Superlovin': Midnight Justice

by Vivi Andrews

  Sirens echoed across the hillside and smoke spiraled up to the sky, warning Darla she was already too late as she flew closer to the sprawling rural complex known only as Area Nine.

  Gas-masked guards were sprinting en masse toward the mind-games cell block. If the gas had caught Wroth and whoever he’d come for, the guards could clean up, but Darla hadn’t bagged her first felon at the age of fifteen by assuming security measures always worked exactly as planned.

  Anticipate. Think like a villain.

  She circled above the complex, scanning the perimeter. The hole he’d punched in the wall was teeming with guards—he could try to race through there, but that gauntlet would be much harder with the baggage of whoever he was breaking out. No, he’d have a different exit strategy. With his strength it probably consisted of putting a new hole in the wall.

  He wouldn’t know that power from the nearby town would’ve been temporarily diverted to electrify a ten-foot swath just beyond the wall as soon as the first alarm sounded. That little surprise had only been added last week and the initiative—funded by the town to help protect them from the possibility of escapees—hadn’t been included in the Crypt files.

  Darla caught a blur of motion out of the corner of her eye and swung toward the east wall just as it exploded into rubble. A fraction of a second later, two previously invisible figures screamed and convulsed on the electrified patch. DemonSpawn, big and bad in black leather, and a slim female in a prison jumpsuit, giving off sparks as they seized with the help of a thousand volts. Shit. She didn’t want them dead.

  Darla swooped down. She grabbed Wroth by his leather jacket, her fingertips singeing at the first contact before she lifted him enough to break the current. She flung him back toward the compound and went for the other figure, leaving him groaning and smoking on the ground.

  She wasn’t sure who she’d expected to be valuable enough to DemonSpawn Wroth that he would go to such trouble, but whoever she’d thought she’d find—a mad scientist or renowned mastermind like his father—it wasn’t the delicate, dark-haired girl shuddering under the force of the electricity racking her system. Darla jerked the slight girl out of the current as quickly as she could and carried her back inside the wall with much more care than she’d given the leather-clad lug.

  The girl’s eyes remained closed as Darla touched down near Wroth.

  He moaned and tried to roll toward them. “Belle…”

  Darla laid the girl gently on the ground. Her eyelids didn’t even flutter and her body was limp, but as soon as Darla took her hand off the girl’s shoulder, the pale, dark-haired wraith’s figure began to flicker and bleed into her surroundings. Her hair, her skin, even her clothing leeched of color, the dirt beneath her seeming to rise up to swallow her vanishing form.

  Chameleon. And a damn strong one. Darla slapped a hand back on the girl’s wrist before it could totally disappear.

  That level of skill in a mind-bender, to be able to wipe herself out of another’s sight while unconscious, was unheard of. Who was this girl Wroth had tried to disappear with?

  He levered himself onto his hands and knees, dragging himself toward them. The smell of singed hair wafted from him, along with tendrils of smoke where holes had burned through the leather where his shoulder blades had touched the ground. “Belle…”

  This time the pet name registered, and Darla felt a flicker of annoyance. Yes, the girl was a beauty, but Wroth had been making out with her just last night. Did the man have no morals?

  What did you expect from a villain, Darla?

  “Is she…?”

  If he’d been anyone else, Darla would’ve been pierced by the rawness of the emotion on his face. She quelled any flicker of sympathy. He was a villain. Evil. A hazard to society. She couldn’t afford to have empathy for someone who had none for his victims.

  Even if he is an amazing kisser.

  He deserved to suffer, but she couldn’t let him think this girl—whoever his “Belle” was to him—was dead. “She’ll be fine. She’s already trying to mask herself.”

  Relief sagged his shoulders. “Good girl,” he murmured under his breath.

  “Only a villain would think attempts to hide from the authorities are a good sign,” she snapped, more irritated than she had any right to be. She’d caught him before he could complete the first breakout in Area Nine’s history. Or get himself electrocuted. She should feel fabulous. Not like she’d just sucked down a vat of arsenic and it was poisoning her from the inside out. “Who is she, Wroth?”

  His lips twisted in a wry grin. “I see you’ve learned who I am. Quick work.”

  “Not such a challenge when you let a security camera see your face and it ends up on the front page of every paper in the Tri-State area. Sloppy, DemonSpawn.”

  He cringed. “I always did hate that name. The reporters thought they were so damned cute, calling me that.”

  “What would you rather be called? Beelzebub, perhaps? A demon in your own right, rather than just the spawn of one?”

  “Lucien,” he bit out. “That’s my name, but you’d never know it. The press has been calling me spawn since I was twelve.”

  Lucien. Darla rolled the name around in her head. It suited him. Dark and appealing.

  “Luc…”

  Though it sounded distinctly less appealing on the lips of his belle.

  He scrambled to her side, his large hands gently brushing the girl’s cheek. “I’m here, Belle.”

  Her thick lashes fluttered, eyelids opening to reveal huge, almost anime-sized luminous blue eyes. Bug eyes, Darla thought uncharitably, for the nanosecond before those hypnotic blue eyes vanished—along with the rest of the girl. Darla could still feel skin beneath her fingertips, but she couldn’t see a thing. And then even the feeling of the touch began to fade, her fingers tingling like she was trying to hold on to a block of ice.

  “Knock it off or I knock you out,” Darla snapped, squeezing the ice-block wrist hard enough it had to hurt.

  “Try it,” a sweet, soft voice spoke with undisguised venom from where the girl’s head had to be, a heartbeat before Darla’s hand burst into flames.

  “Mirabelle!” Wroth shouted.

  Fire licked off Darla’s palm, bright white and crackling blue. She could smell her flesh charring, the pain instant and intense. It’s an illusion, she told herself. But the pain receptors in her brain didn’t believe her any more than her eyes believed the flames she saw were a lie.

  What if the chameleon could also project fire? It wasn’t unheard of for supers to possess multiple gifts. Look at herself. At Wroth. Her hand was burning, chunks of flesh falling away, dripping from the bone.

  Keep holding her. If you release her, you’ll never get her back. But the pain was too much, the terror of watching her flesh actually melt beat in her mind, hysteria feeding the flames… God, the pain. Fire surged up her arm to her shoulder.

  Darla jerked her hand back.

  As soon as she lost contact, the sensation of burning vanished. Her hand was whole. Perfect. Not even a chipped nail.

  And the chameleon was gone. Shit.

  Darla felt the ground around her frantically, but it was no use. Chameleons came in two types—those who changed themselves to blend in with their environments and those who manipulated the minds of those around them. This one was obviously of the second type. If she didn’t want Darla to see her, feel her or even smell her, Darla never would. She couldn’t trust her own senses, because a chameleon would make them lie to her.

  Wroth.

  Darla looked up, and Lucien was gone too. It could’ve been his speed, but she was betting his Belle had vanished him right along with herself. “Dammit, Wroth!”

  They had to be nearby. They still couldn’t cross the perimeter. She could hear the hum of electricity from just beyond the wall. “I know you’re here. You’re trapped, and she can’t hide you forever.”

  But the electrified ring wasn’t designed to stay online for hours. It was intend
ed for brief bursts. Would it outlast the chameleon?

  Even as she wondered at the girl’s endurance, Lucien’s large form flickered and appeared at the edge of the hole he’d made in the wall. The girl remained hidden, but clearly camouflaging them both had been too much for her. One down…

  “Surrender and I’ll recommend leniency,” Darla promised.

  “I’ve seen the hero version of leniency. I’ll pass.”

  He cocked his head and Darla heard a dim echo, like a whisper from the bottom of a well, the distorted sound of the chameleon’s voice. “Take her out and let’s get out of here, Luc.”

  “Bloodthirsty little brat, isn’t she?” Darla replied, rubbing it in that his Belle couldn’t continue to hide from her. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Wroth?”

  His mouth twisted into the wry half-smile she was coming to recognize. He gave a mocking half-bow. “Belle, allow me to present DynaGirl. Darla, Mirabelle Wroth.”

  Shock rippled through her hard. Wroth? He was married? To this toddler?

  “My name is Mirage,” Mirabelle snapped, the name booming loud and threatening across Darla’s senses.

  The effort of issuing the threat, weakened as she was by recent near-electrocution, caused Mirabelle’s slim form to appear, wavering like a ghost against the grey stone of the wall.

  Darla didn’t hesitate. She lunged toward the mirage, but she was no match for Lucien’s speed.

  She slammed into the wall where Mirabelle had been, but the dark-haired girl was already sailing through the air, thrown by Lucien’s significant strength. She flew well clear of the ten-foot electrified band and rolled as she hit the ground, grunting under the impact but vanishing again with a flicker.

  Mirabelle Wroth had escaped Area Nine.

  No. Darla would not fail again.

  She considered strategies, shoving down the frantic don’t-let-them-get-away panic making her heart race. She had three options. One, fly after the girl she couldn’t even see and hope her endurance outlasted the recently-tased teen’s and she was in the right place when Mirage reappeared. Two, put Lucien in a cell and possibly use him as leverage to get the chameleon back at a later date. Or three, pretend to let Lucien give her the slip and follow him back to wherever he was meeting up with the chameleon in the hopes of capturing them both.

  A villain in hand is worth two in the bush…

  Letting a criminal escape went against every fiber of her being, but if she could recapture Mirage…

  Her decision was taken from her as she hesitated. Lucien took a running start at the electrified band, leaping over it and landing with several feet to spare. As soon as he hit the ground, he was off, running so fast all she could see was the path he left.

  Keep him in sight. Darla launched herself into the air and flew after him, pushing herself harder than was wise only a few hours after a complete crash, but not caring. She could only hope he’d burned even more of his reserves than she had hers.

  Lucien Wroth would not escape her again.

  Chapter Seven

  Lair, Sweet Lair

  Lucien didn’t stop running until he reached his hideout—more specifically until he hit his refrigerator. Grabbing a chilled gallon of Gatorade, he slumped to the floor of his kitchen, one leg bent and the other splayed out across the tile as he downed enough electrolytes to refuel an NFL quarterback or douse a victorious coach.

  He didn’t feel very victorious. He felt as if his body had been stretched out like a rubber band until it couldn’t snap back into its proper shape anymore. Every muscle ached, and his head was throbbing.

  Near-electrocution hurt like a bitch. And that was before he’d run himself half to death.

  If he didn’t win brother of the year, there was no fucking justice in the world.

  He was beyond his breaking point for the second time in as many days, but it was worth it. Mirabelle was free and he’d led DynaGirl on a merry chase, halfway around the state and back again to give his little sister plenty of time to get away. With Mirabelle’s gift, she would never be caught as long as she knew pursuit was coming. Surprise was the only way they could have captured her before. She couldn’t blur the perceptions of people around her if she didn’t know they were there, but today she would be on her guard, expecting pursuit, and no one could touch her. She was free.

  As soon as she got here, they’d be gone. Indonesia sounded good. Some non-extradition country with lots of places to lay low. Mirabelle was a smart kid. She’d learn the language in no time.

  Provided he could pry her away from Kevin.

  Lucien crumpled the plastic jug in one fist and chucked it into the trash can across the room. It ricocheted off the wall, leaving a small dent from the force of his throw. Luc cursed under his breath and opened the fridge, careful not to pop the stainless-steel door off its hinges, and raided it for more calories to replace those he’d burned in the last few hours.

  Kevin. The douche bag had left Mirabelle in Area Nine to rot, but when Lucien had busted through the wall into Mirabelle’s cell, she’d spun toward him, her eyes shining, and gasped, “Kevin. I knew you’d come,” before realizing it was only the best goddamn brother on the planet saving her ass. Her face had fallen, and Lucien had found himself struggling to convince his pigheaded sister to come with him rather than wait for her beloved Kevin to stage his own rescue attempt.

  And now she was late. Dammit.

  She couldn’t be stupid enough to go back to that douche bag. To let him use her again. She might be an impulsive teenager, but she wasn’t an idiot. Any minute now she’d appear in Lucien’s apartment and they could start picking out their non-extradition country of choice.

  Lucien shoved the last half of his sandwich into his mouth and started toward his bedroom. He needed to pack. Not much. Just whatever he could carry. Twilight was fading, and he hit the lights as he crossed the open-concept living area.

  A sharp pang echoed in his chest as the lights illuminated the original Roth masterpiece he’d picked up at auction last year, dropping almost an entire year’s salary in one wave of his paddle. Mirabelle had rolled her eyes when she saw it hanging in a place of honor on his living-room wall. She’d asked why he hadn’t just stolen it, but he’d wanted it to be his. Wanted to own it from the second he saw it.

  Not unlike how he’d felt the first time he saw DynaGirl.

  Strange to think he’d actually miss Darla Powers when he was exploring Bali. She was a challenge, that was for damn sure. He’d barely lost her, even running at top speed. He’d thought a couple times he’d given her the slip, only to see her flying high above, pacing him. He’d been pushing his own limits and running on empty before he was confident enough he’d gotten away clean to come back home.

  He’d thrown an extra pair of jeans and a few ragged T-shirts into his duffle when he heard a sound in the living room.

  Mirabelle. Thank God.

  “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded as he rushed out of the bedroom.

  He stopped abruptly at the sight of DynaGirl striking a goddamn I’m-So-Heroic pose in front of his open balcony door. Shit.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Darla said with a smug twist of her lips. “Some asshole ran halfway to Mexico trying to lose me.”

  Darla held her pose, trying not to let him see how hard she was breathing. The man was fast. She’d actually lost him right near the end. It was just a lucky break that she’d spotted him again as he was rushing into this building.

  She’d been certain he was just ducking inside to lose her, so she’d hovered outside for several minutes until she realized this was his destination. It was hardly what she’d expected of DemonSpawn’s secret lair.

  The neighborhood was quiet, mostly upscale townhomes with a few less cookie-cutter buildings thrown in. Lucien’s lair was one of those, a massive brick cube with wrought-iron railings curling around the balconies as the only decoration. The simple exterior certainly didn’t intimidate.

  She’d located Lucie
n on the top floor, spotting him through the window while he was consuming a sandwich the size of his head. She’d lurked outside, looking for signs of the chameleon or that he might be getting ready to run again, but he just made himself at home.

  That was the odd thing. She’d expected something sinister. A classic cliché lair, but he continued to defy her expectations. This was his home—the tastefully furnished top-floor loft with high ceilings and an open concept.

  Lucien folded his arms over his chest, glowering. “Looks like I should’ve kept running.”

  “Just accept it, Wroth. There’s no escaping justice,” she said, pleased to have delivered the line firmly in spite of the girly fluttering that erupted in her stomach at the sight of his biceps flexing.

  “Justice.” He shook his head, clearly unimpressed by her pronouncement. “You just love throwing around that word, don’t you? Bet it makes you feel important, doesn’t it?”

  “Where is she?” She resisted the urge to look around the room. Even if his toddler bride Mirage was there, odds were good Darla wouldn’t be able to see her.

  Lucien smiled darkly. “Where’s your backup?”

  Darla opened her mouth to blast him something brilliantly witty, but he cut her off with a laugh.

  “You didn’t even call anyone, did you? God, that is so typical.”

  “I can bring you in myself.”

  “This is just about your pride, isn’t it?” he snarled. “You’re only here because I beat you. That’s a crappy reason to ruin a girl’s life, Darla.”

  “I’m ruining her life? She’s a criminal! There are consequences for breaking the law, Wroth.” She stalked across the room to him, telling herself it was only so she would be close enough to grab him if he tried to make a break for it.

  “She’s a kid who made a mistake!” he shouted, clearly forgetting he was supposed to be running away from her as he crowded closer, towering over her until it felt like he’d sucked up all the oxygen in the room.