by Skyler Andra
I shook my head. “Devil’s Bane.”
She walked her long fingers down the drawer front labels. I imagined what they’d taste like.
Stop thinking with your cock.
I blamed it on not getting laid in six months. The women at the Guardians avoided me like a STD. Locked inside here, except during missions, I didn’t get much time to go to bars and party it up with the ladies.
“Two bundles,” Astra said.
“Hmm?” I said.
“Can we concentrate on the task and not my ass?” she asked.
Hah! Heat burned my cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself, Supergirl.”
“Flatter myself?” She sashayed over to me. “You know what I’d like to do to you?”
“No. Why don’t you tell me?”
She moved closer until I could feel her breath on my throat. “I would get down on my knees right in front of you.” Her tongue swiped along her lower lip and a picture formed in my mind. “I’d slide my hands up your thick, muscular thighs.” I could almost feel the pressure of her palms through my pants. Fuck. Me. This was hot. “I’d pull your cock out…” Her lips were so close to my collarbone. I wanted her. So. Fucking. Bad. “And I’d tear that bitch off and shove it up your ass.” She stepped back and a burst of air whooshed out of my lungs.
Feisty. I liked it. “Bring the candle wax. I’ll bring the nipples.” I massaged mine to demonstrate.
“I’ll shove a barbed cat dick dildo up your ass.”
“I like barbs. Especially your words.” I smiled, probably adding insult to injury, but hey, I was already in enough shit with her. Maybe I could get her to slap me, and I could grab her, and we could fuck like rabbits and get it out of our systems.
She ran a hand over my chest then slid it around my neck and up to yank the hair at the top of my head. My head jerked back and I dropped the clipboard. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, yeah. Fuck me.” The images in my head were… hot. My dick twitched, sought out her heat. She hadn’t moved away and I watched the pulse point in her throat. She was charged up, too. “Out of insults?”
“Stop flirting with me asshole.” She moved away, turned back to the drawers.
I really liked this girl. I wanted to get to know her better. And I was going to have to do something incredible to make it up to her.
Chapter 21
Astra
Silver Blazes. Being stuck in a room, counting herbs with super idiot equaled the definition of pain. I glanced at the clock for the three-hundred time, counting down until I could leave.
My shoulders had started to ache an hour ago from hunching over the drawers and counting sprigs of herbs, bulbs, flower petals and leaves.
He had a thing for sidelong glances. Knew how to use them. And even though he was the last thing I wanted, my body responded to him. In ways I hated myself for. Hated him for, too.
How I ever thought he was cute…stupid me. And that whole charm act… cheesy. Ridiculous. Enough to have me stuttering and acting the fool. From now on, I didn’t want anything to do with this guy beyond having to work with him in a Guardian capacity.
Beyond my punishment, I had to face the rest of the team later, who probably thought me an even bigger blockhead than Tor, and I would forever have to deal with Knoxe’s continual hostility and Raze’s unfriendly glares. Judgment all-round that I’d never fit into the group. The only one I got along with was Pascal.
I wanted to quit. But I couldn’t quit. I was stuck here for another twenty-five years, unless they approved my appeal. Damn. I wish I’d never stolen the parchment.
I stared at the wall, wondering how Luna was. Whether she’d managed to get the parchment or the information she needed. If the Serpents had come after her. If she’d beaten her grandfather and destroyed the serpents. When I got my next phone privileges, I’d call her.
I pushed through, finished counting everything on the warden’s list. And thank God because as mad as I was, I kept noticing the flecks of color in Tor’s eyes. The hard line of his jaw. The outline of his body through that damned uniform of his.
By the time we were released, I was like a caged lion, and I hurried back to the training room. The punching bag called my name. Not only was I desperate for some alone time to refocus and realign, but I needed to punch out some tension and practice my technique. I didn’t want to get beat up again next fight practice.
“Wait up.” Tor walked beside me, my short legs no match for his much longer ones. I took almost three steps for every one of his. But I wanted distance between us.
I pumped my legs faster to put distance between us.
“Where are you going?” He turned in front of me and stopped. God, I wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.
“Get out of my way.” I pushed past him.
He barreled around me. Damn those long legs.
Fine. If we were going to play this game. Dance this dance. I spun and strode the opposite way. I didn’t really know where I was going yet, but if I had to take the long way to my dorm to avoid him, I’d do it.
“Wait.” This time Tor blocked me on the opposite end. “Please, Supergirl.”
Heat licked my neck. “Stop calling me that.”
I marched to the next corner. Fuck. A dead end. Tor had me cornered.
“Let me say something,” he said, his voice soft, reasoning.
But I didn’t want to hear whatever stupid things he had to say. “Just move.”
And he did move. What happened next came totally out of left field. Tor pulled me close and kissed me—hard and desperate—and the moon and the stars fell from the sky, pattering at my feet like dried rose petals.
Startled and flustered, I pulled back, flushed and warm. “What the hell?”
Awkward and a bit helpless, he replied, “I…don’t know. I just wanted you to listen to me.”
I laughed. Nervous. Hands shaking. Unable to focus. “Leave me alone.”
He threw up his arms in frustration and sighed as I brushed past him.
It took me a few wrong turns, a couple lefts and extra rights, but I found the training room and went straight to my locker for my weapons belt to practice shooting some stakes. I had some steam I needed to blow off. After that, me and the punching bag had a hot date. But when I turned the combination lock, the lock gave.
Someone had messed with my locker. Probably the same someone who had stolen two stakes and rune blasters from my weapon’s belt. Had to be Tor. Had his name written all over it.
My blood rushed through my veins. I dug my fingernails into my palms until it hurt. Two could play that game.
I strapped my wrist shooter on and walked to the center of the room. After a few deep breaths, I lined up my wrist, aimed, and took my first shot. The stake struck the troll mannequin right between the legs.
Troll skin sizzled where the gin and tonic soaked weapon poked into it. Impressed, I smiled, aimed again, and ejected another round. This hit right next to the other. So did the third turn. Hmmm. Pattern here. My mind was focused on nailing Tor in the balls with my boot.
About an hour later, I left the training room, covered in sweat. I headed to my cellblock for a towel to take a shower. But I found a little box with a bright orange ribbon on it waiting on my bed. Another prank probably. I glanced over my shoulder, checking to see if anyone hovered outside of the cells. Someone who might want to watch. A few inmates lounged inside their cells, reading, playing cards with others, smoking or chatting. None of them paid any attention to me.
Curious, but knowing I’d probably regret this, I removed the lid. My heart beat thrummed faster.
Edition one of The Silver Strand with the original cover. Only two-thousand were ever printed. These things were so rare and incredibly expensive. My chest thrummed with a giddy excitement as I ran a finger over the front. This was like the holy grail of comics, and I nearly fainted when I removed it. But it wasn’t just one. Underneath I discovered editions one to five.
“Holy shit.” I crushe
d them to my chest and spun once.
I’d always wanted these. I sat down on my bed, flicking the cover of the first edition open. Oh, the artwork. The fonts. Everything different from the version I owned. The original illustrator had been fired. Rightfully so. His artwork sucked compared to Keith Rengold’s work. Flawed or not they were beautiful, and I was thrilled to have a copy.
But who…? Only four people inside this prison knew I liked comics, two of whom were also fans. Tor and Pascal. Gifts didn’t really seem Tor’s style. That left Pascal. He was shy and sweet. I put the comics back in their box, tucked it under my pillow, and stood. Had to find him.
Someone stood in my cell doorway, leaning against the iron, with his arms crossed. Tor. Did he really have to look so good?
“I don’t want to talk to you.” I tried to sidestep him.
But his body filled the doorway and there was no getting around him. He nodded toward the bed. “They were a twenty first birthday present from my dad. Before he died of a heart attack.”
Shit. I backtracked to my bed, removing them and carrying them back to him. “I can’t keep these.”
“They’re yours, Supergirl.” He stepped back and crossed his arm. I looked stupid holding out the box, but I really had to give them back. They were sentimental. Something to remind him of his dad.
My pulse thundered. “What game are you playing, Tor? You break into my locker and steal my weapons. Pull your stupid prank to get me into shit with Knoxe and the warden. Then you kiss me… like that.” Dammit. I had to touch my lips, didn’t I? “I don’t get you.”
His jaw stiffened. “I didn’t break into your locker.” He didn’t deny anything else.
“Someone did.” I shoved the box at his stomach. “Twice. And only five people have entry into our training room.”
He accepted the box, stroking it lovingly, like a child remembering a special gift. “None of the guys would do that. Knoxe might be a dick, but he’s no saboteur and neither am I.”
I rubbed my forehead. “Please, just leave me alone.”
Tor’s arm brushed mine as he moved into my cell, placing the box on my bed, touching it one last time before he leaned in so close I thought he might kiss me again. Confusion, doubt mixed with yearning, waved over me, and my palms tingled. I wanted to explore his muscles, see if they were as hard as they looked. What kind of girl got all hot and bothered over a guy who was so… so… delicious and exciting. Fuck, I’d lost all rational thinking.
“What happened today,” he stammered, giving me the impression that he wasn’t the type to apologize for his actions. “What I did to you with the mothman wasn’t fair.”
I stared at him.
“Actually, it really sucked. I acted like an asshat, and I’m sorry.”
I closed my gaping mouth. “Thank you. I didn’t expect that.”
“Just don’t tell the other guys I apologized.” His green eye’s blazed with mischief. “Or they’ll expect me to get all mushy with them and it’ll be a whole ordeal.” But he grinned and swooning, as a concept, made much more sense. “I take enough shit from them without them knowing about this.”
Tor was insecure. Covering something deeper with his naughty boy act. And there was something irresistible about it. Too irresistible. Dammit.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” And if he wanted to seal the deal with another kiss, I wasn’t going to resist that either.
“Thanks.” Tor smiled one of those pretty boy adorable smiles that made me wish I knew whether or not he was sincere. But when he ran his hand through his sexy green spiked hair, I didn’t even bother stopping the low groan. I was actually jealous of his fingers.
“Can I ask you something?” I sounded husky. Horny. Because I was.
“Yeah.” And I wasn’t likely to sound any better until he stopped undressing me with his eyes. And answering in a husky tone of his own.
“Haven’t you ever had a woman member in this crew before?”
He leaned a shoulder against the wall of my cell and crossed his arms. It made his chest look broader and made me want to touch him even more. “No. Turns out you’re special in more ways than one. That’s the reason we don’t exactly know how to behave with you.”
I knew the feeling. I wasn’t behaving like my normal self either. “At the Shadows it’s not like that. Men and women all live together, learn, and work together, all the time.”
Understanding, Tor said, “Yeah. Well, the Guild of Shadows is bigger with more people. It’s easier for us to get used to things a certain way.”
“In the Shadows we learn there’s always a new way,” I said.
“For us…it’s orders and falling in line. You jockey for your place, and sometimes the others put you in what they think is your place. Like me, for instance. I don’t think like anybody else here. Pascal gets a pass for being different, but I don’t.”
I leaned closer to him.
“They’re all still into that outmoded rubbish of thinking you’re some kind of socially clumsy ‘nerd’ if you like superheroes,” he explained. “They haven’t got the memo that superheroes are cool yet. They probably ought to get out more or read a comic, for God’s sake. So, I spend half my time trying to be who I know I am, and half the time, just for spite, being the asshat they’ve decided I am.”
Finally, I was beginning to understand why he valued being a superhero so much. It wasn’t an act. An escape. He needed to believe it.
Tor slumped against the wall. “If you want to know the truth about me, this is it: deep down, at the bottom of my soul, I believe in heroes. I believe the world needs someone to save them from the bad guys. And that’s who I am. I’m a guy who needs to be what he believes in. And if anybody else doesn’t believe in it, it’s their bloody problem, not mine.”
Now I knew Tor’s sincerity beyond a doubt. Men didn’t make speeches like that if they didn’t mean it. I was quietly and deeply moved.
He sighed. “The world is so full of crap that I need to believe in something good. Especially when I’m stuck in this hell.”
I thought of Knoxe’s earlier words to Tor, the harshness, how he’d called Tor a fuck up. We all had flaws. And tempers. And things we thought we could do when we knew damned well we shouldn’t. But, deep down, Tor tried to be a good guy, a hero, and that was admirable.
“You know something?” I said.
“What?”
“This is almost the only real conversation I’ve had since I got here. No one’s said anything to me that really means anything.” I recalled my exchange with Pascal, but what Tor had just shared with me was in its own way even more meaningful.
“Really?” Tor said.
“Really.” I smiled.
Okay. I was back to liking him again. A lot. More than I should’ve. And that feeling caught me off guard. On impulse, I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. This time, he pulled away, uncertain and confused—but his eyes heady with desire.
“Wow.” Then he grinned. “You kiss like a girl.”
I nudged him with my hip. “Yeah?”
“Thank God.” For a moment, we stood there. Then, as if pulled together by gravity, we crashed into each other for another, deeper, longer kiss, an incredible brush of lips and tongues that hurled me into space.
He finally pulled away. “Enjoy the comics, Supergirl.”
Part of me still didn’t entirely trust Tor. Either he was the flirty guy who played pranks, yet did sweet things, or he was one hell of an actor.
I still had to figure out which team member had broken into my locker. And despite Tor’s protests of innocence, I wasn’t any closer to solving the mystery. But I was going to find out one way or another.
Chapter 22
Astra
Something cold and sharp jabbed my throat. So much for the dream I was having. It was probably my damn gargoyle. He’d been extra clingy since we arrived at the Guardians. Gotten into a fight with Knoxe’s demonic-looking thing.
“Brimstone, I’m trying to sleep.” I pushed him, and he bit my damned finger. “Fuck.”
Alert and awake, I sucked the tip of my index finger and tried to sit up but was shoved back down. My gargoyle wasn’t so strong.
“Wakey, wakey, sweet tits.” The voice was vaguely familiar and shadows moved in front of me, blocking my view of the gloomy green lights outside the small window of my cell door. Lights out had been actioned about thirty minutes ago and I was in that spot just between awake and asleep. Awake enough to hear sound. Too asleep to realize what I was hearing.
Only one person I know liked to play pranks like this. An idiot who just couldn’t help himself.
“What the fuck, Tor? This isn’t funny.” I struggled against the hand keeping me down.
An icy blade pressed to my throat, and I sucked in a breath. My senses heightened, and I focused one every detail I could. Not Tor. Too short. Too squat. No hair and smelled like cigarettes. Definitely not Tor.
I pushed down the panic. But my mind flashed with pictures of a grim ending. Slit throat. Knife sticking out of my chest. My heart hammered against my ribcage.
I shoved again. Harder and the person holding me moved back an inch. But when he moved again, hope replaced panic. “What the fuck are you doing? Get off me motherfucker!”
“What ya gonna do, sweet tits.” Devon. Motherfucker. “Stay with Knoxe and his boys, or join my crew.”
Oh yeah. The guy who had a knife to my throat wanted me to join his crew. Of course, he did.
“Help,” I screamed.
I bit the heel of the hand he held over my face, and he grunted.
“Help!” I managed again before he punched me in the cheek.
“Shut da fuck up,” he growled at me.
The room spun. Hard and fast.
Devon used his fingers to pinch off my air supply as he continued to cover my mouth. I couldn’t breath. “Scream again and I’m gonna hurt ya.”
“Supergirl? What’s wrong?” Tor. His pitch high and urgent.
I mumbled into Devon’s hand when the blade against my throat tightened, nicking my skin. Blood trickled down my throat. I scratched at his hand and he swore and spat.