Super Bad (a Superlovin' novella)

by Andrews, Vivi

  “Julian.”

  His diaphragm contracted, forcing out his breath at the sound of his name on her lips. He cocked his head to acknowledge her call, still not able to look at her.

  “Luc would like to talk to you again.”

  Julian nodded, downed the rest of his coffee and took the phone without meeting her eyes. Businesslike. Impersonal. That was how he’d be from now on. “Lucien.”

  “Belle wants me to go, Darla wants me to go. It’s the right bloody thing to do and I’ll do it. Just swear to me you won’t let anything happen to her while I’m gone.”

  He’d been avoiding it, but now he couldn’t help but look at her. She stood in the doorway, eyes large and solemn as she watched him. “I’ll guard her with my life. You have my word.”

  Mirage cast her eyes down, shuttering her gaze, and slipped out of the room. Out of sight, a graceful illusion.

  “No one will touch her.” Not even me.

  “I’ll hold you to that,” Lucien growled.

  Good. “If you see Eisenmann, have him call me, all right? We’ve made real progress and I’d like his professional opinion.”

  “He wasn’t at Trident today, but if we see him before we go, I’ll let him know.”

  “Thanks.” He tried not to dwell on how strange it was to be thanking DemonSpawn Wroth for anything. The world just looked different these days.

  He disconnected the call and set the phone on the counter, jarringly aware that he and Mirage were now even more on their own. He was excruciatingly aware of her in the other room. It couldn’t be helped. His body had been tuned to hers, humming in perfect harmony. He rubbed a hand across his face and stepped out of the kitchen to face her, and the awkwardness of knowing exactly how good it could be. And knowing he could never let himself touch her, or let her know how much he wanted to.

  Chapter Twelve: Midnight Confessions

  The cavern was vast and echoing around her, but Mirage’s fight was small, a war of thoughts, a battle of minds. She gripped Kevin’s arm, gasping with the effort to push the illusion of pain into him through his touch, but while his skin enabled her to breach his barriers, it also disabled her own. He was there, in her mind, prodding her thoughts, rearranging her intentions, shaping her into his perfect obedient slave and no matter how she fought him, he was winning. She couldn’t match his strength, had never come across a Mind Bender with half his raw power. She was going to shatter into a thousand pieces, she could feel herself buckling. Lucien and Darla would be overrun by Kevin’s mindless army. The first Apocalyptum bomb had failed, but Kevin would find another. The city would be flattened. Millions dead. Her brother would die because she was too weak to save him. Too fragile, too frail, always protected, never tested. This was her test, and she was failing, breaking, cracks spidering through the delicate glass of her consciousness, each fissure filled with pain, until she couldn’t see through the agony anymore. She wasn’t just losing the battle, she was losing herself. When Kevin was done with her, she would be nothing he hadn’t made her be. He would be her creator, her god, and her life would exist only in his service and worship. No.

  She shattered, fragments flying, but instead of leaving nothing, the wreckage of her mind revealed a bright, fierce light buried deep within her. It was hard and bright and strong. Suddenly she was more, so much more. Power rushed through her veins and she flung it into Kevin, a savage satisfaction roaring in her heart as his mind instantly collapsed beneath the onslaught. She took his mind mercilessly, wrapping it in layer after layer of pure, excruciating pain. She caught her breath at the wicked delight, the heady rush of the power, as Kevin began to scream, high and loud and constant, the keening stretching on and on until his vocal cords gave out. She liked it. God help her, she loved it. It felt so good to punish him, like each convulsion of his body was another hit of the purest drug.

  “Mirage.”

  The voice was Lucien’s. And Not-Lucien’s. Lucien was disappointed, horrified, he needed her to stop, to let go. Not-Lucien was frantic, urgent, he needed her…

  “Mirabelle. Mirage. Wake up, honey, come on. It’s just a dream.”

  No. He was wrong. It wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. A flashback seducing her villain’s soul. She loved the pain, reveled in the agony, it was her drug.

  “Mirage!” Firm hands shook her and suddenly she was awake and trembling. Her face was hot and wet, though she didn’t remember tears. But with consciousness came shame, horror, and abruptly she was crying uncontrollably, sobbing so hard she couldn’t get any air.

  “It’s okay. I’m here, baby. I’ve got you. It was just a dream,” Julian murmured in a soothing litany against her temple, his arms strong and warm around her as she shuddered and gasped. “You’re all right. I have you. Easy, now. Come on, baby. Just breathe.”

  But she couldn’t breathe. Her throat was closed, her lungs burning. Terror gripped her. She was frightened of herself, of that bright, darkly burning part of herself that had taken violent delight in Kevin’s destruction. She’d broken him and she’d enjoyed it. What would righteous Justice say if he knew that? Would he hold her so tenderly? Whisper to her so sweetly?

  The fear of herself shifted, loosening its grip, and though she still cried, she could breathe again. Somehow the idea of Julian hating her made it easier, as if he could do it for her and she would no longer have to hate herself. She could love him for that.

  God, she was twisted.

  As her sobs eased, she realized Julian was shirtless as he lay on top of the covers, comforting her. He wore only a loose pair of pajama pants, obviously not having bothered with modesty when he’d charged into her room to save her from her subconscious. His skin was warm where she clung to him, but none of that heat seemed to penetrate the chill at her core.

  “Better now?” He gently brushed her hair back from her face.

  “Yes,” she whispered, but she remembered his gift when he gave her a shadow of a smile and murmured, “Liar.”

  Minutes stretched as he held her, petting her, his hands never still as they gently stroked the hair at her temple, the curve of her shoulder through her threadbare nightshirt.

  It wasn’t the first time she had dreamt of Kevin, but this dream had been by far the most vivid. And it was the first time she’d felt that keen, nightmarish joy at his pain, the first time the corruption of her soul had been laid bare for her to witness. She’d never thought herself particularly good, but to see that evil inside herself… She shuddered, a chill streaking down her spine, and Julian’s arms tightened around her.

  “Easy. You’re all right.” He shifted, resituating her so she was stretched against his side, him on top of the covers, her tucked beneath, her cheek pillowed on the muscular pad of his pectoral as his arms wrapped securely around her. The position was intimate, familiar, but in that moment she couldn’t have moved away from his touch even if she’d wanted to. Justice could never belong to her, that much was obvious, but tonight she just wanted to pretend. To close her eyes and try to believe there could be something more.

  The last few days had been uneventful, holed up in the safe house, unlocking more memories. They still hadn’t heard from Eisenmann, thought Lucien called daily from Guinea. She’d been feeling good. Proud of her progress, smug at the resurgence of her memories. But with that clarity came a self-awareness she hadn’t anticipated. The terrifying revelation of her dark soul.

  “Bad dream?” Julian asked and she closed her eyes, feeling the rumble of his voice against her ear pressed to his chest.

  “More like bad memories,” she admitted, knowing it was pointless to lie. It was oddly freeing—not having to wonder whether to be honest or not because she couldn’t get a lie past him if she’d wanted to. It excised all the guesswork and manipulations and left her feeling strangely peaceful with breaking honest ground. “I should be grateful to remember. Grateful I’m whole enough to dream. No matter how bad. But some memories would have done me a favor to stay buried.”

  “
Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

  She shrugged—as much as she could while tucked snug against him. “Kevin.”

  Julian stroked her hair. “He can’t hurt you now.”

  “I know.” She could have left it there. She could have secrets, even from a man who could never be fooled by lies, but she wanted to tell him. As if by saying the words, she could release that evil part of her, get it out of her for good. “In the dream, the memory,” she whispered so softly the words were little more than air, “I was hurting him.” When the hand caressing her hair didn’t even hesitate, she dared to push out the next words. “And I liked it. It felt good.”

  Her voice broke on the last word and Julian tightened his arm around her, not repudiating her, but letting his warmth, his strength slowly penetrate the deep cold inside her. “He hurt you,” Julian whispered, his breath rustling her hair, “and you wanted him to hurt. It’s natural for you to—”

  “I loved it, Julian. What kind of monster gets off on another’s pain?”

  “If you were a monster, the memory of it wouldn’t have frightened you. It could never have made you cry.”

  “But what I did… And then I hurt you. I hurt Darla. It made me feel strong to push pain into someone’s thoughts.”

  “Are you sorry?”

  “Yes.” Her voice broke on the word.

  “I can hear how true that is. We all have regrets. I would protect you from the memory of them, but remembering is the only way we can keep from repeating our mistakes.”

  “It wasn’t a mistake. I knew what I was doing.”

  He sighed, her head rising and falling with the bellows of his chest. “Are you trying to get me to condemn you for it?”

  Was that what she wanted? No. But she couldn’t accept his absolution either. He hadn’t seen the dark light in her. He didn’t know and until he knew, how could he forgive her? But she was too tired to convince him. Exhaustion followed hard on the heels of her emotional storm. Mirage tucked her chin, burying her face against his warm skin. “Just hold me,” she whispered. “Please stay.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  * * * * * * * * * *

  She looked so young in her sleep. It was easy to forget, when the fierce, ancient intelligence blazed from her eyes, that she should, by rights, have still been a young soul. Now, with her eyes closed and her face softened with dreamless slumber, he was keenly aware of the decade that separated them. Surely that was why he felt this fierce protectiveness. It couldn’t be that he truly felt she belonged to him. He had no right to such possessiveness.

  Julian frowned, watching her lashes flutter against her cheeks. He’d never been the jealous type before, never gone in for the chest-banging Neanderthal you’re mine routine, but with Mirage, the caveman instinct was there and it was strong. Like a tether to the most instinctual corner of his soul. He’d been raised a hero, but never truly felt heroic until she looked at him. He ached to be the one to slay her demons and chase all the shadows from her eyes.

  She shifted, stretching against him, and his body went taut in a way that reminded him he definitely didn’t think of her as childlike in any way. Twenty wasn’t so young—not with the wealth of life already behind her.

  She’d fallen asleep in his arms last night. Trusting. Accepting what comfort he could give. He didn’t know when things had changed between them. When she had become so irreplaceable to him or when she had first allowed herself to lean on him. It had happened so gradually, he couldn’t pinpoint the moment of change. He only knew that he would protect her.

  Even when that included protecting her from himself.

  He slid to the edge of the bed, gently extracting himself from the tangle of Mirage’s arms, taking care not to wake her. Waking her with her body still curled around his was too much temptation. He had to get away.

  But when he glanced over his shoulder, he found her watching him with sleep-kissed eyes from the warm nest of sheets.

  “Sneaking off?” she asked, her voice hoarse and low. “And here I had you pegged for a gentleman.” When he froze, her eyebrows curved upward. “Don’t let me interrupt your walk of shame.”

  “I’m not ashamed.”

  “Then why are you sneaking out of my bed like you did something wrong, hmm?”

  Because he wanted to do something wrong. He wanted to do everything to her and it was all wrong. “I was trying not to wake you.”

  “I got that. What I don’t get is why you look so guilty at being caught.”

  He flushed, not bothering to protest that he wasn’t guilty as hell. She wouldn’t have needed lie-detecting powers to tell he was full of shit if he tried that one. She looked up at him from the warmth of the bed, dark eyes sparkling. He’d had no idea she was such a morning person. Last night’s tears were a distant memory. She looked refreshed, soft and wholesome—provided wholesomeness came with a spark of wicked invitation flashing in her dark eyes. Mirage could provoke a saint. And he was no saint.

  Uncomfortably aware the loose pajama pants did little to conceal his growing interest, he shifted one knee to better block her view.

  “You know what I think, Justice?” She stretched again, arching like a cat until the thin sleepshirt pulled taut across her breasts, her nipples clearly outlined.

  Sweet Jesus. “What?” he croaked.

  She sat up and leaned toward him, resting her weight on one hand as the other trailed the outer edge of his arm. “I think we both need to stop pretending we don’t know the truth.”

  There were moments in a man’s life when his true character was revealed. When ideals were put to the proof of action. This was one of those moments. If Julian were a good man, he would stand up and walk out of the room without a backward glance. She was grateful to him for restoring her memories. She felt indebted to him. If he’d learned anything from Kim, it had to be that saving a woman and earning her love were not one and the same. It would be wrong to take advantage of her vulnerability. A good man would walk away.

  Turned out he wasn’t as good as he’d always thought he was.

  He turned his head to meet her gleaming gaze. “What truth is that?” he asked, though he knew damn well what her answer was going to be.

  Mirage’s smile said she knew he knew it too. “That I want you and you want me.”

  “Do I?”

  Her smile widened. “Don’t you?”

  He was out of evasions. He simply watched as she slowly came to her knees. Her hands glided up his back, across his shoulders.

  “I could lie and say I’m not attracted to you, but you would hear the deceit in my voice.” Her breath whispered across his shoulder blades, the back of his neck. “What’s that like? Always knowing the truth?”

  He had pat answers, pretty lies, but this time he gave the unvarnished truth. “It sucks.”

  “Takes all the mystery out of life?” Her hands kneaded the tense muscles in his shoulders. She had a firm touch and damn it felt good.

  He let his head fall forward. “Life has plenty of mystery. It’s human nature you don’t want to take too close a look at. Unless you have to.”

  “Do people lie a lot?”

  “Constantly. And about the stupidest things. But it isn’t the pointless lies that get to you. It’s knowing the truth when everyone around you is blissfully oblivious. And when they would rather stay that way than see.” He grunted as she hit a particularly tense knot and pressed deep into the tissue. “And I can’t even blame them for their ignorance. I envy it too much.”

  “They envy you too.” Her hands gentled, more caressing than massaging now. “I envy you. Always certain.”

  He felt her lean toward him and stiffened again, pulling away. “I’m certain this is a bad idea.”

  “Why?” she demanded, her voice suddenly sharp. “Because I’m not heroine material?”

  He wasn’t going to tell her she’d make a helluva heroine if she put her mind to it, because he’d just as soon not get his ass kicked into
next week. Somehow he didn’t think Mirage would see that as a compliment. “Because your brother will kill me, for one. Because it would be unprofessional. Because you aren’t in a position to make rational decisions about your love life right now and I won’t take advantage of our situation.”

  “Wow. Thanks for bringing my brother into bed with us.”

  “We aren’t in bed.” At her arch look, he growled. “Okay, yes, technically we’re in bed, but we aren’t in bed. And we aren’t going to be.”

  “Because I’m too crazy to decide who I want to fuck.”

  He flinched. Over the last few days he’d learned that Mirage didn’t often swear, but when she did, it always startled him. And dug into something primal in him to see that pretty mouth wrapping around those filthy words. Dammit, that should not turn him on. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “By your definition, too irrational to make decisions about my love life means what exactly?”

  “It would be too complicated. Our relationship—”

  “So we won’t have a relationship.”

  “Mirage—”

  “Dammit, Julian, would you just shut up and kiss me already? We both know you’re going to.”

  He shot one last desperate look at the door, but before he could move, Mirage braced her hands on his shoulders and swung a leg over his lap to straddle him. He caught her around the waist, meaning to set her away from him, but he just held her there, ensnared by dark eyes and a sinful smile. She thrust her hands into his hair and bent close, brushing her lips across his with a quick, flirtatious tease of a kiss.

  “Stop trying to be everybody’s hero all the time,” she whispered, an inch from his mouth. Then she kissed him and all heroic thoughts evaporated.

  Chapter Thirteen: Super Seduction

  They damn well didn’t lack for chemistry. And it probably didn’t hurt that between the two of them combined they barely had enough clothing for one person. He couldn’t keep his hands off the sleek length of her thighs, spread wide over his hips. She devoured his mouth and the last shreds of his good intentions as he shoved the thin fabric of her sleepshirt up until he could feel the satin-smooth skin of her waist beneath his fingers. She was so slim his fingers almost touched, but there was nothing insubstantial about the way she rode him. She ground herself against his erection until he could feel how wet she was through the thin, drenched fabric of her panties and his pajamas.