The Supers of Project 12: The Complete Superhero Series

by Angel Lawson

  Powers like what? the girl always wondered. And who are ‘they’?

  She wondered but didn’t ask, then made her toy dogs race around the room with the flick of her hand.

  “Demetria?” the woman asked, walking across the yard. Her shoes squished in the dirt. She squatted next to her. “I’m Nicole. I’m a social worker and I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”

  Demetria looked at the woman and knew she may be one of them but takes the woman’s offered hand anyway, slipping her dark, blood-covered hand into the woman’s much paler one.

  They didn’t go back in the house, back past the body or to retrieve any of Demetria’s things. She never said goodbye. But she did make a promise as she looked at the house from the inside of the van: she would come back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Astrid

  The silver car fights the thick rush-hour traffic from downtown back to the edge of the Swamp. Draco drives and Astrid sits in the back, wanting to ask him a million questions; things about Demetria, about WIND-E, and most importantly, how he came to work for her. She has a feeling, the kernel of suspicion, that this man is someone she’s supposed to know. Is he one of them? Is he just another Lost Boy, or some pretty token Demetria found to take their place.

  She doesn’t ask though, instead keeping her mouth shut and one hand on the door for a fast escape. Joining forces with Demetria is a big step. Going against Kincade is a dangerous one. Both things she agreed to without approval from her team. She sighs and fidgets with the door handle.

  “Everything okay back there?” His gray eyes catch hers in the mirror.

  “Yeah. I’m just thinking about how I’m going to have a lot of explaining to do when I get back home.”

  He nods in understanding and swerves out of the way of a white mini-van with a dozen bumper stickers on the back window.

  She takes a moment to study the back of Draco’s head and reaches out with her senses. He’s calm. Heart rate steady. Damn him for smelling like bake goods and sex. Knowing Demetria, it’s probably a requirement for working for her. She laughs to herself, thinking how her secretary probably has farts that smell like rainbows.

  Draco’s eyes meet hers in the rearview mirror again. “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You laughed. Did I miss something?”

  “I was just thinking about your boss and, you know, all her sparkles and glitter. She likes to surround herself with pretty, happy things.”

  “True,” he agrees. His shining gray eyes keep connecting with hers. “Makes sense for why she wanted me to pick you up.”

  Astrid laughs. “Demetria didn’t track me down because of my looks, but thanks handsome, you’re not too shabby looking yourself.”

  Did she just say that? Who is this guy and why is she talking like this? She gets a glimpse of his face again. Oh yeah, that’s why. He’s so painfully attractive he’s melted her brain. She averts her eyes to the window and promises not to say anything else so stupid. Thankfully he keeps his ridiculously soft-looking lips shut for the rest of the trip.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she says when he finally pulls up to the curb.

  “Nice to meet you, Astrid. I’m glad you’re joining WIND-E.”

  She pauses halfway out the door, not sure how to reply to that. She’s not exactly joining WIND-E. They’re not on the payroll. They just have a common problem to take care of. That’s it.

  “Nice meeting you too, Draco. Stay perfect, okay?”

  He flashes her a mega-watt smile. Damn.

  She goes first to the apartment and stops hard in the doorway. Owen’s blankets and backpack are no longer by the couch. His shaving kit and apple-smelling hair products are no longer on the counter. A pang of sadness replaces the giddy lust that overtook her in the car.

  Harry crosses the floor and skims her legs, giving her a quiet “meow.”

  “I know,” she says, running her hand down his back. “I’ll miss him too, but I don’t blame him for wanting his own bed.” Harry picks up his foot and licks it. “You didn’t help, you know.” The cat gives her the equivalent look of, “meh.”

  She heads back out the door and makes her way to the dormitory.

  A voice hits her the instant she opens the main door. A singing voice, going full force, with zero hesitation. Astrid follows it, wandering down the hallway. It grows louder until she finally stops outside one of the bedrooms. It’s no longer an empty shell but there’s a full-sized bed and a dresser with belongings on top. A desk with a laptop open. Owen stands, no rather, dances in the middle of the room. White earbud cords hang down to the iPod tucked in his waistband and he belts out another familiar line.

  Astrid stands in the door, fighting the smile on her face. She leans against the door frame and watches this man act so silly. It’s a contrast from the pain she read in his echo and it makes her happy to see him happy.

  He spins, belting out the chorus, opening his eyes at the end of the final line. He jumps out of his skin, shouting, “What the fuck, Astrid!” and pulling the headphones out of his ears.

  “Gloria Gaynor?” she asks, hearing his heart try to explode from his chest. His cheeks turn pink. “I Will Survive?”

  “Cake version. It’s an awesome song.”

  “It is.” She nods, stepping into the room. “So much passion. I never knew.”

  He laughs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Astrid, but at least you can say that now you’re informed about my love for 1970s disco remakes.”

  Noticing a photo on the wall and the box he’d kept the Pixie Dust in on the desk, she asks, “Did you go back to the house and get this stuff?”

  “Yeah, a few things.” He notices her concerned frown. “I was safe. Cloaked myself. It doesn’t look like anyone had been there recently.”

  She sits on the bed, running her hands over the blue quilt. “It’s so clean in here. It’s weird.”

  “Some of us don’t like to be surrounded by every object we’ve ever owned.”

  She makes a face, but it reminds her of what Demetria said. Maybe there’s a reason behind her hoarding. “Lame. It’s better than this…prison. A really boring prison.”

  Owen stands over her, arms crossed. It accentuates his biceps in a very appealing way. “Are you done?”

  “I guess.” She sighs dramatically. “I’m just going to miss you up here.”

  His knees touch hers. She’s still in her running gear. “You’re always welcome to visit. Any time.”

  “Yeah?”

  He leans over, planting a hand on both sides of her hips. His nose grazes hers and a chill runs up her spine. “I mean, there’s a fee.” His lips move to the spot under her ear, trailing kisses down to her shoulder.

  “What kind of fee?” Her voice sounds weird. Breathy. He nibbles her jaw.

  “It’s fucking pricey as hell,” he admits, leaning his forehead into hers. “But for you, I’m willing to work out a payment plan.”

  He finally kisses her and Astrid’s fingers grip the edge of the bed. She’s been waiting for this—for another taste. He licks her lips and says, “Mmmhmm salty. Eating all the chips again?”

  She laughs and rolls her eyes. “Just a jog. No chips.”

  He kisses her again and pushes her back on the bed. The mattress creaks under their combined weight. “Whatever it is, you taste delicious.”

  With hands and mouths they explore one another. Over the last few weeks Owen has committed to his training, developing his skills as well as his physique. She skims the hard, lean muscle cording his arm and the taut broad planes of his back. He kisses her neck and she shivers, relishing the feeling of him being so close.

  On all fours, he straddles her body and there’s no mistaking the hard length between his legs. The thought of him makes her warm, her belly fluttery with nerves and desire. She already knows how she wants this to end—or where she wants to begin.

  Crawling out from under his body, they switch places and
she positions herself over him. He smiles lazily at her, pushing her hair over her shoulder.

  “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?” His green eyes burn with intensity—with hunger, but she’s the one that wants to fulfill his needs. Without hesitation she tugs at the button of his jeans. He watches her, curious, his hands moving to trace the swell of her breasts.

  “Sit up,” she commands. He does so without asking why. Together they remove his pants and they pool at the floor around his ankles. His length is still contained beneath the fabric of his shorts. She kneels and Owen swallows thickly when she runs her hand down the cotton between them.

  “I’ve never done this,” she confesses, a little alarmed at how hard, how thick, he is.

  “You don’t have to,” he assures her, brushing her cheek.

  “I want to. It’s your, uh, room warming gift. Something to think about when you’re up here all alone.” She gives him her most wicked smile in an attempt to quell her nerves.

  “You never,” he asks in a careful voice, “did this with Quinn?”

  “Not this.” She licks her lips and decides to be bold, tugging his shorts off his hips. He helps her, raising off the bed and then watches as she takes in his prized possession; the length, his girth. He’s pretty damn big.

  She eyes it warily; there’s no way that thing is going to fit anywhere in her body. Not that Quinn is small, but it may be the proportion to his body that takes her by surprise. He misinterprets her hesitation as she watches it bob between his legs.

  “There’s no doing it wrong,” he assures her. When she still doesn’t move he takes her hand and gently guides it to the shaft. Owen exhales at her touch, a sigh of relief, and the small sound bolsters her confidence.

  Slowly, she explores his cock. Feeling up and down the hard length, fingering the soft, velvet tip. Goo sticks to her thumb and she runs it down the side, using it to lube her movements. He reacts as though every move is perfection—it’s hard not to be encouraged—especially when her hand dips below his balls and he shivers in delight.

  “Christ,” he breathes, eyelids lowering. She repeats the move and he shifts closer to her, knees bent over the edge of the bed. He can reach her this way. Her hair and her neck. He tugs at the collar of her tank. “I want to see you.”

  She’s wearing a sport tank that requires no bra underneath. He lifts it over her head and once exposed she thinks she may melt under his gaze. His fingers brush against her nipples, shooting fire down to her belly and below. Licking her lips, she leans closer to him and sucks the tip of his cock before opening her mouth to him.

  The sound of his strained breathing fills her ears, the smell of pheromone-laced sweat tickles her nose. His heart hammers, hammers, thrumming in time with her movement of her mouth and hand up and down the shaft of his cock. Impossibly he grows harder—hotter—blood flows through his limbs. She would have thought the sensations would be too much, too human, but instead it elicits a thrill, a desire of her own she had no idea existed inside of her.

  “As,” he mutters the nickname he’s given her, through a clenched jaw. His eyes are closed and his cheeks very red. There’s no mistaking the frantic uptick in pace, the salty slick of his semen. She cups his balls and he grunts, pushing her back with both hands. She falls backwards, confused, until she feels the hot spurt of his seed landing on her chest then dripping down the valley of her breasts to her belly. He pumps his cock, milking the last from inside. Astrid rests her hand over his, wanting his touch.

  “Don’t do that to me again,” he says, helping her off the ground.

  “Do what?” she asks, wondering what she did wrong.

  “Tell me you don’t know how to do something when you totally, fucking, magnificently do.”

  She feels the heat of her blush. Such an Owen-style compliment. He strips off his shirt and carefully wipes the mess off her body. He checks to make sure he got every bit and then cleans himself. Then he pulls her into his lap. He kisses her neck, her breasts, her mouth.

  She stops for a moment, pulling away, and looks at her hands. A strange sob catches in her throat.

  “Astrid?” He touches her chin.

  “I’ve spent my life shying away from touch. From feeling people, skin and bodies.” Tears pool in the corner her eyes. “I knew my hands had power, but nothing like that.”

  He takes both of hers in one of his much bigger ones. “Hey, everything about you is good. Even the Echo. We’ve proven that.”

  She nods. Old thoughts are hard to break.

  He wraps his arms around her body and they’re close, almost closer than she’s ever been with anyone physically before, other than Quinn. Owen is different, though. More emotional, more handsy. “You just proved how powerful you really are, As. You made a bastard like me putty in your hands. You’ve got Quinn running around and buying you doughnuts.” His lips press against hers. “You’re strong. And unbelievably hot. Don’t underestimate yourself, okay?”

  She smiles. “How did you get so wise?”

  His grin in return is lopsided and mischievous. “You know a guy will tell you anything you want to hear if you suck him off, right.”

  “Shut up,” she says, pushing him off, but she knows he’s messing around. It’s hard for him to be serious—when he is, things go dark, and she doesn’t want him wallowing in that place.

  His eyes hold a flicker of something she can’t identify, and he reaches for her again. He tosses her on the bed and she yelps from surprise. “You didn’t think you’d get away so easily, did you?”

  Her head presses into the fluffy pillow. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I want more. I want you. I want to feel you writhe on the bed.” He kisses her and kisses her until she’s gasping for air.

  “I did that for you,” she says with a smile. “A gift, remember?”

  “Yeah, but you’re the only thing I really need.”

  Fiery kisses ignite across her body. His tongue licks and nibbles at her breasts. His hand dips between her legs, making sure she’s ready and damn damn damn if she isn’t.

  The fear she had earlier about his cock—the sheer size of it--vanished at some point during their play, but she frowns when he moves it away from her core, instead pushing his head between her legs.

  His tongue, god, his tongue and his fingers spread her apart. Her hips rise to meet him, and twice now she’s experienced this. Twice men have made her see the stars with their mouths, fingers, and tongues. He licks, he sucks, he blows cool air on her clit and she wraps her fingers in his hair, while he buries his face against her body.

  But the physical isn’t what takes her to the edge. It’s the emotional, the feeling of pure contentment rolling off of Owen as he pleasures her. For the first time since they’ve met he feels at ease, his energy at peace, his anger quelled.

  She did this for him and she knows as the nerves in her most sensitive places build and build to the place that feels so good it borders on pain, that this is what ties them together. This is what their relationship is about.

  This, she thinks, shattering over the edge, his tongue taking her to the highest of places, is why they will beat their enemies. Because of this bond.

  *

  He helps her dress, tugging the tank back over her head. He pretends it gets stuck over her breasts, taking his time with each side. Astrid buttons his jeans, running her fingers through the soft hair stretching between the waistband and his navel. He grabs her fingers and shakes his head. “Don’t play with fire, babe.”

  They’ve just straightened the bed and cranked up the music when Quinn appears in the door.

  “Hey,” Astrid says, tugging at the hem of her shirt. “Where have you been?”

  There’s a line between his eyes, a signal of tension, and nerves flutter in her chest. He knows what they did and he’s pissed.

  “I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” he says. She can’t take the judgment in his eyes.

  “Quinn, I didn’t do anything…�
��

  “We didn’t,” Owen jumps in. She nods. Quinn holds up his hands.

  “Stop. We need to talk. Downstairs. Casper is waiting.”

  “Casper?” she asks, not sure what he has to do with the three of them. Unless he’s been watching—which frankly, she suspects he probably has.

  Quinn rubs his face with his hands. “You’re busted,” he says, eyes darting to Owen’s. “She went to WIND-E today and spent an hour inside. There’s footage from the street cameras of her getting in a car.”

  Owen stares at her. “You did what?”

  “Let me explain,” she says, but Quinn holds up his hands and cuts her off.

  “Trust me,” Quinn replies. “I want to hear it. So does Casper and I’m sure Owen does, too.”

  She looks at Owen, the content look from earlier is gone, replaced with lines of worry. He simply raises his eyebrows in question.

  “Downstairs?” she asks.

  “Yep, Casper is waiting in the Lair.” Quinn looks her over. “Go shower. We’ll meet you in ten minutes.”

  She nods, thankful for the ten-minute reprieve. She’s got nothing to hide. Not about what happened with Owen or what went down with Demetria. But she does have to justify making decisions without her team, and that may take a little convincing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Quinn

  Leaving them both to clean up, Quinn heads back to the Lair. Casper is live and waiting, muttering to himself as he plays a video game off-camera. His avatar is so life-like that at times he forgets a real man is on the other side of the screen and not some cartoon character.