Shattered (The Superheroine Collection Book 1)

by Lee Winter

  “Oh, then why…” Lena crashed to the ground, confused as to how she had even come to be standing. “What were you saying? Or were you thinking something loudly and I just read your lips?”

  Nyah’s mouth twitched. “If you must know I was thinking that this is the least enraged I’ve felt towards the paparazzi in years. So, thank you. This is surprisingly cathartic.”

  “But we haven’t done anything yet!”

  “The object is to enjoy the fantasy, not actually do it.”

  “Is it?” Lena couldn’t remember. The early stages of this planning operation were lost in the mists of that rather delicious sauvignon or three. She did vaguely note that this was why she never drank. Ever. You lost control when you drank. You blurt things. Not good when you’re in a top-secret profession.

  “I don’t date anyone,” Lena suddenly announced solemnly. “Tried it. Hated it. The women all want me to open up and bare my soul, and I don’t do that for anyone.” Lena blinked. Shit. Blurting things out like that.

  “You don’t like trusting people,” Nyah clarified. Her eyes seemed kind. Like she knew things about Lena without her having to explain.

  “Yeah,” she exhaled in relief.

  “But you trust me,” Nyah said. “You told me things you wouldn’t have if you didn’t trust me.”

  “You started it,” Lena grumbled. “Being all honest and shit.” She picked at her jeans with her thumbnail. “I’m not sure why I told you all that. It’s not me. But you made me somehow. You’re like a truth serum.”

  Nyah shook her head. “It’s not me either,” she admitted. “I’m not sure why I told you about my girlfriend. I’ve never told a soul. Why did I tell you?” She looked genuinely perplexed.

  “People always tell me stuff,” Lena admitted blearily. “It’s a skill. You were right about me. I manipulate people. I’m the worst.”

  “No. You were honest, and I told you anyway. I can’t figure you out.”

  “S’okay,” Lena said emphatically. “Don’t feel bad. I can’t figure me out either. I’ve lost myself in all the lies I tell. Some days I wake up wondering who I am under all the mounds of tagshart.”

  “But not today.”

  “Nope. Today I’m the stone-cold, honest chick. Who’s also kinda drunk. So for the record, I’m a lying, scheming, semi-literate hothead.”

  “And I’m a coward,” Nyah said dryly.

  “I didn’t mean that,” Lena said, suddenly teary at the thought Nyah might believe her earlier criticisms. She grasped her hand, so soft, willing the guardian to understand the depths of her powerful, admittedly booze-induced, regret. “It was crap. Shooting my mouth off. I was just angry when I said that.”

  “Because you wanted your friends to live, and have me warn them,” Nyah said. “The scientists you spoke of?”

  “They’re not really my…I mean I barely know them. But they seemed worthy, you know? Not like me—hell, the world goes on turning with or without me in it. But they’re so full of energy and excitement, talking about their research endi…epend…epidemic thingies and hope for science and the future. And it’s not too often I meet people like that. Most people I find are pretty shitty as a whole.”

  “Isn’t that my line?” Nyah’s smirk was kind of lopsided. But then again so was Lena’s head.

  “Yeah,” Lena gave her a sloppy smile and added almost cheerfully, “You hate us all as much I do. Maybe even more.”

  Nyah chuckled. “Do you think we’ll ever reach a point where we don’t dislike people so much?”

  Lena gave that some intense thought. “Of course. It only takes meeting one amazing person. Right? Only one, and boom…it’s all changed.”

  “Just one? How do you figure?”

  Lena nodded. “White crow theory.”

  “White crow?”

  “Yep. You only need to see one to prove they exist.”

  “Ah. That seems scientifically sound. So do you think you’ll ever meet one?”

  “Already have,” Lena said and nudged Nyah pointedly in the ribs. “Not sure how you keep doing this to me. That’s twice in my life you’ve given me a reason to stop hating the world.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You’re, like, a really bad influence.”

  Nyah seemed amused. “Well, it’s apparently what I do.”

  “Yeah.” Lena abruptly looked away. She stared at the fire, feeling morose. “Truth is, I think I may hate you for it. Like, part of me enjoyed hating everyone. It kept me warm being that smug about everyone. I liked knowing they’re all cynical and fake. Fits my world view.” She glanced at Nyah. “So can you stop being you? It’s way better when I don’t see white crows.”

  “What if I promise to do something cynical and fake every day to restore your lack of faith in humanity?” Nyah’s eyes danced with mirth.

  “Please, you couldn’t even nudge me over a cliff even when you worked out I was a tracker. My faith in your inhumanity is a little thin.” Lena gave her a withering look.

  Nyah laughed then, a low, rich sound that was so unexpected and warm that Lena laughed with her.

  “Wow!” Lena said, “I love your laugh. It’s beautiful. But then you’re totally beautiful.”

  Nyah rolled her eyes. “And you’re seeing me through wine goggles.” She paused and studied her. “You are like no one I’ve ever met. And I’ve lived for one hundred forty-one years. So that’s high praise.”

  “Well, I’d say that’s impressive, all right,” Lena agreed. She smiled broadly as a brilliant thought occurred to her. “So if I kissed you right now, would that be a terrible idea?”

  At Nyah’s surprised look, Lena quickly added, “I mean it wouldn’t have to mean anything. Just two lonely people stuck in the middle of a storm. Two people saying ‘fuck everything.’”

  “Two people taking comfort?” Nyah clarified.

  “Guardians need comfort too,” Lena said firmly. “More than lousy trackers. Maybe more than anyone else on our world. I know that now. I’m really sorry I never saw it before.”

  Lena leaned forward and pressed her lips against Nyah’s. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she was too busy noticing how soft Nyah’s lips were. And how, after a few, agonizingly long moments, Nyah kissed her back.

  CHAPTER 11

  Nyah woke at dawn, just as she always had from the moment she’d first come to this strange planet. Earth would probably never feel like home to her; she had only one home, and that was now pockmarked and dead. But after last night, she felt less dismay toward her adopted world. That was new.

  An odd noise made her turn her head. She almost laughed as she spotted Lena snoring softly in her sleeping bag, where Nyah had inserted her last night when the other woman had been barely able to stay conscious. She would have an exceptionally sore head when she woke.

  Nyah observed the tracker closely, making the most of the freedom to do so without her watchful eyes challenging her at every turn. Strong and fierce, this was a woman who had determination, fear, bravado, and wariness all wrestling furiously inside. She recognized these things all too well. Nyah’s gaze slid to the muscled biceps, and then to Lena’s hand, curled under her chin, clenched into a fist that occasionally tightened, twitched, and flexed.

  Was Lena fighting her demons even in repose? Or was it the guardians she hunted in her sleep?

  Rising, Nyah slipped on her uniform and boots, then padded out of the cave, pausing as she passed Lena. Beside her lay the wine-blotched list marked “The Vengeance Manifesto.”

  Nyah resumed her path, her smile broadening, as she recalled the events of the previous night. Honestly, Lena had been adorable in her own fiercely loyal way. Not that Nyah would ever admit that. But having someone so outraged on her behalf felt unexpectedly warming. It had been a long time since she’d had someone in her corner. She hadn’t realized how long until last night.

  For the first time in years, the memory of Isabella sending her away with a teary “I’m so sorry, Nyah” no longer made her
insides clench with fury, hurt, and despair. Somehow, Lena had done that. Somewhere between four bottles of red and one not entirely surprising kiss, she had taken out the stinger that had poisoned Nyah for years. She’d been well used to its dull ache. Looked forward to it, even. Her righteous indignation and that dark, warm burn of bitterness had propelled her to the ends of the world, seeking escape from humanity and all she hated about it.

  It had brought her here, to a place as close to home as she’d ever found on Earth. An escape that had given her mind peace from the thoughts of others. So, for that, she’d never regret her rage at losing Isabella. But now the worst of the burn was gone. And wasn’t that a surprise?

  Outside the cave, Nyah propelled herself easily into the skies.

  Her feet touched down a few minutes later on the thin, sandy stretch encircling her favorite freshwater lake. It was inaccessible by land due to sheer cliffs on all sides, which, at their peaks, jagged up into the skies like shards of glass, giving her complete privacy. She stripped and waded into the still, aqua waters, allowing her body time to adapt to the chill.

  The water felt incredible sliding across her skin, but for once it did not give her focus. Instead, two questions kept coming up: What had possessed Lena to kiss her? And what had possessed her to kiss her back?

  Nyah ducked her head under the waters and re-emerged, sliding onto her back, floating. She supposed that lonely people in storms sometimes do things they regret. Or, a mischievous voice whispered at the back of her mind, things they don’t regret at all.

  Well, there was that.

  Lena was beautiful. Others might not see her that way—those whose focus was on superficialities or the way women were “supposed” to look. They were blind. For Nyah, Lena’s strength, determination, and sheer physicality were most impressive. She had been remarkable to watch on that first day, scaling a sheer rock wall that would have daunted most humans. And Lena’s nimble mind, even though Nyah had picked apart all the lies, had been entertaining when it wasn’t infuriating. Her eyes, though, were the thing. Shadowed, pained, wary, curious, and cautious. There were layers to her that had drawn Nyah deeper in and made her want to understand who Lena was.

  Nyah closed her eyes as she drifted. She was really a sentimental old fool—in every sense. Still, it felt a relief to be around someone whose uncensored thoughts weren’t thrust on her like vendors waving fruit at a market bazaar. But Lena’s worth was far more than that. Having someone as emotionally guarded and selective as her look at Nyah with grudging admiration meant more than a planet’s worth of adoring fans. Although her admiration was considerably less grudging when she was drunk, Nyah noted with amusement.

  Flipping onto her stomach, she breaststroked easily back to shore and waded out of the water. She grabbed her pile of clothes, knelt before the lake, and began to wash them. As she worked efficiently, her hands a blur, Nyah smirked, wondering how enamored the people of Earth would be of their heroes if they saw them doing their laundry. There was nothing sexy about washing day.

  Finished, she used her powers to mentally force every drop of water from the now clean garments. She dressed again, and glanced up, noting the position of the sun.

  She’d do a quick unofficial patrol of the island to see how it had coped with the storm, especially the eco-camps the scientists favored. She would have done it anyway, but Lena’s fears had made it a priority. After that, she’d see how her highly entertaining, vengeance-planning guest was faring.

  Nyah froze when she realized how much she was looking forward to that. This was faintly ridiculous, getting sidetracked by someone who’d be gone by day’s end.

  Even a cute someone with vengeance manifestos and soft lips. She shook her head at herself, and shot off into the sky.

  The eco-camps appeared to have missed most of the storm, and Nyah made sure to stay out of sight as she spied a team of scientists on Homhil Plateau going about their business. She’d already checked four other encampments, and aside from a pair of shredded tents and someone’s torn flannel shirt winding halfway up a Dracaena cinnabari, it appeared she’d been right when she told Lena they hadn’t needed her inserting herself inside a volatile cyclone. Being scientists, they’d probably been tracking the weather event for days.

  Last thing to do before heading back was an ocean run. Nyah liked to keep an eye out for pirates who plagued the waters off Somalia and sometimes strayed too close for her liking. Myths about a sky demon who protected Socotra kept most of them clear of its shores, but some tested their luck from time to time.

  The wind was picking up and starting to buffet her when she saw what appeared to be a fishing boat. However, the flash of weapons at the hips of sailors proved their only intended haul was science and tourist vessels. A small dinghy towed behind the stern was another sign. Poor fishermen rarely had backup plans. A tendril of fury curled through Nyah. She would put them out of business before they could choose their intended victims.

  She shot upwards, turned, lined up her quarry, and torpedoed towards the boat, gathering as much speed as she could.

  Her strike was silent. The creak of the mast shifting on its mountings was the first clue that alerted the crew to her attack. They rushed to the deck, looking around, shouting at each other, gesturing at the splintering mast. No one had yet looked up.

  Nyah just needed a few more seconds to press home her advantage. She channeled her powers forward beyond her outstretched arms, like an invisible string between her and the mast. Her hands squeezed into tight fists as the mast abruptly shuddered and stuttered, and she focused on pushing it straight down. It smashed through its base and began to jackhammer itself into the deck below.

  Cries of fear filled the boat and the crew ran about comically. Three were already unlashing the dinghy. One was hanging on to the mast as though he alone could prevent it moving.

  From behind a barrel, a young deckhand, barely twenty, suddenly jumped out, eyes white and wide, as he spotted her and shouted to her in a foreign tongue. She didn’t need to understand his words because his primal, fearful thoughts jagged across her brain like a knife: “I KILL YOU!” He pointed a rifle at her that seemed almost bigger than he was. He screamed to her, drawing all eyes on the boat, as he took aim.

  Nyah roared in fury, a sound she made as grotesquely alien and frightening as she could. It shattered the still air. Fear and panic from the crew flooded Nyah’s mind, but she’d been anticipating that.

  The deckhand dropped his rifle in terror. There was a sharp crack. A piece of wood flew off the mast. Pain sliced through her, and she registered the connection between the two events a second later. She’d been shot.

  The deck was now fully impaled by the mast which she’d pushed through the vessel like an apple corer. The remaining crew fled for the dinghy. With a detached gaze, Nyah watched the men scrambling for their lives, as the two ends of the vessel folded up, like groaning, wooden origami.

  Suddenly Nyah realized she was going too fast. Her brain had wandered and her reflexes were shot to hell. Literally. She snapped herself around so she was feet first and, as the rapidly submerging, wobbling vessel came rushing up to greet her, she bounced heavily off it with an almighty, splashing THWACK, before rebounding back up into the skies.

  Touch-and-go guardian style.

  The impact shuddered up her body and jarred the wound at her side. Nyah bit back a cry and turned sharply for home. She waited until she was well out of sight of the pirates before she reached for her side.

  It was wet.

  She looked down to find red coating her fingers. Oh.

  CHAPTER 12

  Lena awoke with a desert-dry mouth and a pounding head screaming blue bloody murder. Christ, she knew there was a reason she didn’t drink. She glanced around. The cave was empty but the fire was now blazing merrily. She was in a sleeping bag that she had no memory of crawling into, and felt one notch above death. Give or take a notch.

  Lena slid out of her bedding and rummaged abo
ut for her toothpaste, toothbrush, and a bottle of water. As she brushed, still barely awake, she absently thought of Nyah, and a jumble of strange, warm, and haphazard memories overwhelmed her.

  They’d been drinking last night, toasting stupid vengeance schemes, and…things got blurry after that. Wait. Her eyes flew open.

  Oh, shit, shit, shit.

  She spat out her mouthful of toothpastey water and swore. She hadn’t actually…because that would be nuts. Lena had…kissed…Nyah. As in Shattergirl. Her target. A guardian. The most standoffish, intimidating, and scary-smartest one of them all. And, not to forget, her childhood hero.

  And Lena had just up and kissed her.

  A hysterical laugh burbled up. “God no,” Lena moaned. She panicked as she desperately tried to clear out the mental cobwebs. What on earth had happened next? Nyah had leaned back, giving her a half smile, and said something about Lena being tempting but not sober.

  They were “both unsober,” had been Lena’s apparently brilliant retort. “Doesn’t that that cancel things out or something?” she’d asked hopefully.

  Nyah’s look had been of genuine surprise. “I thought you knew. Few guardians are affected by alcohol. Oh, it’s relaxing and pleasant for us, but the intoxicants don’t affect us at all.”

  Lena groaned as she digested that memory. She’d been making a fool of herself all night. Nyah had been humoring her. This just didn’t get more embarrassing.

  Her face was hot when she rinsed, stashed her toothbrush, and slung a towel over one shoulder, pocketing her soap. Plucking her now-dry underwear off the rocks, Lena headed towards the back of the cave. She’d heard water trickling out there yesterday and was anxious to see if she could find its source and wash a layer of dust off her.

  Lena passed the fissure she’d stopped at the previous day and this time kept going. Not far beyond that she discovered several small pools being filled by water running down the walls. It wasn’t much, but it’d do the job.

  She stepped out of her clothes, shivering in the cool air, and bathed as best she could in a body of water little bigger than a wading pool. It was refreshing at least, although her sore head protested the temperature shock.