Super Bad (a Superlovin' novella)

by Andrews, Vivi

  His laugh was a low, coughing rasp. “Deal.”

  For a long while, they just held one another. But it wasn’t long enough. Forever wouldn’t be long enough. He trusted her, believed in her… Loved her? He’d said it, but shouting it at her father didn’t really count. But did the words really matter? The man had walked through fire for her. Declarations were pretty flimsy after that.

  But when he pulled back to look into her eyes and whispered, “I love you, Mirage,” she forgot that she didn’t care about declarations and began blubbering all over again. Gasping through her tears, she managed to get out, “I love you, too.” Then his lips closed over hers and she forgot about words again. Forgot about anything other than the feel of him, the taste, and the pure, fierce rightness of him. He was her balance, her heart, and her hero. She didn’t have to be virtuous to know that this, the two of them, would always be good.

  Chapter Eighteen: And Justice For Always

  “I think that might be the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  Mirage shot a glare at Kim Carruthers and covered her precious puppy’s one-and-a-half ears with her hands. “Don’t say that in front of Liberty. She’s sensitive.”

  Sure, there were patches where her fur was missing and the scraggly pit-mix was half an ear short and completely lacking a tail, but that didn’t mean she wasn't beautiful in her own way. Mirage had taken Justice to the local shelter, determined to get him the puppy he’d wanted as a kid, and they’d ended up leaving with a trio of misfits—Liberty, Mayhem, a scraggly mutt with a lazy eye who always looked mildly lost, and a three-legged Corgi who only answered to Major. Saving the three unlikely-to-be-adopted dogs had been about as close as she was likely to get to playing hero.

  It had been only logical that she would move in with Justice to help him take care of the dogs—at least that was the excuse they’d given Lucien. Julian was still a little jumpy about coming right out and admitting that he was banging DemonSpawn Wroth’s baby sister. The two men had a strict don’t ask don’t tell policy.

  She glanced across the apartment where her brother and her lover were talking without even a hint of violence. If Luc and Julian could play nice, the least she could do was be polite to Kim Carruthers for the duration of the housewarming party. Especially since she was indirectly responsible for the fact that Kim suddenly had telekinetic powers she couldn’t entirely control. Eisenmann was still recovering from his own brush with the RAT poison.

  So she forced a smile and did the pretty with the perky blonde reporter—who couldn’t leave for the capital fast enough as far as Mirage was concerned—until DynaGirl wandered over to distract her old friend Kim so Mirage could sneak off for a minute to herself.

  She’d never thought of herself as antisocial, but it was still an unfamiliar experience, having a bunch of friends who wanted to make sure her house was warm. Especially considering most of those friends were heroes. She slipped into the kitchen, Liberty padding at her heels, and pretended to check on the status of the drinks in the fridge. It wasn’t that she didn’t want all these people here, wishing them well, but her vision for her first night officially living at Justice’s place had been more of the clothing-optional variety. Just the two of them.

  Liberty listed adoringly against her leg and Mirage dropped a hand to scratch behind one ear, correcting herself—just the five of them. She intended to see to it that Julian never felt lonely again.

  “Hiding out?”

  She turned, half hoping it was Justice, there to tell her they could throw everyone out, but it was her brother, leaning one shoulder against the kitchen doorway. “Not hiding,” she lied. “Just taking a second to regroup.”

  Lucien folded his arms across his chest, his expression still guarded even though she hadn’t had a relapse in over three weeks. She wouldn’t call herself officially cured, but she hadn’t done anything to earn his wariness. Luc cleared his throat. “Justice says the compulsions are gone.”

  “We think so. It’s hard to be sure, but I feel better now. Like myself again.”

  Luc nodded. When he met her eyes, it was as if just looking at her was an effort. “I owe you an apology.”

  Now she was the one who couldn’t look at him. “No, Luc, you don’t,” she said, although the word felt wrong. Like a lie. She’d been so angry at him for not believing in her, for just writing her off and putting distance between them. For looking at her like she was crazy when she’d just needed to know he was on her side.

  “Yes, I do. You were always a kid to me. Someone to look after. I should have given you credit for being strong enough to come through this.”

  She swallowed around a sudden thickness in her throat. “I never would have given up my powers.”

  “You heard that?” He grimaced. “I don’t think I could have asked you to. But I’m sorry I suggested it. And I’m glad it wasn’t necessary. I’m in awe of you, Mirage. And Justice. Though I haven’t decided how I feel about you two being together yet.”

  She smiled, a tight knot in her chest finally easing. “You’ll get used to the idea.”

  He unfolded his arms and stepped toward her. “So you can forgive me for being a total ass?”

  “You weren’t a total ass. Besides, that’s what brothers are for, right?” She went into his arms, the last jagged puzzle piece fitting back into place. He held her, his strong arms gentle as always, and when he set her away, big, tough DemonSpawn Wroth gave a discreet sniffle.

  “So Justice let Dad escape, eh?”

  Mirage smiled. “Something like that.” The official story was that the Demon Doctor had duped them and disappeared. All she knew was that her father and Julian had had a long talk before they’d left the canyon and whatever her father had said must have worked because Julian had left her father there. And this morning she’d received her first letter from him. All was well in South America, apparently, and Mirage should “hang onto that Justice boy.” Advice she had every intention of taking.

  “Hey, I’ve been looking for you.” Julian appeared in the doorway and Mirage grinned at him, wondering how soon they could kick everyone out and she could start that hanging on.

  Lucien took one glance at the look she was directing at Julian and groaned. “I think that’s my cue. See you two later.” He glared at Julian. “Just not too much later.”

  Mirage rolled her eyes as her brother shouldered his way past Julian. As if they were going to hook up in a room with no door during the middle of their housewarming party. Though she did pull Julian farther into the room and tug him to her for a quick kiss. Or a not so quick kiss…

  When they separated, they were both breathing quickly and Julian had a bemused grin on his All-American face. “What was that for?”

  “I need a reason?”

  “Hell no. Forget I asked.” He came in for another kiss, but this one did stay quick. “We should get back. Guests and all that.”

  “I’m a villain. I’m allowed to be a terrible hostess.”

  “Is that in the villain rulebook?”

  “We don’t have a rulebook. That’s the whole point of villainy. No rules.” She frowned. “Though maybe there should be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why did you let my father go?”

  She felt him start, clearly not expecting that line of questioning. “Why?”

  “Why.”

  He frowned and finally, grudgingly, admitted, “You were right.”

  “About?”

  “He isn’t violent. He has no wish to hurt anyone. He really did think he was helping you and Lucien, that the two of you had been sucked in by Darla and me—evil heroes who were going to hurt you. Once I convinced him I would walk through fire for you, he was slightly more inclined to let me keep you.”

  “He’s still a wanted felon and you let him walk away.”

  “He’s your father. And God knows he’s a few bricks short of a load—way too many experiments on himself if you ask me—but I just didn’t see the justi
ce in putting him in Area Nine for the rest of his life. If I brought him in now, he wouldn’t be treated fairly. He definitely needs a keeper, but he’s more than a little paranoid about people watching his actions, so the letters were the best I could do.”

  “So you’re responsible for my new pen pal.”

  “Do you mind? I kind of stepped in and made the decision without you.”

  “It was a good decision. I’ll reserve being mad for when you make idiotic ones.”

  He snorted. “Thanks.”

  “Besides, maybe I’ll clear him and he’ll be able to come home. I don’t want my kids growing up with a fugitive for a grandfather.”

  “Kids, huh? Should we be discussing that?”

  “Not yet. First I have to change the world.”

  He gave that short, rough bark of laughter she’d come to love. “No pressure.”

  She looked up at him, nervous as she spoke the words out loud for the first time. “I thought maybe I’d go back to college. Pre-law this time. My mom worked in a law firm and I always did have kind of a flexible morality. Figure that’s an asset in lawyers. Besides, someone needs to defend the villains.”

  “You’d be amazing.”

  “Wouldn’t I?” she grinned, without a trace of humility. Virtues like that were so overrated. “I mean, I know better than anyone that not all villains are just misunderstood supers. Kevin was a perfect example of an utter douche who deserves every second he spends in prison. But there are others, you know? People held in Area Nine just because they are suspected of screwing up and are too dangerous for a fair trial. That’s such bullshit. Everyone deserves the same treatment, a jury, a chance to defend themselves—or have me defend them. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll go into politics. Change the laws. Because politics is just a huge illusion, isn’t it? Manipulations and power plays? I’m good at that. And we need change, Julian. We need appeals for people in Area Nine. A way to try Mind Benders. Fairness for everyone, not just the heroes and those they protect.” She stopped, blushing as she realized he was gaping at her. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re incredible.” He bent, bracing an arm beneath her butt and lifting her against his chest so she was looking down into his upturned face. He grinned at her, this gorgeous man who somehow loved her. “I can’t wait to see you change the world.”

  “It’s because of you, you know,” she whispered. “You gave me back myself. You made me believe in change, in a future, in love. I can’t do it without you.”

  “Luckily, you’ll never have to.”

  Mirage ducked her chin to kiss Julian and for the first time in her life, she really did feel like one of the lucky ones. The luckiest semi-reformed villainess in the world.

  About the Author

  Vivi Andrews is the award-winning author of over a dozen paranormal romance novels and novellas. A confessed travel-junkie, she lives in Alaska when she isn’t flying, driving, or sailing off to explore some new corner of the world. For more about Vivi and her books, you can visit her website at www.viviandrews.com or blog at http://viviandrews.blogspot.com.

  Also by Vivi Andrews

  Karmic Consultants:

  The Ghost Shrink, the Accidental Gigolo & the Poltergeist Accountant

  The Ghost Exterminator: A Love Story

  The Sexorcist

  The Naked Detective

  A Cop & A Feel

  Finder’s Keeper

  Naughty Karma—Coming October 2013

  Serengeti Shifters:

  Serengeti Heat

  Serengeti Storm

  Serengeti Lightning

  Serengeti Sunrise

  Superhero Romance:

  Superlovin’

  Super Bad

  Super Hot

  Super Trouble—Coming Soon

  Stand Alone Novellas:

  Ghosts of Boyfriends Past

  No Angel

  Reawakening Eden

  Spinning Gold

  Don’t miss the next book of the Superlovin’ series…

  Super Hot

  He’s on fire for her… literally.

  Superhero research scientist Dr. Eric Eisenmann always secretly wanted to be super himself, until he was abducted, experimented on, and woke up pyrokinetic— the least stable of all the super abilities. Suddenly he’s lighting everything around him on fire whenever his emotions get the better of him and desperate to turn his super powers off. Unfortunately, Eisenmann’s only hope for a cure lies with a woman who wants nothing to do with him—and fires up the very emotions he needs to keep in check.

  As the only non-super daughter in a superhero dynasty, Tandy Nightwing has been poked and prodded for years in an attempt to find the cause behind her defect. Now that she’s finally found a way to be happy with her normalcy, the last thing she wants is to subject herself to another super scientist’s tests—but she can no more resist Eisenmann’s plea for help than she can resist the good doctor himself.

  Deep in his underground lab, Eisenmann tries to maintain rigid control of his feelings, but Tandy is his personal kryptonite, constantly testing his restraint. Powerless or not, she just might be the one woman brave enough to stand close to his fire—provided they both survive when their experiments unleash a passion that burns hotter than sin.

  * * * * *

  The dream always started the same way. He was powerless, fighting futilely for the right to control his own body, his own voice. The dark compulsion in his head was sickeningly familiar, that awful, suffocating helplessness. His every molecule screamed for release.

  Then there was a jab, a stinging pain, and the fire woke up.

  It always woke up ravenous, an animal with a thousand mouths, each one hungrier than the last. It seemed to know its life would be short, lasting only as long as it could greedily consume everything in its path. It wanted to devour everything it touched as badly as a human being wanted to breathe another breath. And it was very good at getting what it wanted.

  The fireball erupted, the sound of the flames deafening—roaring, crackling, thunder and lightning in one. The pressure was immense, but there was no heat. Inside the fire’s soul, he was immune to burns. Safe. It would protect him, defend him, this wild, hungry beast. Not his pet or his friend, but a ferociously dangerous ally—quick to anger, quick to strike, and devastating in its destruction. His sociopathic protector, fueled by his fear.

  The rough timber beams above his head blackened and fell, but the smell was wrong. Not wood smoke. More astringent. Chemical. Metallic—

  Eric Eisenmann flailed awake, choking and gagging on the chemical foam covering him and every inch of his office as still more sprayed from spigots on the ceiling, dousing the lingering flames. He cursed and wiped the white goop from his eyes and mouth, sucking in a breath of air tainted by the lingering smells of charred metal and fire-suppressant foam.

  Calm down, Eisenmann. Get it together. He forced himself to breathe, forced the dream back, the fear back, and felt the fire retreat back into its den in the back of his brain.

  Control temporarily regained, he surveyed the wreckage.

  He’d fallen asleep in his office again. Another computer ruined. Another desk destroyed—this one melted down to a lump of molten metal.

  Perfect. Just perfect.

  The dreams were coming every night now, along with the fire they conjured. He’d cleared his bedroom of all flammable materials—including his bed, reduced to sleeping on a slab made of the same heat-resistant material used to protect space shuttles from burning up on impact. Of course, none of those precautionary measures did any good when he fell asleep at his computer.

  The foam sputtered to a stop, leaving his office looking like it was covered in rapidly melting snow. It dripped off him, his skin was still hot to the touch in an after-effect of the dream.

  No, not dream. The memory. Because as much as he might wish it was just a fabrication of his subconscious, the powerlessness, the pain, and the flames were all far too real. The mindbend
er Demon Wroth had abducted him, used psychic compulsion to control him, and then injected him with a designer poison which had mutated his normal human DNA into a super genome.

  Just his rotten luck that his untapped super ability happened to be the most volatile and dangerous one on record.

  Pyrokinetics. The supers voted most likely to accidentally kill themselves within a year of awakening their ability.

  For now, the fire couldn’t touch him, but he could still die of smoke inhalation, and then there was the risk of flaming out—reaching a burning point where even he could not withstand the heat of the fire and nothing was left but ash.

  Eric shoved off from his chair, which was remarkably unsinged, considering the recent conflagration. Apart from his glasses and his clothing, everything else within a five yard radius looked like it had just had an unfortunate run-in with a blow torch. Smoke clogged his throat, the air stiflingly thick and getting thicker with each breath he took.

  Automatic security protocols shut off oxygen to this wing at the first hint of flame to keep from feeding the fire. The threat of suffocating in his sleep had been a necessary sacrifice to prevent the very real alternative of taking out a full city block should he have a bad dream.

  He crossed to the far wall, grateful the foam had deployed to dampen the flames before they could reach this far. The security panel was still intact and he typed in a quick series of codes to activate the all clear. With a barely audible whoosh, clean air began to fill the room, the filtration system sucking out the smoke.

  Just another day at the office.

  Eric snorted, surveying the damage. The remains of his latest laptop were fused to the metal blob that had once been his desk. No doubt all his papers had been reduced to ash beneath the foam which was starting to ooze off the desk and puddle on the black-charred tile.