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She flew straight into Rico’s outstretched palms, breathing hard, and he immediately closed his fingers—not squeezing, but gently, like a bowl, shielding her from the whole world. The warm skin of his hands wrapped around her, and Flora, without expecting it herself, pressed against his thumb, feeling the heat in her breasts spread stronger, sweet and frightening at the same time.
— I’m here… — Rico murmured reverently, ducking into a sheltered spot and pressing his palm to his own chest, where his heart was pounding like a drum. — Are you okay? You didn’t hurt anything?
Flora blinked, trying to pull herself together. “What am I doing? He’s the enemy… an underground farm…” flashed through her mind, but she couldn’t fly away. She wanted to stay here, in this huge, reliable palm that smelled of sweat and metal, but for some reason felt safer than the whole world outside.
Through the gaps between his fingers, she saw Granite’s massive figure. Under his arm, he was holding the “boss” like a rag doll: the tall man in the coat was hanging limp, arms twisted, the pistol lying somewhere in the rubble.
— Let her go! — Granite barked, and there was no longer just a demand in his voice, but a warning. The kind after which someone usually breaks.
Flora’s heart clenched painfully, and for a moment her vision darkened.
— Don’t… — she breathed softly inside Rico’s palms, then immediately added, louder and more commanding — Don’t tou-u-u-u-uch h-i-i-im!
That squeal made not only Rico’s ears ring, but Granite’s too. The flasks standing nearby cracked. Even the metal on the ventilation boxes vibrated.
Granite’s hand froze dangerously close to Rico’s neck, and Rico, stunned by that squeal, forgot himself and slightly opened his palms—from which Flora shot out already, like a spark from a campfire, glowing with bright green light.
The green light blasted upward in a sharp, painful surge, her wings clapped so hard that the air around her turned into a vacuum.
— Shit… — Rico breathed out, staring at his empty palms as if something living had been torn out of them.
Flora hovered between them, trembling. Her heels dangled in the air, her legs buckled, tiny palms clenched into fists.
Granite’s hand was still raised. His fingers hung centimeters from Rico’s neck, as if someone had hit pause on the movie.
— Back, — Flora said now not with a squeal, but hoarsely, forcing the words through a clenched throat. — Both of you… stay.
Granite slowly lowered his hand. His super-hearing was gradually returning to him, but logic hadn’t caught up yet, and he didn’t understand what was happening.
— Uh… Alex, what the fuck? — he rumbled, raising an eyebrow, forgetting himself.