“Thank you,” Tamani whispered, though his eyes were on his phone again. Laurel could feel him willing it to ring.

Numbly Laurel grabbed a knife to chop up the stalk of broccoli she’d fished from the refrigerator.

Tamani turned his head slightly, listening to Laurel’s mom’s footsteps as she climbed the stairs and went into her bedroom. Then he seemed to melt on to the barstool, running his hands through his hair with a soft groan.

Laurel loaded several florets onto a plate and handed it to him, but he took the plate with one hand and her hand with the other, his gaze so intense it took her breath away. He slowly transferred the glass plate to the counter and pulled her close.

Laurel curled herself against his chest, grasping at what was left of his shirt. His hands were in her hair, then around her waist, his fingers pressing almost painfully against her back.

“I honestly thought that might be the end,” he whispered in her ear, his voice gravelly. When his lips fell on her neck, her cheeks, and dotted her eyelids, she didn’t pull away. Even when his mouth found hers, frantic and delving, she returned the kiss with the same fire and passion. It wasn’t until that moment – feeling the desperation fuelling his kiss – that she realised just how narrowly they’d cheated death. Not since he’d been shot by Barnes had Laurel seen Tamani lose a fight like that, and she clung to him, trembling with relief from a fear she hadn’t even known she was feeling.

Laurel’s fingers brushed the cut on Tamani’s cheek, pulling back at his soft gasp of pain against her lips. But he didn’t jerk away. If anything, he drew her closer. She wished there was more time; time to lose herself in his kisses, to forget that Shar was out there, somewhere, fighting for all their lives.

He finally lifted his mouth, his forehead pressed against hers. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I . . . I just needed you for a moment.”

Laurel twined her fingers through his. “I think I needed you, too.”

Tamani met her eyes and stroked her face with his thumb. The desperation was gone now, and he was all softness and calm. His mouth brushed hers tentatively, as his hands had so often done. Laurel leaned forward, wanting more. Wanting to show him that she wanted more. She stopped listening for her mother’s footsteps, for a sign of Chelsea coming out of her room, for anything but the soft purr of Tamani’s breath on her cheek.

Only when the jangle of the phone sounded close to her ear did the world snap back into focus. It rang again as she tried to catch her breath. “That’ll be David,” she whispered.

Tamani stroked her bottom lip with his thumb, then let his hand drop and turned to his plate of broccoli as Laurel picked up the handset.

“Laurel!” David said, his voice bleary. “You’re home. Did you oversleep? Do I need to get over there and cover for you?” She could hear him fumbling around, probably pulling on jeans and a T-shirt, ready to rush in and save the day.

“No. No, it’s worse than that,” Laurel said quietly. All rustling on David’s end came to a halt as she explained what had happened.

“I’m coming over.”

“I think there are enough stressed people in this house,” Laurel argued.

“Well, I can’t just sit around here and wait. I . . . I’ll feel better if I’m over there, just in case. Is that OK?”

Laurel suppressed a sigh. She knew exactly how he felt and, if their positions were reversed, she would want the same thing. “OK,” she said. “But just let yourself in. Don’t knock or ring or whatever. Chelsea’s still sleeping and she really needs it.”

“I won’t. And Laurel? Thanks.”

Laurel hung up and turned to face Tamani. “He’s coming over.”

Tamani nodded, swallowing a mouthful of veggies. “I figured as much.”

“Who’s coming over?” Laurel’s mom asked from halfway down the stairs.

“David.”

Laurel’s mom sighed in half amusement as she tossed a clean grey T-shirt to Tamani. “I have to say, I don’t know what that boy tells his mother.”

Tamani gritted his teeth as he gingerly pulled the new – and rather too big – shirt over the binding strips Laurel had spent the last ten minutes applying. David had arrived and Laurel was sitting with him on the couch, filling him in on the morning attack. Tamani blocked out her voice; he was already replaying the events in his mind, looking for some way he could have been more prepared, more effective.

Especially against Klea.

He hadn’t lost a round of hand-to-hand combat to anyone but Shar in years. To lose to a human-trained Mixer hurt almost as badly as the wounds she had left on him – and those stung plenty.

Laurel’s parents had offered to stay home from work, but Tamani insisted it was better for everyone if they went to their stores and pretended it was a regular day. Before Laurel could even suggest it, Tamani had ordered half a dozen sentries to tail each parent, just in case. The grateful look in her eyes had been a welcome bonus.

“So what now?”

Tamani looked over and realised David was talking to him.

“We’re waiting to hear from Shar,” Tamani grumbled. “Silve took a whole company of sentries back to the apartment to help with the trolls. They should sound the all-clear any time.”

“And . . .” David hesitated. “If they don’t?”

That was what Tamani had been fretting about for an hour. “I don’t know.” What he wanted to say was that he’d take Laurel somewhere no one could find her – not even David – and stay there until he knew she was safe. Last resort for any Fear-gleidhidh. But Laurel had already decided she wasn’t going to run and Tamani probably shouldn’t warn her that they might be running whether she liked it or not.