by Vivi Andrews
“And on the spectrum, some people are good and some are evil,” Darla countered.
“You know I’m right,” he declared, his cockiness making her teeth ache from clenching so hard. “You wear a black supersuit, just like a villain. You can’t tell me that isn’t a nod to the wickedness in you.”
“Excuse me? My suit isn’t a nod to anything except the fact that I look hot in black, thank you very much.”
“Oh please, you’d look hot in anything.”
Darla blinked, startled by the compliment issued in such a scornful way, and Lucien plowed on.
“The suit is black, just like that naughty bustier you wore for the Maxim spread—”
Her face flamed. “It was a magazine. The pictures were artistic.”
“They were fucking hot, but that’s not the point. We’re all in the middle. Even you, princess. People just don’t want to see the grey area. It’s easier to polarize things. Especially when you’ve got the press screaming heroes and villains because it makes a more exciting story.”
“The press didn’t make you break into the Crypt, Lucien.” She shoved away from the table and went to stand at the counter, unable to sit still any longer.
He rose with her, pacing in the tight space. “You can’t deny history is written by the victors.”
“So you’re saying if your father had succeeded, he would be considered a hero?” she asked, incredulous. “The man who tried to poison an entire city?”
“It wasn’t poison!” Lucien snapped. “Yes, he tried to put something into the water supply and some heroic idiot stopped him—probably your father—but it wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”
“Did you just call my father an idiot?”
“Way to focus on the salient points, princess.”
“Your father was a villain—”
“Says who?” He loomed over her angrily. “The spin doctors in the press? How can you not see the gap between what they say is true and what actually happens? Perception isn’t reality. Don’t you ever look beyond the surface of things?”
“This from the man who wanted to condemn me for wearing a black uniform.”
“You’re absolutely right. Your suit has nothing to do with who you are. You probably didn’t even pick it.”
She wanted to throw his mocking back in his face, but the truth made it impossible to meet his gaze. She hadn’t picked out her own suit. She’d wanted something bright and playful and fun. Her parents had overruled her, citing her need to blend in to the night sky. That villains wore black had never even come up. It was just accepted that no one would ever mistake Darla Powers for a villain.
“Have you ever made a single choice for yourself?” Lucien pressed. “Your name? This apartment? Or did Mommy and Daddy arrange it all for you?”
“Wow, Wroth, I had no idea you had such a high opinion of me.”
“That’s my point, it’s not about you. None of it is you, Darla.” He lifted a hand, as if to touch her face, but stopped before his skin touched hers. His hand just hovered there, though somehow the gesture lacked any trace of hesitation. “Your life is this juggernaut. On its own course and dragging you along. You do good because you’ve never thought to choose anything else. Being heroic is just the path of least resistance for you.”
“And is being a villain any different for you?” She flung the words at him. “Do you ever do something just because it’s right without first thinking of your own self-interest?” It was unfair. She knew he thought of Mirabelle first. Everything she’d seen him do, he’d done for his family, but nothing in the way she was feeling right now was rational or logical—and from the wild look in his eyes, he was right there with her.
“Everyone thinks of their own self-interest,” he barked. “You’re thinking of your own self-interest every time you fly off to save the day. Thinking of how it will enhance your precious DynaGirl image.”
“You’ve done everything in your power to destroy my image. You must be pretty pleased with yourself.”
“I am. Maybe if you stop being DynaGirl for five minutes, you’ll figure out who Darla is.”
“Oh, thank you, Spawn. I should’ve known everything you’ve done to humiliate me was for my own good. How can I ever repay you?”
“Of course you’re mad at me. I tarnished DynaGirl’s perfect image. Of course the rigidity of being cast in your role at birth doesn’t bother you. You’re DynaGirl.”
“At least I’m not a villain.”
“I am getting so fucking sick of you calling me that. Heroes. Villains. It’s so fucking black and white, and it’s all bullshit. Goddammit, when will you see that life is grey, Darla?” He crowded her against the cabinets, close enough she could see the pulse pounding in his neck.
“I—” The words caught in her throat.
Life didn’t feel grey. With him standing inches away from her, the world felt bright and sharp and full of color. It was heat and tense possibility, the furthest thing from grey. Goose bumps broke out across her skin, and she held herself perfectly still, hoping he wouldn’t notice how quickly she was breathing or how fast her heart was beating, but his pupils dilated and she knew he saw everything.
“What would they think…?” The low rumble of his voice was dark seduction heating the space between them. “What would your friends in the press think if they saw us here together, princess?”
I don’t care. In the delicious tension of that moment, her image didn’t matter. She just wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to relive the reckless slide into lust that hit her as soon as his lips touched hers. She wanted his hands on her and hers on him. She wanted touch that didn’t have to worry about being careful and gentle. She wanted rough and firm and…
God, she just wanted.
“Lucien…”
Chapter Eleven
Reckless Endangerment
Lucien heard his name fall from Darla’s lips and wanted to catch it with his.
Terrible idea. Kissing DynaGirl wouldn’t help him achieve his goal. It could only muddy things between them. It served no purpose.
But she was so. Fucking. Hot.
Her ass-hugging jeans and snug T-shirt were both worn thin, the soft fabric stretching lovingly across every epic inch of her. Those luscious red lips were parted, green eyes wide. The odds were good he was never going to be this close to DynaGirl again, and every adolescent fantasy he’d ever had starring the Powers Princess was begging him to lean in for just one more taste. Would she be as responsive as he remembered? Would she taste as tangy sweet?
She rose up on her toes, and the invitation was just too tempting. Lucien ducked his head, watching her eyelashes slowly sweep down, all the blood in his body already rushing south…
His cell phone rang in his pocket, the tinkling Chopin ringtone he’d set for Mirabelle shattering the tense silence.
Darla jerked away from him, her face scarlet, her gaze scrambling over every available surface to avoid his. Shit. Lucien groaned. Great timing, Mirabelle. He turned away from Darla, still too fucking horny to look at her, and flipped open his phone.
“Belle, where are you?”
“Sorry, Mirage can’t come to the phone right now.”
Lucien felt every muscle in his body lock down at the sound of the masculine voice. It hummed in his ear with a peculiar vibration. Eerily distinctive. His senses sharpened, readying for battle. “Kevin, I presume?”
“I see I need no introduction. I’ve heard a lot about you too, Mr. Wroth.”
“What do you want?”
“Direct. I like that.”
I don’t give a fuck what you like, asshole.
“I’d like you to join us tonight, Mr. Wroth. Or perhaps I should rephrase that. Mirage would like you to join us tonight. I’m afraid we can’t extend the invitation to Ms. Powers. You understand.”
“Where?”
An oddly melodic laugh. “I’m really starting to like you, Mr. Wroth. Cully Marina. Slip nineteen. Eight o’clock sharp.”
Lucien pocketed the phone and reminded himself to breathe. Mirabelle was okay. She had to be. Kevin wouldn’t have dared approach him if anything had happened to her. Yet.
“Lucien?” He looked up to find Darla leaning against the wall, as far as she could get from him without leaving the kitchen entirely.
“Kevin made contact.” He folded his arms across his chest, ready for a battle if she wanted one. The terms were non-negotiable. “I’m meeting him tonight. Alone.”
Darla didn’t like the sound of that. “Meaning if you get the chance, you’re grabbing your sister and I’m on my own stopping whatever the hell he has planned for the Summit.”
“If I get the chance, I’ll make it so he’s too crippled to feed himself, let alone try doing anything at the Summit.”
“But Mirabelle comes first.”
“Of course she does,” he snapped. “I’ll do what I can to help you, but I told you what my priorities were.”
And his priorities could march him right into a trap. She couldn’t let that happen. “I’m going with you.”
“No. He said alone.”
“I’ll fly over. He won’t even know I’m there.”
“Darla, the one thing we know about this guy is he isn’t an idiot. He’ll know to monitor the sky for you.”
“So you expect me to what? Just wait here and do nothing? This must be the shortest partnership in history.” She lifted her bare wrist, pretending to study a watch. “What was that, two hours?”
“I’ll still help you if I can. If it doesn’t interfere with getting Mirabelle away from that guy.”
“What if she doesn’t want to be gotten away?”
A muscle along his jaw jumped. “She will. She’s just…confused.”
“She didn’t seem confused when she tried to set me on fire at Area Nine.”
“It’s an illusion. A mind game. Harmless.”
It hadn’t felt harmless when her skin was melting. “Are you saying she wouldn’t have burned me alive if she could have?”
He averted his eyes. “Deep down, she’s a good kid.”
“She’s a villain in training.” And a vicious little bitch. “I can’t understand how the two of you can be so different.”
Lucien’s eyebrows flew up. “Are you saying I’m not a villain now?”
Darla dismissed the question with a shake of her head. “You’ve got blinders on where she’s concerned, and it’s going to get you killed.”
“And that’s a problem? One less villain for you to worry about.”
She wasn’t ready to think about why the idea of him decreasing the villain population by one made her heart clench. “Why is she doing this, Lucien? Why would anyone want to help someone destroy an entire city?”
“She has her reasons.”
“Her reasons? What possible reason—”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Darla clenched her fists, anger and regret tightening her gut. Before Kevin’s call, they’d been fighting, but it’d been open and passionate. She’d been on fire. Now the chill in her blood was enough to give her frostbite. He was freezing her out of his rescue. His precious sister’s reasoning was beyond Darla. “Try me.”
He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Given our history, it isn’t really unexpected that Mirabelle would want justice.”
Justice? From a villain? Darla met his eyes across the room. “Your history?”
“I’m a little surprised you don’t know the story, but it’s so much simpler if everyone focuses on the grand successes, right?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Fifteen years ago, Damien Wroth was just a scientist, happily married to the mother of his two children. She was a legal secretary at a law office downtown. Not far from the Midtown Bridge.”
Darla hissed in a breath. The Midtown Bridge rescue had made headlines for weeks. The rusty old bridge had collapsed in the middle of rush hour one evening.
“Two hundred and seventy-four were saved that day. Three weren’t. One of them was Amanda Wroth.”
Darla’s heart stuttered. Oh God. “Lucien… I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize…”
“My father lost it. He needed someone to blame. He needed to hurt someone as much as he hurt. He began by picking fights with supers, but then over time he started doing experiments on himself to make himself stronger, faster.”
“Did he…? Is that how you…?”
“It wasn’t poison he was putting in the water supply. He found a way to turn normal people super. Mirabelle and I were some of his first subjects. We weren’t born with our abilities. He thought if everyone was super, maybe we wouldn’t have to rely on a lucky few who got to decide who lived and who died. Of course, he got caught, and the Nightwings destroyed all his formula.”
“But he escaped…”
“He did and we went into hiding. And he just kept getting crazier. Kept going after the supers. Kept getting his ass handed to him. Kept backing the wrong side in every fight. I left as soon as I could. Ran away to college at sixteen, but Mirabelle…” Lucien swallowed. “It was stupid to leave her with him. Selfish. She was only seven then, but already vanishing like smoke whenever she wanted. He hired nannies, but they could never keep track of her. She always wanted to be with him. She grew up hearing about such healthy concepts as vengeance and payback, when I could’ve protected her from that.”
“You can’t blame yourself. You were a kid too.”
“I knew better.” He brushed aside her attempt to comfort him with a flick of his hand. “I went back for her when I had my degree, and I’ve been looking after her ever since, but that was our legacy, princess. Villains are made, not born.”
“So this Kevin…”
“Knew exactly what to say to her. Exactly what to promise her.”
“Surely she doesn’t want to kill so many people?”
“She doesn’t. I know she doesn’t, but the system is fucked, Darla. Even you must see that.”
“What am I supposed to see? That violence is the answer?”
“Exactly the opposite actually. Have you ever noticed how the villains tend to be masterminds while the heroes are all brute strength? Doesn’t it strike you as strange that our society vilifies our greatest minds and condemns those who would question things while rewarding those who are blindly obedient to the current system? Might may not make right, but we’re not far from it. We revere strength. We idolize supers—both the good and bad. Things need to change.”
“Blowing up the Summit won’t accomplish anything. Heroes aren’t the bad guys, Lucien.”
“You wanted to know why she was doing it, so I told you why. But this doesn’t change anything. I’m going to get Mirabelle tonight. Alone.”
Darla didn’t contradict him. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t try to stop him, but she’d be there for backup, whether he wanted it or not. Even if she had to bug him and stalk him from the clouds, she’d be there for him. He deserved that much.
Chapter Twelve
Don’t Shake the Devil’s Hand
Lucien stood on the grimy dock, waiting for the man he would happily kill if that was what it took to get Mirabelle out from under his influence. The appeal of using his bare hands to rip Kevin’s head from his shoulders was undeniable. This is why you’ll never be a hero. There was no line he wouldn’t cross for those he loved. He couldn’t regret the brutality at his core. He would do what needed to be done without flinching. Without regret.
A cold breeze hit him, and he glanced automatically toward the sky. He thought he saw movement, but it was just a puffy wisp of a cloud drifting across the pale shadow of the new moon. For a second there, he’d almost wished he had DynaGirl at his back. They’d argued and strategized all afternoon, but in the end she’d awkwardly hugged him goodbye and whispered good luck before he drove away. He’d wanted a good-luck kiss…or maybe good-luck second base, but he cou
ldn’t afford to get distracted—which was another reason why he’d insisted she not come even though a part of him had wanted her there.
It was an odd feeling, wanting to go into the unknown with someone. A pretty damn uncomfortable feeling. Partnership didn’t sit well on his shoulders. He should never have suggested it, but a few hours ago he’d been sure he needed her.
And if he was honest, he still might. They hadn’t had time to learn anything about Kevin, which meant he was going in blind. Counting on brute strength and speed rather than strategy. Just like a fucking hero.
An engine hummed in the distance, a low whine across the water. Lucien saw the white ripple of the wake in the moonlight before he spotted the black shadow of a boat that created it.
Was Mirabelle on that boat? Unlikely, given the veiled threat Kevin had issued on the phone. He’d lose all his leverage the second Lucien laid eyes on his sister.
But as the boat drew closer, he could make out a familiar slim figure leaning over the rail at the bow, black hair whipping behind her like a banner. She stretched an arm into the air, waving eagerly, and Lucien tensed, preparing to leap onto the boat and grab her, speeding away before Kevin could stop him. Maybe he’d take a detour past the mastermind and knock him into next week—just as a favor to Darla.
The boat pulled into the slip, and Lucien forced himself to wait for the opportune moment. Just a few more seconds. He’d have her safe.
Then he saw Mirabelle. Not the Mirabelle still leaning over the rail to beam at him, but another Mirabelle, curled against the side of a thin man on a couch at the stern of the dark yacht.
Shit. She was doubling herself, projecting a false image into his mind so he wouldn’t know which of them to whisk away to safety. He may not even know he’d only rescued a figment of his imagination for hours.
Maybe he could grab them both. He had superspeed. It had to be good for something.
The gangplank slowly lowered as he debated the wisdom of going for both Mirabelles. Then he glimpsed the shadow of the third one, peering out of a portal to his left. And a fourth, calling down from the pilot house.
