by R. M. Walker
Probably why the smug bastard wore it in the first place.
His hair is a similar shade of red to the fire he wields. Pouty lips, chiseled cheekbones, lashes that feather against his cheekbones like curtains of ebony. He is the epitome of sex-on-a-stick.
Jumping up from my admittedly pathetic hiding place, I flick a hand in Blaze’s direction. Immediately, he is engulfed in a purple glow that renders him immobile. That asshole isn’t the only one with kickass superpowers. As I watch, mesmerized by the flames flickering in his eyes, another body presses up against me from behind. The warmth in my body instantly dissipates, leaving nothing but an iciness so keen it could cut glass. My teeth clatter against each other, but I will my body to remain still.
“Frost,” I manage to stutter. I would know that body—I mean, power—anywhere. My lips are no doubt turning blue.
“Goddess,” he replies. The voice is as cold as his namesake. Fitting, given that his element is ice. Before he can blast more of his power at me, I explode from his grip. He barely has time to duck before I shoot my power at him, a purple bullet.
Like his twin Blaze, Frost has high cheekbones and a strong jawline. That is where the similarities end. Instead of fiery red hair, Frost’s hair is as white as mountaintop snow. His eyes are a light blue, nearly glacial in both appearance and expression.
I duck just as Frost releases a torrent of icicles. Rolling my body to the side, I kick out at his feet. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Blaze still struggling against my own power. It had captured him in its warm, very purple, embrace, like rope twining around him. The power was gifted to me from my goddess mother.
“Save the world,” she had said. “Be the hero I know you can be.”
Scoff. If only Mother were to see me now…
I never wanted to be a hero. The connotations of the word always made me feel physically ill. There were various caveats in every aspect of nature, and human nature was no different. Who determines what is good and what is bad? Do our actions define who we are to be? Can someone bad turn good? Can someone good convert to the dark side?
So, no. I hate being considered a hero.
But alas, someone had to kick ass.
Movement out of my peripheral startles me. The large figure that materializes out of the bank vault is unmistakable. Stone. A rather fitting name for the monster of a man. His hair is shaved close to his scalp, a striking contrast to his thick, black beard. His impressive muscles flex as he slings the duffle bag over his shoulder, eyes rapidly taking in the scene before him. When he sees the condition I’ve left Blaze in, his lips twitch upwards. When he notices me, however, his amusement fades.
“You idiots shouldn’t have sounded the alarm,” I lecture.
Usually the police handle bank robberies, but they always call me when a Mutant is
involved—that is, that is, a descendant of the gods. Yeah. Complicated history.
When a man and woman really love each other... well, babies are born. And those babies have babies. And those babies have babies. And so on and so on. Somewhere along the line, Mutants’ great-great-great-great-something-or-another had been a god or goddess. I had always been more powerful because I didn’t have a diluted bloodline.
The Fierce Four?
Apparently, their grandpas were all different gods. Through their relatives, they gained powers as well, could rival even my own, especially when combined. Powerful, dangerous, evil, and sexy.
Did I say sexy? I meant disgusting.
Speaking of four…
Mastermind ambles slowly towards me, his gray mask obscuring his features from my viewing pleasure. Mastermind—or Mas—frowns at me. “Just surrender, little Goddess. Nobody has to get hurt.”
Seriously? Little Goddess?
I resist the urge to make a retort about his cock’s nickname. Now is not the time.
I did have one more trick up my sleeve. With a wicked grin, I close my eyes and concentrate on the magic thrumming through my body. The power is almost addictive. It reminds me of being sucked into a riptide, desperately searching for a pocket of fresh air. Once you find it, you are pulled back under. On and on the cycle continues. Never relenting. Never stopping. My body shakes at the electricity reverberating down my spine. Something cold appears in my hand, and I tighten my grip on the new object.
My sword.
Letting out a cheerful whoop, I brandish the weapon in a swooping arc. Frost takes an immediate step away from me, and Stone pauses in mid-stride. Blaze, oblivious, continues to struggle against the bonds holding him captive. Only Mas moves forward, unperturbed by my kickass Goddess sword.
“Where did you get that?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
I can’t stop the involuntary smirk from twisting up my lips. He chuckles softly at my enthusiasm, the sound sending delicious tingles through my body.
“Pulled it from the Realm of Gods.”
Ha. See if you can do that!
“Cute,” Mas purs.
Cute? Seriously?
Not kickass? Amazing? Sexy?
Fucking cute?
My eyes narrow into thin slits as the leader of the Fierce Four takes a step closer. I know I should pull away, or even stab him, but my body is frozen. All I can do is gape at him like an imbecile. His warm breath stirs the hair by my ear.
“Surrender.”
That one word breaks me out of whatever spell he has me under. Before he can back away, I stab the sword through his leg.
The expression on his face? Priceless.
Dozens of emotions war for dominance until he settles on disbelief. Blaze, behind him, begins to laugh, and a grin cracks Frost’s normally apathetic expression. Stone’s eyes volley between me and Mas, face unreadable.
“You stabbed me!” Mas says in shock.
I mentally give myself a high-five. “I like long swords,” I respond with a shrug.
Blaze begins to laugh once more. “I’ll show you long…” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively but trails off when he notes his current predicament. That is, still trapped in my magically induced bindings.
“You’re going to pay for this.” Mas’s eyes are still fixated on his bleeding leg, as if he had never seen blood before.
“Ohh...I’m trembling in my leotard,” I mock. Because yes, it will never not be funny to see four grown, sexy men in masks and suits. I, at least, have some class in my attire; a purple dress that molds to my body and heightens the violet flecks in my eyes. I’ll be the first to admit that the outfit looks pretty damn good with my orange, wavy hair.
“I mean, I stabbed you. I totally won this battle. Not trying to toot my own horn or anything...but toot fucking toot.” I use a hand gesture for emphasis, but I’m afraid it only looks like I’m whacking off an invisible dick.
Mas glares, and Blaze begins to laugh harder. At least one person finds me as amusing as I know myself to be. Seriously. I am hilarious. If the whole superhero gig didn’t work out, I could totally find a job as a standup comedian.
Pointing my sword at Mas, I flash him a smile. “You’ve just been...Purpled.”
What. The. Hell?
That totally sounded better in my head.
Note to self: work on an amazing catchphrase.
Mas reaches up, hand tantalizingly soft, to push a loose strand of hair behind my ear. My body reacts to his presence, leaning forward like a cat in heat. Before I can stop myself, I turn my face to the side and lick his hand. Inwardly, I wince at my own stupidity. Damn. If only I had the lick of death or something cool like that. Instead, I come across as some pervert or creep.
His expressions morphs suddenly from amusement to regret. The change is so drastic that I almost believe I had imagined it. Almost.
“Sorry Goddess,” he murmurs.
Before I can inquire, something heavy hits me in the back of the head, and I see stars. Only one person has that type of strength.
Motherfucking Stone.
Before I can cry out, darkness seeps through th
e edges of my vision.
I am so going to kill them. Painfully. With my Goddess sword. Or a butter knife. I’m not too picky.
Chapter Two
Sheriff Wilkinson is a small man. At least vertically. Horizontally, on the other hand, is a completely different story. His pudgy belly protrudes over the waistband of his brown pants, and his bald cap glints in the moonlight filtering through the opened window.
He sighs heavily, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands together. His pinprick black eyes survey me.
Nobody can deny the lust in his eyes.
“Good job today, Goddess,” he says. My lips turn down into a frown. Good job? Oh please. The bad guys escaped. The only good thing I did today was buy chocolate ice cream, which is safely tucked away in the back of the freezer. Wilkinson is just trying to get into my pants.
Er...skirt. Dress. Whatever.
“Thank you, sir,” I say with a small nod.
And no, I want to add. I will not rub your tummy. Pervert.
“Tremendous work. Absolutely tremendous,” he praises. “You’re a good asset to this department, Goddess.”
Ugh. Hearing him say my name makes me regret choosing it. Why didn’t I pick something cool like Knife or Killer?
Or Penetration?
The Purple Penetrator.
Nah. That sounds like a name for a dyed penis.
He continues blubbering on, but I tune him out. Instead, I focus on a fish swimming the expanse of a small fish tank. Poor fish. Trapped. Alone. I wonder how often Sheriff feeds it. I had once thought myself to be trapped, just as the fish is. My life had consisted of nothing but a gilded cage disguised as a room of gold. It had been difficult for me to see beyond the beauty. Step after step, day after day, I had fallen into a monotonous routine. Now, I am free. I am no longer a fish trapped in a diminutive fish tank. I am a shark in a motherfucking ocean.
Yeah. I’m that deep.
Wilkinson claps his hands together, startling me out of my inner musings.
“You know…” he begins. He places his elbows on the wooden desk and leans forward. If he were a woman, I might’ve believed that he was attempting to give me a view of his cleavage. Instead, I’m gifted with an opened collar polo shirt and too much chest hair than should be possible on one man. Unless he is part ape.
That wouldn’t surprise me.
Could he have had an ancestor that was an ape? Are there any ape gods? Blessed thou who eats a banana.
“We should have a celebratory dinner tonight,” he continues.
I imagine that he believes his tone is sultry. Seductive, even. Instead, it reminds me of the one time I got constipated and had to scream through the door for toilet paper.
“Celebration?” I ask, quirking a brow. “But they got away.”
Does nobody in this damn police department care about my incompetence? God, capture one bad guy and now you’re a hero.
And then he says it. Sweat beading on his forehead, twin bushy brows over gray eyes, lips covered by an unwashed moustache. “We can make up something to celebrate.”
Kill. Me. Now.
The only thing I can make is a chocolate pie. And a baby. Both of which are not going to be tasted by this slimy man (my vagina, that is, not the baby). As in my previous biology lesson, babies are formed when a man and woman love each other very much.
“That will be hard pass by me,” I blurt. When he flinches, I decide to tone it down. Just a little. “I would rather stab my eye out and feed it to my anus hole. It’s a real beast down there. My uterus will probably get jealous, so I’ll stab at eye number two and feed it to her.”
See? Nice.
Fortunately, he doesn’t ask me out the rest of the night.
After a pile of paperwork, Sheriff finally releases me from his office. He looks so forlorn and miserable, like I kicked his fish, that I can’t resist giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Thank you, Sheriff!”
His face turns a ruddy color, and his hand immediately comes up as if to capture the feel of me. Eyes glazed, he flashes me a toothy grin.
“See you soon, Goddess.”
“Hopefully not too soon.”
If the idiots hadn’t tripped the alarm, I wouldn’t have been needed at all.
Idiots.
Did I say that already?
With a wave, I head down the street towards my house. I hate driving. Always have and always will. It’s something about being confined in a tight space that causes my hackles to rise and pinpricks of terror to dance over my skin. I imagine the walls closing in on me, crushing me, devouring me. And not the good kind of devouring, either.
The streets are unsurprisingly vacant at this time of night. A light breeze ruffles my long, orange hair. I wish I had been smart enough to wear a coat over my purple dress. He is totally going to get on my ass about it later tonight.
Humming beneath my breath, I step beneath a lone streetlamp. It flickers at intermittent intervals, the flashes almost in tandem to my song.
I know what you’re thinking… young, beautiful girl (and extremely modest), walking home alone at night, standing beneath a flickering streetlight. Girl, you are just setting yourself up for murder.
I feel that. I do.
But I am also the motherfucking Purple Goddess. Bow down to my prowess. If somebody tries to get the jump on me—
Rough hands wrap around me from behind. I tense, immediately squirming to free myself against the iron-vice holding me hostage. I know instantly that the effort will be futile. Only one man has this type of immense strength. One man who can turn parts of his body into literal stone with a simple thought.
“Stone,” I breathe. I hear his low chuckle down to the roots of my toes. Sheriff should take pointers from him. That is how you pull off sultry.
Three figures step into the light.
Fire red hair.
Ice white hair and glacial eyes.
And a tall man with an olive-toned face and short brown hair. It is him who I glare at, mustering as much anger as I can... well, as I can muster.
He chuckles at whatever expression he sees on my face. “Time to play, Beautiful Goddess.”
Chapter Three
Before I have time to react, I am tossed unceremoniously over Stone’s shoulder. I would like to say big, fat shoulder, but that would be a horrendous lie. I don’t think he has one ounce of fat on his entire body. All muscle and skin.
Pure male—if being male is defined by shoulder fat. Do I have a shoulder fetish? Probably.
“Is this really necessary guys?” I whine, my world shifting, and my eyes zeroing in on Stone’s rather impressive buttox. Okay, so maybe I don’t mind too much being dragged around like a ragdoll. The view is good, at the very least. Still, I attempt to maintain some dignity.
“Put me down! I am a grown-ass woman! Do you see these breasts? Totally the breasts of a woman. Women are capable of walking.” My argument, admittedly, is a work in progress. I hadn’t had time to practice in the mirror.
“Quiet,” Mas says from somewhere behind (in front?) of me. Blaze cackles, and I imagine Frost will be smirking as well. All a bunch of assholes.
The room rights itself as I am placed gently back onto my feet. Instead of the empty street with ominous street lights, we are now in the living room of my house. A fire crackles in the usually dusty fireplace, a warmth emitting from it and sending goosebumps across my skin.
Folding my arms over my chest, I narrow my eyes at Stone. He has the decency to look at least slightly sheepish. I level a glare in Mas’s direction next. He, on the other hand, looks positively smug. The fire highlights the auburn curls in his dark hair. God, he is handsome. I could stare at him all day.
“What the hell was that for?” I hiss. I whip my head back towards Stone. Honestly, I can’t decide who to be mad at. “Why did you knock me out back at the bank?”
“You stabbed me,” Mas says softly, as if that clarifies everything.
I quirk a brow.
“And?”
“You stabbed me.”
“Oh, my god. Get over it.” I glance towards his leg. Yup. No limp. He is such a baby. “You can walk just fine. Do you need any help getting that stick out of your ass? Or is it beads? Is that a thing? Can you become so uptight from ass beads getting stuck up there? Can you—”
Before I can finish my thought, Mas claims my mouth with his own. At first, I resist (totally didn’t resist). Tiny licks of fire erupt in my veins, and I find myself leaning into his hypnotic embrace. His tongue tastes the edge of my lips, demanding entrance, and I easily comply. What can I say? I’m a greedy bitch. Everything about Mas is practiced efficiency. He is the team leader for this very reason. Despite that, he kisses me like a man possessed. He kisses me as if he has been wandering the desert for years, and I am the oasis of water gifted to him in order to quench his thirst.
“God, I love you, woman,” he murmurs against my lips. I let out a contented sigh as his tongue brushes the side of my neck. “But did you have to stab me?”
“I wouldn’t have stabbed you if you hadn’t tripped the alarm,” I retort. I hear a soft cough from behind me, and I whip my head in that direction. Blaze, hair nearly as bright as the flames flickering in the hearth, gives me a sheepish smile.
“My bad.”
Turning back towards Mas, I nuzzle his neck. Het lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a groan and a moan.
“But did you have to knock me out?” Despite my face still tucked into Mas’s neck, my question is directed at Stone. I press my lips against the sensitive skin near his ear, and the man mewls. Actually mewls like a damn cat in heat. I relish in the power I have over him, over all of them. They are mine.
When Stone doesn’t answer, I twist my head to glance at him. His face is shadowed, such despondency and guilt in his normally impassive eyes, that I feel my heart shatter in two and my stomach plummet. My big protector must hate himself right now. Hurting me? I can see in his face a tumultuous mix of pain and guilt.
Hoping to pacify his own self-rage, I extend a hand towards him. He stares at it for a moment, as if he doesn’t quite understand what I’m doing, before giving it a soft squeeze. Well, soft for Stone, that is. It still hurts like a bitch.