
“That's me.” Even if it's the fake it ‘til I make it kind of bravery.
Samara’s smirk widens, but she says nothing as the car hums to life, gliding forward. As we pull away, I steel myself, preparing for whatever lies ahead. Because no matter what, I’m not letting Dom down again.