Page 41 of Border Control
“About fucking time.” He doesn't say thanks or bye, just hangs up.
I make sure the call is disconnected before I roar, “Fucking asshole!” into the teeth of the wind.
“Law-rah.” Dom stands outside the tent, dark hair whipping in the breeze. “Nevare said you were enraged, he could feel it spiking over. Are you alright?”
“I can handle it,” I say. I don't wantto snap at him.
In two steps he's right next to me, blocking the wind with his proximity. “Where's the threat, Law-rah?” he asks, glancing around before his gaze falls on my phone.
For a second, I want his heavy arms around me, pulling me into the protection of his broad chest.
But only for a second.
“Just a jerk at work,” I explain. “I have to go fix his document because he's too incompetent to do it himself.”
His brows knit together. “Can I help, Law-rah?”
The image rises again of him as my eager assistant. This time I chuckle. “Nah, I've got it. Tell Ellen I'll be ten minutes, tops.”
He stays in place as I leave, a beacon of stone in the wind. Only when I get inside do I realize he might have thought I was laughing at him.
It takesan hour of back and forth to fix Morgan's document, because of fucking course he didn't put in anything like the client's address or the proper references to the case. Then, everytime I drop the text into my template, the formatting goes crazy. When I finally track down that every line ends with a paragraph break like he was pushing return on a typewriter, I'm incensed.
“Earth-vexing scut of a prick,” I mutter.
Shade twines around my fingers, more mobile than before as he feeds off my anger. Yeah, well, I have a lot of it. I hope it doesn't poison the little guy.
I send Morgan his document and barely resist the urge to slam my laptop shut. I don't mind helping people, but his entitled attitude pisses me off. Morgan might be having a bad day, but he's shoved his mood onto me through his actions.
I take deep breaths. I can choose whether to pass this on or let the negativity die with me. “Or with you, since you seem to feast on it,” I tell Shade.
The little plant waves its fronds, shivering slightly.
The wind keeps picking up, but it isn't until I hear a huge roar that I glance outside.
“Laura!” Ellen's voice is panicked.
“In here,” I call. “Sorry, I'm nearly done?—”
“It's Arabella.” Ellen runs in, face soaked. At first I think it's from the rain, then I realize.
It's tears.
“She collapsed. She's really ill, and Gara’s taken her to Oloria for testing. He thinks that's the only way to figure out what she has.” Ellen hiccups. “He's never seen it before, but Olorian science is obviously way more advanced than ours.”
“She will be safe,” Ilia rumbles, but my ears are still ringing.
Arabella's gone.
ELEVEN
DOM
The rain hasn’t letup in the human week since Gara left with Arabella. In a way, it suits the sorrowful mood drenching us, because we know our crewmate isn’t likely to come back.
‘Might,’Nevare sends.‘Ilia came back.’
‘Ilia escaped. Barely,’Arik corrects.
