The Supers of Project 12: Reverse Harem Superhero Complete Series
Date: 2018-08-15 00:00:00+00:00
Description: Nature gave her a gift. Evil turned it into a curse. Astrid doesn't remember much about her childhood, at least not before her parents death. After that her memories of the group home and the other eleven boys and girls that lived there are vague and scary. But not as scary as the doctors she had to visit each week or the shots that they gave her. But she isn't a child anymore. She's an adult and with her mentor's help, has carved a life for herself and the powers she wields. She's safe. She's capable. She's super. Until it all comes crashing down and the past races back into her life. She's n

SENTINELS:

The Supers of Project 12

By

Angel Lawson

Chapter One

Astrid

Flames lick the rooftop, destroying everything in their wake. Smoke rolls out the smashed windows, billowing toward the moon. The wail of the fire truck echoes through the narrow streets. Two minutes away, Astrid estimates. That’s two minutes too long, and the shouts from upstairs prove it.

The old apartment building is on the Harbor Line, the slash that separates downtown from the Swamp. The building isn’t one of the new and upscale properties driving regentrification. It’s an eyesore. And now, a death trap; the third to go up in flames in the last month.

“Help!” A voice cries three stories up. It’s not a cry but a scream. Hysterical and full of sheer panic. “I have a baby! Someone help!”

There’s no hesitation; each day, they work better as a team. Quinn leaps off the ground for the first rung on the iron-work balcony, pulling himself up, level by level. Owen follows. Slower, but improving every day.

A shadow moves down the alley. Astrid looks but it fades away. Maybe the flames are playing tricks on her—or the smoke is. She touches the button on her mask and the screen comes to life. The optics allow her to view through the smoke and ash, and she can see that Quinn has reached the woman and the baby. He takes the kid—a toddler—by one arm and dangles it over the edge above Owen, a full story below. The woman screams.

“Stop! No! Don’t drop her!”

“Now!” Astrid shouts, into her com.

He drops her.

The child falls, dropping straight down. The weight of her chubby legs anchors her as Owen leans back and masterfully catches her in both hands. He doesn’t wait before shouting, “Echo!” and glancing down at her before the bundled baby drops again. The screen records her fall, the millimeters ticking off, she’s crying, the wails clashing with the roaring fire. The mom screams while Quinn drags her roughly out the window above.

A moment of panic rolls over her just before the baby lands in her hands. The drop is hard, but she cradles the child in her arms. Her face is covered in tears and soot. She wails again, terrified, and Astrid can’t take it. It’s like the screams are ricocheting in her brain. She looks around and screams, “Someone come take this baby!”

Hands grab the child, taking it away from danger just as the balcony groans. Owen jumps two stories, landing bent-kneed on two feet. He tugs her out of the way.

“But Charger,” she says, watching the whole thing through the screen. The metal screws melt from the heat and the balcony pulls away from the brick. Red alert signals fill the screen in front of her eyes.

“He’s got this,” Owen says, dragging me. “Don’t get in the way.”

It’s something we’ve been working on. Trust. Faith. Being sure of ourselves. Quinn grits his teeth. One minute, the woman is clinging to him, the next, she’s limp. The panic eases off her face.

“Something’s wrong,” Astrid says. The warning zeroes in on the woman.

RESPIRATORY DISTRESS

“Charger!”

He jumps wide at the same time the balcony wrenches from the building. The iron falls on the ground with an ear-shattering clatter. Quinn falls to his knees, barely holding the woman up. Astrid is already there, removing the woman from his arms, dragging her lifeless body out of the way of the building.

“I’ve got him!” Owen shouts. The woman isn’t light, but Quinn is huge. There’s no way Astrid could carry him to safety. He runs to get their teammate out of the way of the crumbling building.

RESPIRATORY DISTRESS, the warning flashes over and over. Astrid lays the woman flat on the ground and tugs her gloves off her hands. Her fingers search for her pulse, her echo is faint, fading, nothing more than a shadow of the fear from before. She’s dying, and the dead don’t have an echo.

Astrid rips the woman’s blouse at the neck, revealing her chest. She begins CPR, pressing hard into her sternum. She hears the bones crack, she breathes deep into her mouth. Over and over again until the strangest sense of peace washes over her.

Light. Love. Happiness.

She doesn’t stop the compressions, but she fights back a sob—not of sadness but of great emotional peace.

Then the woman coughs. Her body seizes, and she coughs again. The feeling drains from Astrid, vanishing like sand between her fingers. The woman’s eyes fly open, meeting hers, and she grasps her hands before Astrid can move.

Fear. Terror. Sadness. Rage.

“Where’s Elena,” she asks in a raspy voice. “Where’s my baby?”

“Lie down,” Astrid says, the words hard to get out over the emotions. It’s been ages since she’s touched someone like this. Felt them. And right now, there’s no way to avoid the full hit.

“My baby,” the woman cries. Astrid feels every ounce of pain. Every surge of fear.

“She’s okay. She’s fine. I promise.” The little girl is in the back of the ambulance. Astrid looks up and makes eye contact with Owen. He pats Quinn on the back, who nods and runs over.

“Take over,” she says, pushing the woman’s hands into his. She stands and waves over the EMT, feeling wobbly on her feet.

Not because of the fire or saving the woman’s life. But because of the curse that she carries inside of her. Astrid wanders away from the others and leans against the wall, forcing herself to breathe. Now is not the time to be overtaken by the lingering emotions.

Being an empath sucks.

*

“Ah, shit, that hurts.”

The heat of the fire was so intense, the gloves nearly melted onto Quinn’s hands. Bits of the vinyl stuck to the metal railing, ripping off the protective coating. Astrid takes his hands in hers and touches the tender skin on his palms.

“Sorry,” she says, trying to be gentle. He’s sitting on the bench in the locker room. The smell of smoke is almost unbearable to her heightened senses. Owen took their suits immediately outside. He’s sweet like that. Not always the smart-ass he portrays. It comes out in little things like taking the woman’s hands today when she was about to lose it. Removing the rank, smoky clothing so Astrid will stop gagging.

Both she and Quinn are stripped down, wearing nothing but their underclothes. His melted gloves are on the floor. “I think you’ll be okay. Just a little tender for a few days. Honestly, the gloves did a good job.”

“Yeah, I’m going to need another pair.”

Super suits, accessories, weapons, and tech. It’s all on the list of things they need to constantly repair and upgrade. Atticus, her mentor, created it all. But now he’s dead. Casper helped with the tech and some of the development of the protective wear, but he’s still pretty MIA too, only checking in occasionally from some bunker he’s using as a hideout.

His hand slips behind her thigh and pulls her between his knees. “You did good tonight,” he tells her.

“Dude, you saved a baby. And a woman and like, six other people.” She doesn’t meet his eyes. Her emotions are still raw from the woman’s echo. She feels exposed and wraps her arms around her waist in reaction.

“I didn’t do that alone.”

His hands feel good against her skin; protective like a salve. She can feel the heat in them from the blisters, the pulsing of his heartbeat. She lifts her hand to run it through his hair, but the Lair door closes with a slam and she pulls away.

“These reek and are giving me a headache,” she says, bending over for the gloves. She takes them over to the work table and tosses them down, ignoring the clench of Quinn’s jaw as she wanders off. Yeah, it was a rejection. Of sorts.

She glances over at Owen, who crashes onto one of the chairs with rolling feet, and props his boots on the desk. His eyes skim over her body.

Exposed. Again.

No wonder her skin is itching.

“I’m heading upstairs to take a shower,” she declares, needing air from the churning emotions of the room. She may not be able to read their echo, one of the side effects of being in Project 12 together, but she still has a heightened sense that she can’t shut off.  And right now, things are boiling in this room like a pot about to overflow.

“Need any help?” Owen offers. His smile is a lopsided quirk. Quinn slams a door in the other room. He shrugs. “Just kidding.”

“You’re not helping,” she says, but in a way, it does help. He doesn’t tiptoe around the tension. She likes that about him. Whereas Quinn…he seems to get more tense daily. Although she’s definitely found a few ways to work that out.

She’s not the most experienced, but she’s spent her life around men, including a few dozen flirtatious guys in the gym. None ignite her curiosity like Quinn, and now Owen. There’s something about them that gives her a spark.

“Well, the offer stands,” he says, booting up the computer. “You holler if you need another hand.”

She shakes her head and leaves the Lair, wondering how long it’s going to be before she takes him up on his offer.

Chapter Two

Owen

It’s been a month since he moved in with Astrid and Quinn, which he did because the police were looking for him in conjunction to the Pixie Dust business. According to Astrid’s contact, Jensen, taking out James gives the police and FBI the false comfort the drug trade is over—they didn’t believe a word he said about WIND-E in the chemistry lab that day, that he was nothing but a pawn in a greater scheme. One where one of the kids from Project 12 grew up to be an evil super villain.

Now that he’s here, and part of this little vigilante team, he’s trying to figure out his place. He has his own powers enhanced by the project doctors: the ability to manipulate time and space. He’s strong—not a beast like Quinn—but whatever they did to the kids brought out high levels of strength, dexterity, pain resistance, and more.

He’s been working with Astrid in the gym—she trains him personally—in her spare time between training the recruits for the Elite FBI program and fighting crime in Crescent City. Currently that involves tracking down a serial arsonist.

Owen glances over to the changing closet. Quinn is still in there, cleaning up from the fire. He was in rough shape but he, too, heals quickly. He’s found a spot working with Astrid in the gym, filling a role as a trainer—sometimes a manager—and then back here leading their missions. With Casper gone, he also now handles a good deal of the tech work.

That leaves Owen figuring out what to do with his time, although he has found one thing to focus on.

Demetria.

The Gala wasn’t his first run-in with the woman and her twisted mind. He hadn’t told Astrid or Quinn about it yet. He wasn’t sure how to, especially after they told him about their past together. It made everything even more confusing.

It means Demetria knew who he was all along, but never told him.

“You held your own tonight,” Quinn says, coming into the room. Owen closes out the screen filled with research on Demetria. He spins in his seat, taking in the other man. He’s clean, free of soot, and smells like soap. If he’s annoyed by Owen’s flirting with Astrid earlier, he doesn’t look it.

“Thanks. I won’t lie, it was pretty scary.”

“Scary as shit,” the man agrees. “It’s one thing to face a robber or carjacker. It’s another having to help victims. I felt out of my comfort zone for sure. Anything on the trending?”

Owen pulls up the early news reports.

Third Fire Engulfs the Harbor Line, Arson Suspected

The search engine spits out a list of similar headlines that agree that there seems to be a trend. The police and fire have no leads, and despite all their personal efforts to track down who’s behind the fires, they’ve also got no leads.

“I’d feel better out there with Casper back in the driver’s seat,” Quinn says, buckling his belt. He brushes his damp hair out his eyes and leans against the worktable.

Owen spins on his chair, propping his feet up again. “Seems like he’s intent on hiding out. Is that such a big deal?”

“I don’t have a problem with him being off the grid, but we’re being hunted by someone and he’s one of us. We need to take care of each other.” He holds up the melted gloves. “We also really need someone to help with repairs.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” The gloves are a mess. They each have one spare but after that…

“I don’t know if you noticed, but Astrid was pretty shaken tonight. Reading that woman’s echo—it got to her.”

“I noticed.” Owen just isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do to make her feel better. Cracking jokes and flirting are pretty much the only assets in his wheelhouse. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I’m going to go check on her,” Quinn says, heading to the door. Their eyes meet and there’s an unspoken agreement, male and testosterone-fueled. He needs some time alone with Astrid.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll be down here keeping up with the news if you need me.” He fights a snort. Quinn definitely won’t need Owen’s help any more than Astrid did. He’s not exactly sure about the parameters of their relationship, and neither has shut down his flirtatious comments. He suspects, like everything else with their situation, they’re relying on one another and figuring it out.

Owen hears his footsteps on the stairs and opens up the research page he’d been looking at earlier. If they’re going to fight Demetria, it’s going to take all the information they can get.

Chapter Three

Quinn

Before

“Good night, boys,” Rosalie said from the hall. Quinn rolled over and adjusted his blanket before reaching for the alarm. The light backing the numbers flickers and he felt the buzz in his fingertips.

“Does it hurt?” his roommate asked. His name was Rex. He’d just turned fourteen and was new at the home. Quinn hadn’t figured out why he was here other than he was an orphan like the rest of them.

“Does what hurt?”

“The doctor. I’m going tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he replied, thinking about it. “They just do some tests.”

“What kind of tests?”

Quinn laid on his back and looked at the ceiling. There was an unspoken rule at the house not to talk about abilities. They all had them. Some more developed or better controlled than others. Quinn’s were erratic. Embarrassing. Sometimes dangerous. The other kids, the ones that had been around the house for a while, started keeping their distance.

“Is there something you do that’s different from everyone else? Something kind of weird?”

Rex had dark brown skin and hair cut close to his head. A thin scar slashed through his eyebrow. Quinn heard him shift in the bed opposite of his, the springs creaking. He looked over and found the boy staring at him. “Did you hear about that train crash a few weeks ago?”

Quinn shakes his head.

“The conductor was going too fast, like way too fast. The train jumped the rails and flew off a bridge. Six cars fell on the highway.”

“You were in the train?”

“I was on the highway, with my parents. The train landed on our car. Smashed it into a pancake.”

Quinn couldn’t help his interest. “And you survived?”

“They thought I was dead. At least, that’s what they told me. I don’t remember any of it. Woke up in the hospital. They sent me here.”

“So what is your thing? What makes you different?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, eyes nearly glowing in the faint light of the room. “But I think I can’t be hurt.”

Quinn sat up and faced the boy. What he was about to do could get them in trouble, but he wanted to know. “Want to try something?”

The current ran through his fingertips; it never really stopped. He felt the charge—the electricity always seeking--and he stepped toward Rex.

“Give me your hand,” he said. The boy complied. His skin was dry. Cold. A shock of static jolts through them and Rex pulls away.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

“You think they won’t test it tomorrow?”

Rex nodded in understanding and gave his hand back to Quinn. He took it again, and unlike every other second of the day, he allowed the current to run free. The charge ran from his fingers and palms into Rex’s hand. The boy’s eyes open, he’s scared but unharmed.

“You’re doing that?” Rex asked. Their hands bonded together. Quinn wasn’t holding back.

“Yep. It doesn’t hurt?”

“Nope.”

He released him and stepped away, hand crackling from the surge. Rex looked unharmed. If anything, he seemed excited.

“Now you know,” Quinn said, getting back in his bed. There was a tiny moment of shame. It felt good to release the energy.

“Would that have hurt someone else?” he asked.

Quinn laughed darkly. “Don’t tell them what you can do or what you know. Make them figure it out. None of us are sure what they’re doing or why, but it can’t be good, you know?”

Rex nodded but it was clear he didn’t fully understand. That was okay, Quinn thought, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He’d find out soon enough. They all would.

*

The apartment smells like burned pizza and it’s not a surprise to find Astrid sitting on the counter drinking her disgusting soda and chewing on a piece. Her blonde hair is damp and hangs over her shoulders, soaking her T-shirt. He walks past her, grazing her knee with his fingers, and heads to the refrigerator.

“Want a beer?” he asks, holding out two bottles between his fingers.

“Nah, I’m good.”

He shakes his head and thumbs off the cap, grimacing from his sore skin. She reaches for him and lifts his hand to her mouth, kissing the injury.

“Tonight was shitty,” she says. “All around shitty.”

He swallows a gulp of beer. “It really was.” He runs the back of his fingers over her cheek. “You want to tell me what happened out there?”

He’s known her long enough to know she’s rattled. That whatever transpired between her and the woman was intense.

She presses her forehead to his and speaks quietly. “One second I’m pushing on her chest, feeling nothing—she was slipping way—and then the next it’s the most wonderful feeling, something I can’t describe. It felt so good. So perfectly right. Peaceful. And then…” Tears spill down her cheeks. It’s an unusual sight. He wipes them away with his thumb. “And then she was back and the contrast…it was like having my soul ripped apart.”

A sob catches in her throat, and Quinn is far from an empath, but her sorrow is palpable.

“What can I do?” he asks her, eager to heal her pain.

Her fingers slip around his neck. There’s no doubt Astrid gets affectionate after an adrenaline boost or a mission. It’s when they shared their first kiss. How they first made love. But this? This is different.

“Thank you for being sweet and trying, but there’s really nothing you can do.”

His smile is determined. “You underestimate me?”

“No, but it’s hard to explain how deep it goes. I just want to make it go away.” She exhales and wipes her nose on her sleeve. “Maybe I should start taking Pixie Dust, you know, something to make me forget.”

“You don’t need a drug to feel better, Astrid. I know you’re not used to relying on other people, but I’m here. Owen’s here. Our offers to help aren’t false. But you’ve got to let us in.” He touches her chin. “Will you? Let me in?”

She wipes a tear off her face and nods.

He leaves the bottle on the counter and pushes her knees apart so he can get closer.  She tugs him forward, pressing her lips to his. Her hands explore his upper body, his chest and shoulders. She desperately inches toward him, nails dragging down his exposed arms. The kisses come harder, more intense, and he hooks his fingers over the edge of her shorts.

“Let me help you forget,” he whispers into her mouth. A tear rolls down her check and he kisses the salt away.

“Lift up,” he tells her, and she obliges, letting him remove her shorts and panties. He kisses her knee, down to her inner thigh and touches her core. She’s wet, hot, and she leans back, knocking the pizza box and the beer into the sink with a clatter.

One last time, he finds her lips and kisses her hard on the mouth. He makes a promise with his eye and drops between her legs.

Quinn may not be able to take away the truth of Astrid’s experiences or soothe the Echo part of her psyche, but he’ll do everything he can to make her forget the pain and burdens she carries. He swipes his tongue across her warm core and knows that he can at least start by giving her the best damn orgasm of her life.

Chapter Four

Astrid

The feel of his mouth…

Like, how did he know how to do all that? The stuff with his tongue? The flutter thing and the sucking and--

Wham!

“What the hell, dude!” she shouts, stumbling backward from the punch that just landed on her arm. She manages not to fall on her ass in the ring, which would have been embarrassing in front of everyone in the gym. As it is, only a few people glance over from their workouts.

Owen holds up his glove-covered hands. “I’m sorry! Are you okay? I thought you were with me!”

“I was,” she snaps. But no, she wasn’t. She can’t stop thinking about Quinn and his magic tongue from the night before. He promised to make her forget. He did not warn her about seeing stars.

Sweet, merciful...

“Astrid!” Owen’s voice slams into her consciousness again. “Are you okay? Because if you’re still upset, we can take a break today.”

“What?” Man, she needs to get her head together. “Sorry, I’m fine.”

He makes a disbelieving face.

“Seriously. Totally fine.” She shakes it off and looks at her student. Owen isn’t a bad fighter. He’s got the accentuated skills enhanced by the project, but he needs to work on his accuracy and form. She lifts her hands to spar with him again when a figure catches her eye at the front door. “Crap. It’s Jensen. Get out of sight.”

He’s tossed up a false shield, an image concealing him from Jensen’s eyes, before she even gets her gloves off.

Her mentor’s former partner strolls through the gym. He’s older, mid-fifties with graying hair, and fit from his work with the FBI. If her mentor was a father figure, then Jensen was his serious older brother. He and Atticus developed the Elite gym and a program to recruit and train highly skilled men and women for specialized government missions. Astrid took over training the recruits when she turned twenty-one. Soon after, Atticus started letting her out in the field to do her own work—off the record. Jensen knows Astrid, and now Quinn, help protect the city. He doesn’t know about Project 12, the group home, or the other survivors.

She hops out of the ring and he opens his arms, giving her a big hug. Abruptly, he pulls back and looks her over. “Are you okay? I heard you and Quinn were at the fire last night.”

“Yeah, we’re okay. It was pretty intense, though.”

“At no point did we agree you could head into a blaze like that. It’s too dangerous.”

“We saved lives, Jensen. You can’t make me feel bad about that decision.”

“You risked yours. What would Atticus think?” He looks apologetic as soon as he brings up her former mentor. “Astrid, I just want you to be safe.”

“And I just want to do my job. We are being safe.” She sighs, knowing they’re at a standoff, and waves him toward her office at the back of the gym. “Did you stop by to tell me something? Is Rowe causing you problems? Because I told you he was a hot-head and may not be a good fit for the program.”

Rowe was one of the top recruits from the last session. He’s a massive physical threat. Skilled in martial arts, hand-to-hand, as well as with a variety of weapons. But he has an awful attitude and may be a sociopath.

“No, Rowe’s okay. A little rough around the edges, but he’ll be a good fit for a few assignments we’ve got lined up.” She pauses at the office door, fussing with the handle to give Owen time to scram if he came in. One look says the room is clear, and she enters with Jensen following. “Is it wrong for me to just come and check in on you?”

“No,” she says, sitting behind the desk. “But you’re busy and the bags under your eyes tell me you haven’t been sleeping much, so I doubt this is a social call.”

He chuckles. “You’re starting to be a good detective.”

She shrugs.

“Heard anything from our missing guy? Owen Parsons?”

Jensen won’t let this one go.

She shakes her head and lies through her teeth. “No. Should I have?”

“Not particularly. He vanished after the scene at the chemistry lab. I guess he skipped town.”

“Smart. If the Pixie Dust trade is really over, then there was no reason for him to stick around.” She does her best to keep her expression neutral. That becomes even harder when the air behind Jensen ripples and Owen appears for a brief second. Dammit. Sneaky bastard.

“Well, if you think he’s gone, then I’m going to close up that case. No reason to spend manpower on it.”

“What about WIND-E?”

“What about it?” he asks.

“James said the Pixie Dust was her business and that she had a much bigger plan to take down the city. He didn’t even mention this Owen guy. Why are you worried about him?”

“Ballistics came back on Atticus’s shooting. The evidence ties his death with a cold case tied to Owen Parsons’s house—another murder. At the very least, I need to talk to him about it. He could be a suspect or just a witness. This guy had his hands in a lot of pots.”

Jensen’s talking about Owen’s mentor, or his “aunt,” as he thought of her. She was shot dead in their kitchen and evidence led him to believe the Pixie Dust dealers were involved. Quinn and Astrid were convinced the deaths were related—now they have proof.  All three of the mentors that took them in after the Project 12 program imploded are dead.

Someone is hunting the survivors, their group, and it’s possible they’re next.

Unfortunately, Jensen doesn’t know about the project or Astrid’s connection to these people. He also doesn’t know that she saw him go into a meeting with one of Demetria’s men, and maybe Demetria herself, after James told them the truth about her plans.

“James was a desperate man. High on drugs and power. You saw how he flipped out at the end.”

He didn’t flip out. Owen mind-tricked him and Jensen killed him, before they could ask any more questions about Demetria and her plans. She’s kept her opinions on this to herself, tied up with confusion. Jensen has always stuck by her side. Atticus trusted him unconditionally, but now their worlds are colliding—Owen and Demetria—and it’s getting harder to pretend.

He’s hiding something, and it cuts Astrid to the bone, but she also understands. She’s got her secrets, too.

Chapter Five

Quinn

Arson or Building Disrepair?

Who’s Responsible for the Harbor Line Fires?

The headline of the paper catches Quinn’s eye.

“Can I have this?” he asks the cashier, Cassie, at the smoothie shop.

“Sure,” she says, flashing him a flirty smile. He returns it, taking the kale and honey smoothie and the paper. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

He comes to the shop every morning when he’s finished his six-mile run. It gives him a chance to cool off and fuel up. He brought one back to Astrid a few weeks ago and she poured it down the sink when she thought he wasn’t looking, and then shoved a doughnut in her mouth.

Dropping the paper on the nearest table, he’s about to sit when his phone rings. A glance at the screen shows a strange number but the image flashing is familiar.

Project 12.

“Hello,” he says, waving to Cassie as he ducks out the door. This call requires a little privacy.

“Charger! How’s the hottie behind the counter this morning?”

“Casper?”

“Duh, of course it’s me. Who else would it be?”

“You’re tracking me?”

“I’ve got my ways, bro. And seriously, Cassie is way into you. You should ask her out.”

Quinn dodges a car and crosses the street. The park is nearby, and he wants to get off the road so he can talk to Casper in relative quiet. “What’s going on man?” Quinn asks. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I had some work to do getting this place set up, but now I’ve got the phone lines secured so we can talk.”

“You’re sure it’s secure?”

“Do you think I’d call otherwise?”

Not a chance. Paranoia seems to be Casper’s number two character trait, with the first being a computer and technology genius.

“As much as I love chatting like this, I’m sure there’s a reason you called,” Quinn says, moving to a bench overlooking the lake. It’s early enough there are only a few joggers out.

“Let’s talk about these fires. I saw the footage on TV and had access to your screen cameras. Shit looked intense.”

“It was. Scary as hell. We’ve trained for a lot of things, but that wasn’t one of them.”

“The media is pushing these fires back on the building’s owner. Calling them unsafe and out of code.”

“What do you think?”

“Demetria and her company, WIND-E, owns them, so anything is possible.”

“Fuck. Seriously?” That woman’s claws are in everything. “What about all her talk about saving the Swamp and the less fortunate? Burning down their homes doesn’t fit with that narrative.”

“You’re smarter than you look, Charger,” Casper laughs. “I did a little more digging and found records of offers on all three buildings in the last three years. All rejected by WIND-E. Someone wants them and she won’t sell.”

Quinn leans over and stares out at the lake. “Who made the offers?”

“A company named Metamorphosis. They’re the ones behind ninety percent of the building on the Harbor Line.”

“Wow, okay. I’ll do a little ground work and see what I can find about this business.”

“Great, thanks.” Casper pauses. “Is Echo okay? Last night got a little rocky for her.”

“Yeah, no doubt she had a nasty experience last night. She avoids using her power so much that when she does, it knocks her on her ass. But we worked through it.” He curbs the smile on his face and shakes the smugness out of his voice. “I definitely think she’s better now.”

“Keep helping her,” Casper says. “Owen, too. I’ve been reading up on Atticus’s notes about her ability. It’s more emotionally complex than we can understand. Very taxing. She’s going to have to address it at some point, including a way to control it better.”

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“You learned how to manage your electrical input and output. I think she can, but it will take some work and training.” A chime rings in the background. “That’s my breakfast burrito. Gotta run, man. Keep up the good work and don’t forget: I’ll be watching.”

The line disconnects, and Quinn sighs and leans back into the bench, trying to figure out if Casper watching is a good thing or just a really weird pervy thing.

Probably both.

Chapter Six

Owen

“Casper is worried about you,” Quinn informs Astrid when he returns from his run.

“You talked to him?”

“Yeah, the little punk is definitely spying on us,” he looks around the room, searching for cameras or anything else out of place. He even holds up his hands, trying to feel the electrical current or whatever it is he does. He shakes his head.

“How much is he spying?” Astrid asks. She and Quinn exchange a look. “Like when I’m in the shower spying?”

“I’ll break his ghost face if he is,” Quinn promises.

“Not if I get there first,” she counters. Owen watches the exchange with little interest. He’s still shaken from Jensen appearing out of the blue today. Wanting to question him about Pixie Dust was one thing, but about the murder of his Aunt Sylvie? That’s insane.

“Too bad he didn’t give us a warning about Jensen’s visit,” he says. “That dude has a hard-on for me.” Astrid makes a face of disgust at his wording. “What gives?”

“He’s a Fed. And wants to close the case completely. It’s not unusual.” She tells Quinn what he said about the bullets matching in Owen’s aunt’s murder and Atticus’s. “They’re connected. Like we thought.”

“Except now I’m a suspect.”

“We’ll find the real killer and clear your name,” she says. “Until then, stay out of sight.”

He shrugs, not wanting to argue about it. He’d just like to roam about freely without the risk of going to jail.

“So what did Casper say?” she asks Quinn. He describes the real estate information and the connection to the fires.

“The stuff about WIND-E and Metamorphosis makes sense,” Owen says. “That property is hot and a lot of lower-income families are getting the boot.”

“If Demetria is serious about her desire to help the Swamp, this has to be a problem for her.”

“Yeah,” Quinn agrees. “Casper had something else to say.” He locks eyes with Astrid. “Something about you and your echo.”

“Oh yeah, what’s his great insight?” Her sarcasm is unmistakable.

“That you’ve got to get control over it, the way I’ve gained control over the currents.” He looks at me. “And how Owen uses his manipulation.”

“It’s not that easy,” she says. “I’ve tried.”

“Have you?” he asks. “Holden locked me in a room until I figured it out. I fried the electrical system on our house so many times. He eventually made me learn how to repair it myself. Owen, what about you?”

“Man, I spent hours working with mine. I mean, there were a few scares when I first moved in with my Aunt Sylvie. Like, shit would happen, and I couldn’t always tell what was real or not. Like if I got scared or angry, it would just come out in these subconscious bursts. My aunt got tired of it and I hated not being in control, so I practiced. A lot.”

Quinn jerks his chin at Astrid. “What did Atticus do to help you?”

Her jaw locks. “I’m not talking about this.”

“Astrid, it’s important; what happened last night was really bad.”

“Shut up, Quinn. I handled it. And what Atticus did was give me gloves and didn’t bitch at me when I needed a minute alone. It works, and it doesn’t hurt anyone. Last night was a freaking anomaly.” She glances at Owen for help.

He can’t back her on this one. Quinn and Casper are right. “He has a point.”

She tosses her hands in the air and rises like she’s about to leave the room.

He grabs her arm. “It’s not just about protecting yourself. These gifts…they’re bigger than we realize. It’s important that we keep testing them. I’m not convinced they’re limited.”

“What do you mean?” Quinn asks.

“The more I use mine, the more it expands. The more I can do. Like shielding myself when Jensen got here. Took me a while to master that.” He releases Astrid’s arm. If she wants to leave, she can. He’s not going to fight her. “You’re stagnant, Astrid. Don’t let your ability control you—control it first. Use it. Own it.”

A hot tear builds in the corner of her eye. She doesn’t wipe it away, she just looks at them with a glare of death and storms from the room.

Quinn sighs. “Well, that went well.”

“Yeah. She’s stubborn.”

“She’s just trying to protect herself.”

“I’m afraid she’s doing the opposite,” Owen argues.

Quinn looks at the clock. “The city offices open at ten. I’m going to go down and see what kind of records I can get on the Metamorphosis and who owns it. Keep an eye on her okay? Last night shook her, hard. Don’t let her pretend otherwise.”

Owen nods and watches the man leave, all the while an idea percolating in his head. He has an idea he can help Astrid. She just has to agree.

*

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Right, so getting Astrid to agree to his plan may take some work.

“Did you just suggest I start using Pixie Dust?”

Owen leans against the railing on the balcony attached to the upstairs apartment. He found Astrid here after she stormed off. “Only because the chemicals found in it allow us to use our abilities on one another. I’m willing to let you hear my echo so you can try to desensitize yourself.”

Wisps of her blonde hair blow in her face from the cool morning breeze coming off the harbor. She shoves her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie and for the first time since he’s met her, she seems small—vulnerable. From the dark glint in her eye, she knows it.

“What Quinn said before, about Atticus challenging me, wasn’t exactly true. The gloves were a concession. When I first moved in with him, I wore six layers of clothes all day—even to bed. I had on a hat constantly. Tight pants and shirts and socks. My sensory issues were paralyzing. I could barely function. Everything was too loud, too smelly, too…everything.” She holds up her hands, which are covered in a thin pair of gloves. “This was an improvement. This was success.”

He nods at her story; it makes sense and he doesn’t want to slight her growth.

“When I first discovered my abilities, I couldn’t do much. It was nothing more than a little slight-of-hand.  A few times I just scared the crap out of my aunt by moving shadows across the room, or I’d trick her by making it seem like something moved. But little by little, I figured out how to manage it. And I stopped just playing games and learned how to use the manipulation to protect myself and others.”

“Like when you blocked Jensen from seeing you today?”

“Yep.”  He leans his elbows on the railing and looks in the distance. “It’s one reason I’m so angry I wasn’t there when she was killed. I could have protected her.”

She watches him carefully for a moment, then confesses, “I should have been there when Atticus was murdered. I was off disobeying his orders and…” her cheeks turn red at whatever she’s remembering.

“Dropping bombs on me and the rest of the crew. Yeah, I remember.”

“Using Pixie Dust seems incredibly foolish,” she says.

“A little bit, yeah. But how else are you going to do it? Pick some random person off the street and ask if you can touch them? You’re hot and everything, but random touching is generally frowned upon.” He flashes a grin.

“You do know that you can’t hide anything from me if I hear your echo. I have access to your deepest thoughts and feelings. Hints of your desires and things about your past—” She stops abruptly.

“What?” he asks.

“Your past. I may be able to see what happened between coming to the group home and you living with your aunt.” She studies me. “Would you be okay with that?”

“Maybe we’ll both learn something.”

Her forehead creases in thought. “Quinn will kill me.”

“He doesn’t have to know.”

That doesn’t seem to appease her, but she moves on. “And what about the drug effects, isn’t that a bad idea?”

“Not if we’re in a safe environment.” He steps closer to her. “I won’t lie. I’ve experimented with the drug—part of the process of infiltrating the group. It’s, well, like James and Demetria were looking for, a little bit like Neverland.”

“Peter Pan and the Lost Boys? God, what is that all about?”

“No flying, I promise, but the high isn’t bad.”

“Not funny.”

He smiles. At least she’s considering it. “It’s your decision, Astrid. I just want you to know I’m willing to help if you want me to.” He moves toward the door. “Think it over.”

She nods, and he leaves her out there to make the decision on her own. It’s a weird, risky proposal, but it may be an important step in developing their team. One he’s willing to dive into his own past to make happen.

Chapter Eight

Astrid

What Owen proposed is crazy. What’s even crazier is Astrid is actually considering his idea. Or she’s considering considering it. That’s what she tells herself as she stands over Owen’s sleeping body.

He’s sprawled on the couch, one leg dangling off the side. His blanket is in a pile on the floor. He sleeps shirtless in a pair of cotton shorts. It’s impossible not to check him out, not in this moment of quiet when she can take her time.

His skin is smooth, his fingers long. The trail of hair from his navel to the elastic waistband of his pants is curly and blond. It’s nearly impossible to not notice his ridiculously long eyelashes. He’s slimmer than Quinn. Leaner. His jaw comes to a sharp point and his cheekbones could cut glass. Quinn carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, from worrying about what Astrid eats to the minute details of their missions. Owen is different, lighter, and she wonders if it has to do with him lacking memories of their time in the group home.

He doesn’t remember the doctors or the shots. The before and then the after, but she also senses that he carries a burden. Something he’s not telling them. She realizes this relationship—friendship—is new. She’s willing to wait for him to reveal his secrets when he’s ready.

She bends over and listens to his heartbeat; it’s peaceful and calm. She smells the soap on his skin, the detergent on his blanket. He carries the faint scent of roses, which is stronger when he uses his gift.

“Owen,” she whispers before losing her nerve.

His eyes flutter open. “Astrid?”

“Hey.”

He frowns and sits up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just thinking about your idea.” She shoves her hands in her pockets and looks guiltily toward Quinn’s bedroom. “I think we should do it.”

“Yeah?” His eyes search hers. Damn those eyelashes. Such a waste on a boy.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay,” he says, keeping his voice lowered. “I’ll figure out a place and a time. Somewhere safe. Just the two of us.”

A flash of nerves hits her belly. She’s not sure if it’s in a good way or bad. She does know this plan is idiotic, but the men are right. She needs to do more with her powers than hide them away. She needs to learn how to use them to fight back.

*

The Jeep lurches to a stop in front of the house. The forest green vehicle was a gift from Atticus on her eighteenth birthday. It had been his when he was a teenager. The paint is peeling and the roof has a tear and the inside smells a little moldy from a leak in the canvas, but it’s hers.

Empty snack bags and used soda bottles roll across the floor when the Jeep stops. Owen releases his grip from the door and gives the floor a pained glance.

“What?”

“You’re just so unbelievably messy.”

“I don’t have time to clean up.”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters under his breath and steps out of the car. The yard is tidy; flowers grow in the beds, looking fresh against the yellow paint.

“What the hell happened here?”

“This is my house,” Owen tells her, slamming the door. Twice. The latch doesn’t always catch.

“Yeah, I remember. The last time I saw it, the roof was ripping off and the place looked abandoned.” She stares at the immaculate bungalow with a rosebush and green bicycle chained to the front porch. “A manipulation?”

“Every last bit.” He walks up the front steps. His hand moves in a wave-like motion. “I’m shadowing us right now. I’m not sure Jensen isn’t watching this place still.”

“What do you mean, ‘shadowing’?”

“Blocking anyone from seeing us. Just a basic time-space manipulation. They just see the house and not us walking up to the door. They hear birds and traffic, not our voices.”

“But the house,” she asks. “It really looks like this?”

“Yeah, even when this neighborhood wasn’t up-and-coming, my aunt kept the property nice. What you see is what you get.”

Talk about a mind-bender. She enters in the front door, a guest this time, and the furnishings are completely different. Nice. Comfortable-looking furniture. She looks around, trying to get a sense of Owen, but other than his scent there’s not much of him here.

He drops his backpack on the couch in the small living room. She does the same.

“You still want to do this?” he asks. True to his word, he hasn’t pressured her. All of this had been at her insistence. Including sending Quinn out on a recon mission that should last most of the day.

“I do.” Or so she tells herself.

He nods and pulls out a small metal box from under the couch. He opens it and presses a spring. A hidden compartment is revealed, and Owen holds up a small baggie of Pixie Dust. Tinkerbelle is stamped on the side.

“From my experience, it won’t take much to push past the barriers keeping us from using our abilities on one another. And one hit, it won’t last too long. I think our physiology keeps the drug—or any drug—from affecting us full-force. Probably has to do with how fast we burn calories and the extra energy used to maintain our gifts.”

“That explains why I didn’t feel high or anything at the Gala.”

“And why you eat like a linebacker and yet seem to not gain a pound.” He eyes her waist.

“How long do we have to practice before it wears off?”

“Maybe an hour or so. Long enough for us to test this out a little bit.”

God, this whole thing is crazy. Astrid has never used any kind of drug in her life. Well, other than the accidental dosing at the Gala last month. That’s how she’d been able to read Demetria.

“Oh, wait, I have something for you,” he says with a smile. He reaches in his bag and pulls out a green bottle of Mountain Dew. “Thought you may want to put yours in here.”

He twists off the cap and hands it to her. The soda fizzes and she smells the bubbles in the air. Owen takes the baggie and tips a small amount in the bottle.

“Want to share?” she asks, holding it toward him.

He smiles again, wide and a little nervous before pouring in about half of the tiny Ziploc baggie. Owen’s heart is thumping. Astrid hears it over the sound of the drink.

“Ready?” he asks.

She nods. “Ready.”

Chapter Nine

Quinn

The building sits in the middle of downtown Crescent City, a tower of reflective blue glass. It’s the tallest, with a spire that reaches to the heavens. The company’s name hangs from the top floor, and at night it glows bright as a full moon.

WIND-E.

Demetria’s empire.

Quinn spends the last few days digging into anything and everything he can find on his former housemate and how she came into such a fortune. The official business is described as the headquarters for the toy manufacturing giant. Demetria’s company creates the wildly popular line of SparkleCorns as well as GlitterFairies, WoodlandSweetures and every offshoot of product imaginable.

Demetria is a toy goddess, who ironically can make every little girl’s dreams come true by bringing them all to life.

She also, it seems, may be severely mentally ill.

Sitting in the front seat of the van, Quinn holds the psychological report in his hands and glances at the content for the fifth time since he received it from Casper.

Hacking little goblin.

It came via email in the middle of the night with the subject line: Guess Who’s Mother-effing Crazy?

Quinn was slightly relieved it wasn’t Astrid or Owen.

The information comes from a juvenile psych unit, several years after the explosion at the group home. There’s little background information, no guardian or specifics on where she lived or went to school. But there is a diagnosis, and at the time, all signs were pointing toward fantasy-prone disorder.

A disorder he’s never heard of before, but it exists. According to the doctor in the report, she had many symptoms of the unusual disorder: intense, vivid fantasies; an inability to recognize the real world from make-believe;  imaginary friends; and enhanced sensory perceptions.

He drops the paper on the passenger seat and looks up at the impressive building. He has an appointment at ten. Okay, not really an appointment, more like Casper hacked into her calendar and figured out she leaves her office each day at ten to head to yoga class three blocks away.

He exits the vehicle, carrying his newspaper from his run earlier that day, and finds a spot on a bench in the middle of the plaza outside her office building.  People mill about, going in and out for business. Quinn watches closely, adjusting the small camera on his hoodie. He’s recording the meeting—the whole scene—to show Astrid and Owen later. You know, when he decides to actually tell them he came down here alone.

His phone beeps that it’s ten and he shifts his focus on the front door. Demetria appears, like clock-work, surrounded by a few bodyguards. He’d known they would be here, but it definitely complicates things.

Demetria was an odd little girl with gangly legs and too-big eyes. Quinn can’t help but notice how she grew into a beautiful woman. She has the grace and poise of a princess—she probably thinks she is one, he considers. Her footsteps are dainty. Her hair, perfectly styled. A brooch of a rainbow-jeweled fairy is perched just below her shoulder and sparkly earrings dangle from her ears. She looks like a CEO of a toy company. Equal parts professional and whimsy.

One bodyguard carries her gym bag. He’s about Quinn’s size, with a muscular build visible under his suit. His eyes skim over Quinn, assessing for threat. The other, a female, with her long dark hair tied in a knot behind her head, stands a few feet away. Quinn steps up to the crosswalk seconds before they arrive. He presses the button, using a touch of his current, disabling the mechanism that changes the light. She’ll be trapped with him for at least five minutes.

His hands are stuffed in his pockets but he glances over at her casually. She looks ahead but feels his eyes on her and looks up. Demetria offers a friendly smile, but before he can go into his prepared small-talk she says, “I know you.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” her brown eyes take him in. “You were at my Gala.”

He narrows his eyes in thought, before faking recognition. “Oh yes! Right, you hosted the party. I heard your speech and it really resonated with me.”

Her lips spread, happy to hear that. “My fairies told me about you. They recognized you in the crowd.”

“They did?” He tries painfully to keep his expression neutral.

“Yes, I’ve been searching high and low for my Lost Boys. It’s time for you all to come home.”

Thinking she’s going to call him out for his interference that night or maybe their involvement with shutting down Pixie Dust, he’s thrown when she calls him a Lost Boy.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says, although her Neverland fantasy is well known.

“Ms. Holmes,” the male bodyguard says, eyeing him warily. “You’re going to be late.”

Even though the crossing signal hasn’t changed, the other guard walks into the crosswalk and holds up traffic so they can continue across the street.

“Come home when you’re ready,” she says, looking back as she walks away. Her hair blows in the wind. Quinn stands speechless as he watches the fairy lift off her shoulder and fly over his head, sprinkling glitter in his hair.

He jumps back, knocking into a man behind him. “Sorry,” he mutters, brushing off his shoulders. But there’s nothing there. The fairy is gone, and Demetria and her bodyguards are already a block away.

Chapter Ten

Astrid

The clock ticks on the wall, loud and rattling. It’s been fifteen minutes since she ingested the Pixie Dust. She doesn’t feel any different mentally. If she’d planned on getting blitzed, that didn’t happen, but there’s no mistaking something is off when Owen sits next to her on the couch and holds out his hands.

She’s already removed her gloves. She doesn’t need them around Quinn and Owen on a regular basis. Without touching him, she holds her hand up in the space between them.

“I don’t know if you know this, but I do feel beyond touch. It’s not as intense and definitely not as accurate. In a crowd it’s just a buzz, but one-on-one I can get a sense of that person. Take a reading.”

“Are you reading me now?”

Her eyes meet his. “Normally I can’t. I can track your scent or count your heartbeats. I know when something is wrong, but it’s vague and I have to rely on all my senses to figure it out. But now? It’s easier, clearer.”

His heart rate increases with every word; it should, she’s about to violate his privacy. She’s going to pry around in his thoughts. In his past. He probably wonders if it will hurt. It shouldn’t.

“What kind of information do you get off of me?” he asks. She still hasn’t touched him.

“Right now? You’re nervous. I think the Pixie Dust changes our body chemistry to smell like cinnamon, because I’m getting a huge hit of that.”

“What do I normally smell like?”

“Roses, when you use your powers. Detergent and sweat the rest of the time.”

“I’m sweaty?” He wrinkles his nose in disgust.

She smiles. “It’s a good thing. Manly. I like it.”

Astrid doesn’t tell him that the following wave is one of interest and testosterone. He likes being flattered. Who doesn’t?

“Okay,” she says. “I think I’m ready.”

They’re sitting face-to-face on the couch, legs crossed under them. His hands are resting on his knees. Astrid slowly reaches for him, touching her fingertips to his palms.

She gasps as the echo runs through her.

FEAR. PANIC. Blood on linoleum.

Astrid jumps back and removes her shaking hands.

“Did it work? Are you okay?” he asks.

Her heart races. “Yeah, it’s just…it’s hard.”

“See anything scary?” His smile is teasing.

She’s not sure how much to tell him. The blood and the fear. It—no, he—was absolutely terrified.

“Let’s do this,” she says, steadying her voice. “Try to clear your mind. Let’s see what rises to the top.”

He nods and closes his eyes.

Sobs. Heart caught in his throat. Tight-fisted anger. A swirling rage of black.

Her body trembles at the pain Owen carries. So much pain. A sob rips through her and he looks at her with grave concern.

“Hey,” he says, reaching for her but stopping, aware of the boundaries. She wraps her arms around her body, fighting the chill.

“Where did it happen?” she finally asks.

He looks at her blankly for a moment before realization dawns. “In the kitchen.”

Shot, just like Atticus and Holden.

His pain flares hers back up again. It lingers like a sickness; a virus spreading through her veins. The difference, though, is unlike the woman at the fire…that was a moment of fear and panic. Owen carries this with him every day.

She’s struck with the urge to make him feel better. To give him more to cling to than pain and anger. He watches her closely as she lowers her hand to his and tentatively pushes back.

Astrid thinks of good things. Happy thoughts. Harry Styles curled up in her lap. The annoyed look on Quinn’s face when she eats junk food. Boxing with Owen and the grin on his face the first time he landed a punch.  The relaxed, sexy way he sleeps.

Warmth spreads from her fingers to his and slowly his echo adjusts, shifting from the negative to the positive. Bright happiness flows from him and Astrid opens her eyes and smiles.

“Did you do that?” he asks, grinning. The dark cloud behind his eyes fades.

Warmth spreads from her hand to his and it turns from simple happiness to something else. A flicker of desire—heat burning between them.

Astrid’s face. Her lips and hair.

The echo brightens and again she snatches her hand away, surprised this time.

His eyes twinkle.

“You changed my feelings,” he says. His voice is full of awe.

“I did, didn’t I?” She looks at her hands. “It’s still really overwhelming though, good or bad.”

“We’ll keep practicing. If you can push back like that, then I think you can do more. Maybe separate out the bad stuff. Control the intensity. Search for what you need and get rid of everything else.”

Although it could be the lingering echo, Astrid feels hopeful that maybe he’s right. There’s more to this than she knew. She reaches for her gloves but takes one last chance and brushes her fingers over his. Pleasure rolls through her body. Warm desire. She pulls away and pretends that it didn’t almost knock her off her feet.

Owen wants her.

Or maybe she wants him, and it transferred back. Whatever it is, her body is tied in knots.

He frowns. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just, you know…practicing.”

He reaches for his bag at the same time the window shatters and a zing tears through the room. Astrid spins, looking out the front window. Owen stares at the shredded pillow behind him.

“Get down!” she shouts, reaching out with her senses. An engine idles out by the street. Two heartbeats pound in the yard. Owen stands and waves his hand, distorting the air between them and the window. It doesn’t stop the gunfire. “There’s two of them.” She cocks her head. “At least. Maybe one more outback.”

Owen grabs his bag and her hand, yanking her out the back door. A man stands in the back and they stop, but whatever shield he’s holding up protects them. Owen jerks his hand and the sound of dogs barking begins. The man jumps and holds out his gun in the direction of the growls. Astrid sees his face and stops cold.

No.

She’s yanked out of the yard—out of her paralysis. Owen pulls her into a small garage attached to the back of the building. The space reeks of oil and gasoline and she watches as he throws a tarp off a motorcycle and slings his leg over the seat. “Get on,” he says, tugging her and jump-starting the engine. The sound rips through the garage and Owen drives the bike right out the side door. Astrid wraps her arms around his waist, holding on as they fly through the back yard and down the back, muddy alley, away from the men and their guns.

“What the hell was that?” he yells into the wind.

“No fucking clue,” she replies, clinging to his waist as he breezes through a stop sign. Her heartbeat races in her chest, matching the thud coming from Owen’s. He’s scared and now she’s worried. She recognized that man in the yard. She knows how dangerous he is. She trained him.

Rowe.

Chapter Eleven

Owen

Back at the Lair, he watches as Astrid paces around the small room, circling the workbench and telling Quinn what happened at the house.

“Who were they?” Quinn asks, glancing at Owen as if he knows.

“I didn’t get a look at them,” he says. “Due to the whole running for our lives thing.”

“I recognized one,” she says. Both men look up in surprise. “Rowe, from the recruiting program.”

“You’re joking,” Quinn says. She shakes her head.

“Who’s Rowe?” Owen asks.

“One of the guys in my program. Quinn fought him. He’s tough—and a bastard.”

“Psychopath,” Quinn mutters.

“Jensen said he had a team for him to work on. I guess we know now that it’s local.”

“And hunting Supers,” he says. “What were you two doing there anyway?”

Astrid has a face of stone. She’s a good liar, probably because she lives under a protective shell. Easily she says, “We went to get a few of Owen’s things and his motorcycle.”

“And the Jeep is still there?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I sent Mick to go get it.”

Mick is one of the trainers. It’s obvious from the tense expression on Quinn’s face he feels involving an outsider is an unnecessary risk. He’s probably right.

“So who do you think they were after?” Quinn asks, looking between them. “Is this something lingering from the Pixie Dust days, or is this about all of us?”

“I don’t know, Quinn,” Astrid snaps. She’s about to crack under the knowledge Jensen sent a team after Owen. Maybe after her. She’s got to sort this out. “I don’t know anything other than some assholes shot up Owen’s house and tried to take us both down. I’m sorry they didn’t announce their motivation.”

Owen spins in his chair. “We knew Jensen wanted me, but this could be more. It’s likely we made other enemies.”

Quinn grunts and runs his hands through his hair. “It’s more than likely. We’ve been too visible lately. The Gala, the fires.”

Astrid leans against the worktable. “It’s almost like someone wants us out in public and not hiding away in here.”

“If that’s their goal, it’s working,” Quinn agrees, sitting in the other desk chair. “I’m exhausted.”

“You probably need a cheeseburger,” Astrid says. “And fries. And to sleep past six every once in a while.”

“Not funny.”

Owen isn’t particularly attracted to men, but it’s clear whatever Quinn’s heath routine consists of, it’s working. So much that really, he probably should start asking him for training advice. Astrid’s workouts come with too many doughnuts as rewards.

She resumes her pacing, wound up like a caged animal. Owen gets it. He feels the same. The adrenaline from the events earlier make it hard to sit and do nothing.

“This is bullshit,” he says, getting both of their attentions. “We’re freaking superheroes, well, at least you two are. I mean, I have a suit and have some marginally-awesome skills. But hiding like this won’t solve anything.”

Quinn raises an eyebrow. “It may keep you alive.”

“Yeah but what’s the point if we’re trapped in here?”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Quinn asks.

“I think we need to get out of here. Go have some fun.”

Astrid stops her pacing. “Go out go out? Like go out?”

“Sure,” Owen replies. “To a bar or a club or just, you know, anywhere that’s not here.”

She looks uneasily at Quinn. “Have you ever been to a club?”

He shakes his head. “Holden kept a pretty tight leash on me.” He holds up his hands. “You know, with the whole, could possibly electrocute people thing.”

“Me either,” she says. “Did you aunt let you go out?”

“I snuck out and I’ve been on my own for a while.” He spins the chair around in a full circle. “And I was a drug dealer, so yeah, I’ve been out. What do you think?”

“You know I don’t like to be around a lot of people…”

Quinn nods. “I really can’t afford to miss my run tomorrow.”

Owen stares at them slack-jawed. “Seriously guys, you’re not fifty. You’re in your twenties and you’re both attractive, fun people.”

Astrid looks up in surprise. “You think I’m fun?”

He groans and drops his head into his hands. “What if I promise we can go to the Waffle Waffle afterwards?”

Her eyes perk up at the idea of carbs doused in butter and sugar. “Promise?”

Quinn rolls his eyes.

“Yes, I promise,” he tells her.

“Okay,” she looks between them, a little unsure. “Don’t laugh, but there is something I’ve always wanted to do.”

“Sure, name it,” Owen says, willing to do anything to get out for the night. He has a flicker of a fantasy that she’ll suggest a club and wear a short skirt and dance with him. Or maybe they’ll go to a bar and she’ll let him drink tequila out of her belly button. Thoughts like these have been running through his head since their experiment at the house.

But that’s not what Astrid suggests. With a smile she tells them her biggest wish and damn, it’s…well, it’s totally Astrid.

Chapter Twelve

Astrid

The smell is awful, sweaty and a little bit like feet. Antiseptic spray mingles with the fried food coming from the snack bar.

It’s everything she ever dreamed it would be.

“Bowling?” Quinn asks for the twentieth time. He’s compliant though, lacing up the green- and red-striped shoes. “Only you would think this is a good idea.”

A few lanes down, a ball crashes into the pins and she jumps from the explosive sound. “I admit it’s a little loud and very, very smelly, but I’m trying to push my boundaries a little.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Owen walks up carrying a pitcher of beer and three glasses. He agreed to bowl but said he was only doing it if he could get drunk.

“Is what so?” he asks, filling the cups. The fringe of his blonde hair falls in his eyes.

“That I’m working on pushing outside my comfort zone. Going new places. Stimulating my senses.”

“Is that why you’re wearing a hoodie and a hat?” Quinn asks, walking by and tugging on the cat ears on her hat.

“I’m not wearing the hood.”

He shakes his head and picks through the balls, looking for the right size. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?”

She looks at Owen, he nods in agreement. “Definitely ridiculous.”

“Whatever,” she says, refusing to let them bring her down. She’s not lying about wanting to bowl. She remembers watching it on TV. It seemed like the fun thing to do with friends. Astrid never had friends.

Until now.

It takes two games for her to figure out how the game works, although that doesn’t keep her ball out of the gutter. Quinn takes to it naturally, landing two strikes in a row and winning the first two games. Owen, it seems, doesn’t really care. He’s true to his word. He just needed to get out of the building—have a little fun. After their intense experiment earlier in the day, she’s happy to see a genuine smile on his face.

She rolls the shiny red and pink-flecked ball down the lane and once again, it bounces into the gutter.

“What am I doing wrong?” she asks, standing over the ball return. The shoot rattles and spits her ball into the rack.

“Come here,” Owen says, picking up a different ball. This one is green, and he slips his narrow fingers into the holes. “I think you’re underestimating your strength. Try a heavier ball, and channel your power.”

She lines up on the small arrows engraved in the floor. His hands touch her waist and he pulls her over an inch. “There, focus on the center pin. And release with your wrist, not just your fingers.”

It all sounds like gibberish to Astrid, but she’s trained enough people to know the little things matter when mastering a skill.

Astrid pulls her arm back and then releases; the ball careens down the middle of the lane. The ball crashes into the pins, knocking over seven, and she jumps up and down and throws her arms around Owen.

The weight of his arms feels good and the pounding of his heart reassuring. She’s getting used to these men, their bodies and the way they feel. It’s good. A change from how things were before they entered her life. Owen lifts her off the ground and she spins, catching Quinn’s eye as he watches the two of them from the scoring table.

“Thanks,” she says to Owen, giving him a final squeeze. “You’re up.”

Owen walks to the ball rack and plucks out a black and silver ball. Astrid moves to sit next to Quinn in the curved, plastic bucket seat at the table.

“Nice frame,” he says, tallying up the score. He’s winning, of course. “Owen’s a good teacher.”

“He is,” she says, watching him set up his first attempt. “We’ve been spending some time together.”

“I noticed.”

She rests her hand on his thigh. “How do you feel about that? Really?”

“I think that we all have a bond—something deeper than a regular relationship. We’re special. Unique, and the first time I kissed you I knew it was something special.”

His response flusters her. “I don’t think you answered my question—about Owen.”

He places his hand on top of hers, linking their fingers together. “I think he’s trying to fit in and yeah, I think he likes you.”

“I like him,” she confesses. “And you.”

The sound of pins falling bounces down the lane and Quinn locks eyes with her. “Good. We’re a team, with people trying to kill us, an arsonist burning down the Swamp, and a supervillain I’m not sure is entirely stable. The last thing we need is some kind of weird love triangle distracting us.”

She laughs, because when he puts it like that he’s right. They’re three freaks trying to figure out how to survive and help their city. Beyond that, they need to just take care of themselves.

Owen walks up, smiling because of his strike—which now puts him in a slight lead over Quinn. Quinn hops out of the seat, vowing to take back the lead, and Astrid can’t help but laugh.

“What’s going on?” he asks, sliding into the seat.

“We were just talking about how happy we are to have you with us,” she says, leaning over and kissing his cheek. His eyes light up and he slings his arm around her shoulder. “And thanks for making us come out tonight. You were right, we needed it.”

Chapter Thirteen

Owen

The beer buzz wears off but the movie on the TV continues, and even if he wants to go to bed, Astrid is taking up half the couch.

Oh, so is that filthy cat.

He keeps an eye on Harry Styles, (seriously, who names their cat after a kid in a boy band?) who sits at the opposite end of the couch. Owen is pretty sure the cat doesn’t like him sitting this close to Astrid. And they are sitting close, so close that he finally has to say, “Is this okay?” gesturing to the fact she’s snuggled against his side.

“What?”

“The fact that we’re cuddling.”

Astrid draws her attention away from the TV and the takeout container of waffles in her lap. Harry continues licking his paw, in an attempt to pretend Owen doesn’t even exist. “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

His eyes dart toward Quinn’s door. He’s not in there. He went down to the Lair soon after they returned from the bowling alley. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I don’t want to make things awkward. Or get kicked out. Or, more importantly, have him kick my ass. Because he would definitely win. So, tell me how you want to play this.”

Her body is warm against his. She’s still in the tight jeans from the bowling alley and the Elite hoodie she never takes off. That silly cat-ear hat is on her head and there’s little denial his body is reacting to hers. Definitely. Reacting.

“How do you want to play this?” she asks back.

She’s so pretty, gorgeous really, the kind that has no fucking clue how much. The truth comes spilling out. “I’ve done my best to keep my hands to myself all these weeks out of some sense of respect for you and Quinn, but damn, you’re making it impossibly difficult.”

She sits up, knocking the cat off the couch with her feet. He hisses in reply and limps off and she tosses the container of leftover syrup on the coffee table.

“Quinn and I have agreed that right now we need to take care of each other. Stay strong and focused.” She touches his hand, causing a shiver to run down his neck. “This is new for us—being around people we can trust. People I can touch. Right now is about building our team.”

He tucks his hand behind her neck. It’s warm from the hat. “So you’re saying if I kiss you right now, it’s for the betterment of the team?”

“I think we’d both benefit from it,” she says. “You know, blow off a little steam. Like bowling.”

Owen doesn’t fight the smile. “Right. Exactly like bowling.”

Astrid licks her lips and tilts her head. He pulls her to him, leaning forward to meet her mouth. Her lips taste like syrup and she smells like sugar, and there’s no doubt in his mind she can hear his heart racing against his chest. Her hand moves to his neck, pulling him closer. He didn’t realize how much he wanted this—wanted her, until right now.

She’s right, he thinks, pulling her onto his lap, trying not to grunt when she crushes his hard-on. He brushes her hair off her neck and presses his mouth against the smooth skin under her ear. There is a benefit to making out like this. A huge one, and he’s pretty sure that if kissing were really like bowling, he would have just rolled a strike.

Chapter Fourteen

Quinn

It’s past midnight when Quinn sits in front of the computer in the Lair. He left Owen and Astrid upstairs to do…well, whatever it is they’re going to. Their talk at the bowling alley was a little awkward—he won’t deny it--but it was also true. Right now is about figuring out life. He’s not the jealous type. Protective, yes. Jealous? No.

Although if Owen hurts her in any way, there will be hell to pay.

But that’s the thing, he considers, watching all the screens come to life. He doesn’t think he will hurt her. And the closer they are with one another—with real bonds—the more they can trust each other. They’re not playing games here. What they’re doing in the suits and out in the city is dangerous, and they’ve got to be fully invested.

“Casper,” he says, pressing the intercom button. “You there?”

There’s no reply. Quinn uploads the camera footage from his interaction with Demetria on the street. He’s waited all day to check it out. It takes a minute to upload and just as it becomes available, static bounces through the speakers. Casper’s slightly tinny voice follows, and his avatar pops up in the corner of the screen.

“Hey dude. I’m here. What’s up?”

“I made contact with Wendy today,” he says, using her codename.

“Outside the building? Like we planned?”

“Yes, I recorded it. Want to see?” Quinn doesn’t wait for a reply, instead just presses the play button. This computer is linked up for visuals with Casper’s. The film is a little rough in the parts where he’s walking and moving, but Demetria is clear on the screen.

“Did she just call you a Lost Boy? Like Peter Pan?”

“Yeah.” Quinn mentions the psych evaluation. “I’m not sure how much of the time she’s living in reality.”

“What was that ‘time to come home’ thing?”

“No clue.”

Casper rewinds the video and plays it again. “What the hell was going on with that fairy at the end?”

“A test, maybe? She can’t work her abilities on me unless she’s using Pixie Dust. Maybe she wanted to see if I would react?”

“Huh, I wonder what would have happened if it had worked? Turned you into a big, hulking unicorn?”

“Shut up.”

“Bite me.”

Quinn leans back in the chair and the springs creak under his weight. “I’ve been wondering what’s up with all the mystery? The cartoon avatar. Going totally MIA and then resurfacing.”

Casper’s avatar shrugs. “I don’t like Big Brother. Or Big Brother’s sister WIND-E, or any of the other snoops out there, especially those assholes at Project 12. I mean, these people tracked us as kids, dude. Shoved us in a group home and experimented on us.” The anger in his voice is tangible. “I don’t know why you’re not more paranoid. They killed your mentor. Mine, too. I’ve been on the run ever since.”

None of this rant is a surprise, Casper has proven his paranoia over the short time Quinn has known him. And he’s right, they have reason to be afraid. The attempt on Owen and Astrid today were proof of that.

“I don’t want to hide,” he finally replies. “Or run. I just want to help people.”

Casper scoffs. “You and the princess. You’re going to get yourselves killed, or worse.”

“Don’t let her hear you call her that,” he laughs. “Anyway, what could be worse than death?”

“If you have to ask,” Casper says, “you don’t want to know.”

His phone beeps, alerting him to a push notification. It flashes across the computer screen. Casper says, “Fire on Fifth and Sycamore.”

“That’s on the Harbor Line.”

A map pulls up on the screen. A red dot indicates the location; it’s only a few blocks away. Looks like a small, abandoned warehouse. “There could be squatters in there. Or maybe the arsonist is onsite.”

“Suit up,” Casper tells him. “I’ll contact Astrid and Owen.”

Quinn looks at the avatar on the screen. He knows Casper can see him, wondering if he can see the dread on his face. “You’ll be out there with us tonight?”

“Yeah. I’ll take lead.”

“Good, we need you out there. Astrid can’t have another night like the last one and frankly, neither can I.”

Chapter Fifteen

Astrid

“North side, clear.”

“South, same,” Owen adds.

Smoke billows from the warehouse and Astrid waits for Quinn to give the clear on the east side of the building. On first sight the building looks in trouble, but the closer she gets the more it seems like a lot of smoke and little fire. Has anyone called 911?

She hears the undeniable pop of streetlamps.

“Charger?” she says into her com. “Casper, I need visuals on Charger.”

“I’m trying,” he says. “Shit. You’ve got visitors. Both of you, and they’ve got their hands on Charger.”

“Where? How?” she asks, darting to the front of the building. The street is empty. Glass cracks under her feet and she looks up. Shattered light bulbs. Footsteps move behind her, one set light and quick on the ground, another dragged. Two heartbeats, one rapid. The smoke messes with her sense of smell and her eyes water. She spins, hand on her cuff, and finds Quinn captured by a man in a mask—a gun pressed to his skull.

“Try anything, my shooter on the roof will take you out and both of your friends,” the man in the mask says.

She slowly holds her hands up. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“My boss wants to speak to you.” He jerks his head at the building. “Inside.”

“He’s not lying about the shooters,” Casper says in her ear. “Run at your own risk.”

Astrid has no plans on running.

“Sure,” she says, “I’m eager to meet your boss.”

With the guns trained on her back and Quinn still held by the masked man, she enters the building. The inside isn’t damaged by fire. It’s clear this was some kind of trick to get them to show up. Owen is already standing in the middle of the room, his green and black hood tugged off, although his mask is still on. Do these people know their identities? Who they are beyond their masks?

The thought is chilling.

Three lights hang over the middle of the room and a long table sits in the center. Three chairs are on one side. One on the other. The single chair is occupied by a man Astrid has never seen before. He’s middle-aged and balding at the hairline. A thin scar slashes across his eyebrow. He has an associate standing next to him. Dark hair and stocky. His skin is pale. He stares at her with interest, but when the man in the chair speaks, his eyes move to him.

“Look at that, it’s the Super Friends.” He smiles as they get closer. Quinn is pushed toward the chairs, his hands still tied behind his back. Do they know what he can do?  What she can do?

If he knows, the man in the chair doesn’t seem to care.

“Sit, let’s talk. I’ve been eager to meet you.”

Astrid takes the middle seat.

“I can’t say the same, considering I don’t know who the hell you are.” She counts six more heartbeats in the dark part of the warehouse and she’s fully aware of the weapons still trained on her and her teammates.

“My name is Brutus Kincade. I own Metamorphosis.”

“You’re the one trying to buy up all the Harbor Line property,” Quinn says. “Including the ones damaged by fire.”

Kincade smiles. “You’ve heard of me, then.”

“Only because you’re dismantling the Swamp to turn it into a hipster’s paradise,” Owen adds.

“What can I say? I like money. I like clean, beautiful properties. I like my city productive and rising economically.” He seems absolutely sincere in his words.

“So you think the Swamp needs to be demolished?”

“’Rejuvenated’ is the word I like to use.”

This guy is a pig. Astrid leans back in her seat and casually crosses her legs. “What do you want us for?”

“I try to keep abreast of the happenings in Crescent City. Crime, beautification, business opportunities. The Pixie Dust trade was on my radar. I had plans on eradicating it by working with Mayor Steed. But suddenly it’s off the streets and no longer an issue.”

“The police took down the ringleader,” Owen says.

Kincade looks him up and down. “True. That was a disturbing event over at the university, but it’s odd that there’s not a drop left on the streets.”

“And this is a bad thing?” Quinn asks.

“No, no, it’s a good thing, very good, but I was curious as to how it happened.” He rests his arms casually on the table. It’s an attempt to appear non-threatening. Atticus taught her the tactic. The sheer number of guns backing him up takes away any comfort. “So I asked around and I kept hearing the same thing. Two or three people running around town, in colorful, creative outfits doing what the police can’t.” He shrugs. “Or won’t. See, I like this kind of initiative. Not waiting around for the government to do it for you. I’m about progress. Building toward the future, and I get the feeling you are too.”

“I don’t think you understand anything about us,” Astrid replies, holding her temper in check.

Kincade smiles. “No? You and I have more in common than you realize.”

Owen snorts. Quinn looks like he may electrocute everyone in the room, but Astrid holds his gaze. “How so?”

The chair legs scrape against the cement floor. He stands and walks around the table, revealing his height. He’s intimidatingly tall. His associate stays put. Leaning against the table he says, “We both want this community to be a better, safer place. We want the streets quiet, no drugs and no crime. You’ve already made my job easier by eliminating the Pixie Dust trade, but we both know that’s just the tip of the iceberg, and if some people in this city have their way, the less toxic element will continue to grow.”

Astrid narrows her eyes. “We do want this community to be safe—for everyone. Not just the rich and wealthy.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Echo.” He tilts his head, amused that he surprises her by using her name. “You can’t have it both ways. Did you know the WIND-E Corporation owns all of the buildings that burned down? Did you know they own this warehouse?”

None of them answer although, yes, they are aware.

“WIND-E won’t sell me the properties, even though they’re useless to them now. They’re under investigation for code violations. If they find them liable, then the city will take over ownership of the property and sell them off. This building? They want to turn it into a homeless shelter.” He looks around. “I want to turn it into mixed-use real estate. I’m thinking a coffee shop would be great on the corner.” He points across the building. “Right over there.”

Astrid can’t follow Kincade’s train of thought other than the fact he’s a greedy bastard. “What’s the end game, Kincade? What do you want us for?”

“I need you to clean up the streets for me. Get the homeless and criminals out of the neighborhood. I need the mayor to sign off on me buying those burned-out properties so I can develop them, and I need WIND-E to understand that Harbor Line is no longer the place she grew up. It’s changed, and will to continue to change.”

“And if we don’t help you?”

He shrugs. “They’ve already lost three buildings. I’d hate to see what happens next.”

Quinn barely contains his rage when he replies. “We don’t fight on the side of corporate stooges. Either side.”

Kincade pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket and holds it out. Astrid takes it from him. Dread pools in her stomach. It’s a photograph of the Elite Gym. “What is this?”

“This property is terribly close to where the other fires happened. Prime location actually, right on the edge between the Harbor Line and the university.”

“What are you implying?” The photo shakes in her hand no matter how much she tries to control her anger.

“It just seems to me we may be in a spot to scratch one another’s backs. We’ll keep an eye on the Elite building if you keep the riff-raff to a manageable level on the Harbor Line.”

Astrid holds the man’s eyes. They’re dark and filled with arrogance and deceit. He knows who she is. Who they all are and he’s going to use that as leverage against them.  “And if we don’t do what you want?”

Kincade snaps his fingers and a wicked smile lingers on his lips. “Then I think an organic market would be a fantastic addition in that spot, don’t you?”

Chapter Sixteen

Astrid

“Jensen just pulled up outside.”

She looks up at the surveillance video that picks up the parking lot and perimeter. Jensen parks near the curb in his government-issue, basic sedan. She scans the other screens and locates Quinn training a client in the gym.

“Thanks, Casper,” she says, then looks over at Owen. “I’m heading up to the main office. You stay down here.”

He lifts his hands and disappears, vanishing behind a protective shield. She shakes her head. “Nope. Let me have a minute alone with him.” She looks at  Casper’s avatar. “You too.”

“Hiding something?” Casper asks.

“He’s family. I just need a minute alone, okay?”

She leaves them in the Lair and slides into her seat behind the desk just a few seconds before he knocks on the door.

“Hey girl,” he says, entering the office after a quick knock. She smiles when she sees him. He is family. But there are secrets between them now and she’s not sure where they stand. Even so, he doesn’t hesitate to give her a hug across the desk.

“Hey, didn’t know you were coming by today.”

He releases her and sits in the chair opposite of the desk. “I had a few minutes and wanted to check in on the next group of recruits.”

She locates the file with her list of candidates. “We should start next week. I’ve got eight candidates. Three women and five men.  Four are former military. One cop, and then two culled from MMA programs around the country.”

“Sounds hopeful.” He leans back in his seat and crosses one leg over the other. Jensen studies her. She knows why—it’s unspoken, and finally she just acknowledges it.

“Are you concerned about me doing this without Atticus?”

“Are you concerned?” he asks back. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“He and I built the training program together.” What Jensen doesn’t know is Astrid really ran the project. Atticus was busy with other things—like building super suits and locating missing Project 12 survivors. “I’m confident I can manage. I’ve taken Quinn on to handle the gym management. Mick is still out there too—he’s good with the staff and clients.”

“Hire anyone else?”

She pauses, getting a feel for that question, or rather the intent behind it. She scans his pulse. His breathing. The dilation of his pupils. All are steady. “No, no other new hires. I’m keeping it tight around here, like always.”

He nods. “Good. The program is doing well. I’ve assigned missions to all of the candidates that just graduated. You’d be proud.”

She tilts her head. “Even Rowe?”

“He’s a son of a bitch, isn’t he?” Jensen laughs.

“That’s the nice way to put it.”

“I’ve assigned him a specific case. We’ll see how he does.”

Astrid knows that case involves Owen. What she wants to know is does it involve her. For the first time she wants to dig into Jensen’s head—hear his echo to find the truth. Her fingers tingle under her gloves. But she’s also afraid.

“I do have a question,” she says. “What do you know about the Metamorphosis Group?”

“The real estate company?”

“Yep, that’s the one.”

“Not much. Mayor Steed likes them—keeps giving them tax exemptions to develop the Harbor Line.” He frowns. “Has he approached you about the gym?”

That’s a nice way to put it. “Kind of.”

“He’s doing good things for the city, but it’s also causing tension among the new and old residents. Standard side effect of progress.”

It’s an interesting way to put it. Progress. Does he not know about the fires and the battle over the property? Maybe not. Maybe he’s hiding something. There’s one simple way for her to find out. Under the desk, she tugs the gloves off her fingers.

“I’m not sure I like his tactics for getting property, is all,” she says. “He was a little pushy.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Did he threaten you?”

“Not exactly.” The lie comes too easily. “But I got the feeling he’s not used to getting no for an answer.”

Jensen’s phone beeps. “You call me if he comes in here again.”

“I will.”

The phone beeps again and he gives her an apologetic look before checking the message.

“Gotta take this one,” he says, standing. With her hands behind her back, she stands too.

“That’s okay. Thanks for coming in.” She forces a smile. “It was good to see you. I miss having you around.”

He meets her at the door and spreads his arms. She steps into them. “I miss you too. And Atticus. Things have been hard since he’s been gone.”

His voice is low and gravely when he invokes Atticus’s name, and all resolution of checking his echo vanishes and she balls her hands into tight fists. Jensen is her family, not a criminal or a bad guy she needs to read. He has a dangerous job, dealing with shady people. She understands how that can compromise your views.

He releases her and tugs at the tail end of her braid. “Call me if you need anything, hear?”

She nods and watches him leave the room, hating the way life has changed so drastically over the last few weeks. It makes her angry. Tired and frustrated.

It also makes her more resolved to kick the trash out of the city once and for all.

*

Overheated and dripping with sweat, Astrid unzips her hoodie and drops it on the floor next to the treadmill. Music blasts in her ears—her angst play list—specifically chosen for when she needs to blow off steam.

Today is one of those days.

After Jensen left, she got pissed. Freaking pissed about being shot at and threatened all in 24 hours. About the questions she has about Rowe. She knows Jensen can’t tell her anything if she asked. It’s his job, but that doesn’t annoy her any less.

She’s also mad she let her emotional feelings for Jensen keep her from checking his echo. She had her chance and wimped out.

Pressing the button that ups the speed, she pushes herself harder. The man is dangerous and they’ll all need to be in top shape to deal with him. It’s her only choice, unless she plans on confronting Brutus Kincade about his blackmail.

She’s convinced this is what she gets for taking time off. Flirting with Owen and finding pleasure with Quinn. Is she being punished for finding a loophole around her abilities? The others call them gifts. She calls it a curse.

She pretends they aren’t watching her right now. They’re training. Owen asked Quinn for some help with parkour and they run the course over and over. But she feels their eyes on her. Feels them. She hears their chatter even over the music. Her name. Their scent.

Faster she runs.

A glance at the TV up on the wall makes it worse. Channel Five insists on following the fires—speculating up and down if they were arson or code violations. Demetria’s face flashes on the screen and the closed-captioning says something about being framed.  Astrid just turns her music up louder. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

She slams a fist on the stop button and the treadmill rolls to a standstill and she hops down, grabbing her hoodie and wiping down her face. The guys are breathing just as heavy when she meets them midway across the gym.

“I don’t like this,” she says. “I don’t want to work—or rather, cave—to Kincade. I don’t want to punish the people in Crescent City because two big-bads can’t agree on who’s the biggest and the baddest.”

“I don’t think he was bluffing about destroying the gym,” Quinn says. His t-shirt is soaked through with sweat.

Owen lifts up the hem of his shirt and wipes his forehead, revealing a strip of muscular stomach. Damn. He asks, “What do you want to do?”

Her mind spins. She’s been trying to come up with something—a way out since they left the warehouse. Other than burning down the building herself, all roads lead back to the same thing. They’re stuck.

“I’ve got nothing,” she says, truthfully. She doesn’t like this feeling of being out of control.

Quinn takes her hand. His heart ramps up the way it does when he’s near her and it makes her already-tired legs shake at the knees. “We can play along for a while. He’s right about keeping down crime—it’s what we do. But we won’t just focus on the Swamp. In the meantime, we’ll try to get some evidence to prove he’s starting the fires.”

“And continue to work on strengthening our abilities,” Owen adds.

She shoots him a glare. Quinn didn’t know about that. So she flips the subject. “What about Demetria? What are we going to do about her?”

“Yeah,” he grimaces and darts his eyes at Owen. “I need to talk to you about that.”

She pulls her hand away from him and rests them on her hips. “What did you do?”

“Nothing…well, not really. I had a run-in with her the other day, sort of on purpose.”

“Quinn!” she shouts. Mick and two other trainers look over, but she ignores them. “Alone? Are you crazy?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I’m not crazy, but she may be. Casper got me her psych evaluation. Beyond her abilities, she’s not stable. I wanted to talk to her myself.”

“What happened?” Owen asks.

He describes the scene and Astrid listens carefully. Demetria was her roommate, probably her only real friend at the group home. She’s terribly conflicted over how to handle her.

“She called you a Lost Boy?” Owen asks, immediately curious.

“Yeah, it was weird. She said she recognized me from the Gala and that her fairies told her I was there. She said it was time for us to come home.”

Owen’s expression turns grim and he shifts on his feet.

“What?” Astrid asks. “Does that mean something to you other than her standard nonsense?”

“There’s some stuff I haven’t told you about my time working for James.”

Quinn’s jaw tenses. There are too many secrets between them. Small ones. Potentially deadly ones. He holds her eye and says, “It sounds like we need to talk. Throw it all on the table before we go out in the field again.”

Owen nods in agreement.

“Everyone clean up and we’ll meet in the Lair,” she says. “Call Casper. He should be in on this, too.”

*

The instant Casper’s avatar appears on the screen, Owen starts talking.

“When my Aunt Sylvie died, I freaked. I don’t know if it was PTSD from my parents dying or just all the blood, but when I found the Pixie Dust baggie on the floor I knew I had a clue.” The words come out in a rush and none of them speak. Astrid waits for the story. The way his heart hammers makes her nervous. This is his secret. What he’s been hiding.

“Sylvie made it clear I was never to let anyone know about my power. Not to trust the police or any authority. I ran that day, terrified of what would happen to me. I had to call the police—so they would find the body—but I left the house and hit the streets. The next couple of days were a blur but the first thing I remember is sitting on Front Street looking out at the harbor, feeling like shit for leaving my aunt on the floor. Trying to figure out who killed her. What the hell was up with the Pixie Dust?”

“Did you go back?”

“Not then, because this gorgeous girl came up to me. She had on all blue and a ribbon in her hair. She sat next to me on the bench. There were these little toy fish in the water. They bobbed along but while I watched they transformed—shifting from toys into something more life-like. At the time I thought maybe I was just messed up, but the girl next to me laughed and pointed into the water. She saw them too.”

Quinn shifts uneasily in his chair. Casper is uncharacteristically quiet.

“She noticed how upset I was, or at least that’s what I thought, and she scooted next to me on the bench. She pressed her hand to my cheek and whispered that she’d been looking for me. That she knew about me and look, she had powers too. She called me her Lost Boy and said her name was Wendy and that she knew how to make it better. How to get back at the bad guys and make them pay for our pain.”

Owen leans back in his seat and rubs his eyes. The memory seems painful, but he’s also intent on getting it all out.

“She was right about one thing, I was lost. She tipped me into my anger, coaxed me to use my powers. I needed something to focus on and she told me she the perfect way to use them.”

“Selling drugs,” Astrid says.

“Yes. See, I thought she was just some crazy chick who needed Peter Pan in her life and understood the hardships of losing people. But the longer I stayed in the business, the harder I pushed and prodded into the hierarchy, I realized that it was all a charade. Just another one of her delusional games. She was the one behind the drugs and deaths. Pixie Dust was the means to her end. I was narrowing my options on her when you stormed the warehouse.”

“Oof.” Astrid exhales. “Bad timing.”

“Or good. You probably saved my life.”

“So what are you saying,” Quinn asks. “What’s the point of this story?”

“Demetria lives in a fantasy. She thinks she’s Wendy Darling, that I’m Peter Pan.”

“Is she mad that you betrayed her at the Gala?”

“She’ll only be upset that I’m gone. You know Peter has a penchant for mischief. That’s expected, but if you’ve read the books, Wendy’s biggest fear is growing up—losing her childhood. If everything you’ve told me about our past is true, then we’re all part of her game.”

“Why do you think you’re Peter?” Quinn holds up his hands and adds, “Not that I’m jealous, but there were a lot of boys in the home.”

Owen turns to Astrid. “I don’t know but I think there may be a way for us to find out.”

“How?” she asks.

“I need you to read my echo again. Find out what happened when we were kids.”

Quinn looks nervously between them. “Read your echo again?”

Astrid swears under her breath and confesses, “You’re not the only one keeping secrets.”

*

There’s a private bath and shower off of Atticus’s office. Astrid is washing off the sweat when she hears a knock on the door.

“It’s me,” Quinn says over the rushing water. “Can I come in?”

“In the bathroom or in the shower?”

“Well, if there’s an invitation for the latter…”

The joke loses its impact, knowing they’ve both been keeping secrets. He’d needed a minute and she used the time to clean off and to give him a chance to calm down. She peers around the corner of the shower curtain. He’s still in his workout clothes, leaning against the counter, and although it’s unbelievably tempting, she shakes her head. “I’m thinking that may be a bad idea right now.”

She drops the curtain and steps back under the spray. From the other side he adds, “How did things get so convoluted? I didn’t mean to keep anything from you.”

“Me either,” she says. “Can you hand me my towel?”

A red Elite towel appears at the edge of the stall. She takes it and her fingers skim over his. She hasn’t turned off the water but wraps the cloth around her body and steps out. “You’re up.”

His heart stutters when he sees her, but he doesn’t make a move. He simply kicks off his shoes and pulls his T-shirt over his head. The smell of his sweat and pheromones nearly knocks her off her feet. She can’t help but look at his body. Pure chiseled perfection. She turns her head when he lowers his shorts.

Once he’s behind the curtain and she hears the spray hit his body, she confesses, “Owen and I weren’t just at the house to get his things.”

Quinn stops moving and his pulse sounds like a beacon. “Okay.”

“We were there testing a theory he had about expanding my abilities.”

Still no movement behind the curtain.

“And?”

“And it worked.” She steps into a clean pair of panties and hooks her bra behind her back, adjusting the cups.

“That’s all you did.”

“Yeah, I mean, before those assholes came and shot up the house. We actually made a little progress. The methods we used were a little unconventional,” she says, drying her hair with a towel. “I didn’t want you to worry. Owen’s a bit of a wild card at times but we were completely safe. Sure, at first I was worried, and I knew you’d be pissed about it, but I think it was a risk worth taking.”

The curtain slides back and Quinn, with water dripping down every inch of his toned body, stares at her. Hard.

She reaches for the towel to cover herself but it slips and falls to the ground.

“Astrid, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about taking Pixie Dust to allow my echo to work on Owen.”

He blinks. “You used Pixie Dust?”

“Yes.”

“On purpose.”

“Yes.”

“So tell me,” his arms cross and his jaw tics, “are you insane? Because that sounds insane. Or maybe Owen is insane? Because I’ll happily beat that out of him.”

“Neither of us is insane, Quinn. We took a risk and it worked. With the barrier down, I was able to read Owen.”

He swallows thickly and his eyes graze over her one last time before dropping the curtain. “You read his echo.”

“Yes.” He sounds mad. Is he mad? She’s not sure. There’s just a lot of questions.

“And?”

“And I learned a few things.” She’s not going to tell him what she read on Owen. That’s not her place to say. But she adds, “I managed to alter his emotions by pushing different ones back on him.”

The curtain slides again, swinging back quickly and giving her full view of Quinn’s body. His entire body.

It’s always a shock to realize how big he is. Like all of him. Is really big.

“You altered his emotions?” The stern look before is replaced by something different, genuine curiosity.

“Yes, he was pretty consumed with some dark stuff—things that had happened in his house—and it was painful. I just, I couldn’t take it, and I pushed back. I wanted him to feel better.”

The curtain falls and he vanishes again, but after a moment the water stops and his arm reaches out. Astrid hands him a towel and a second later he appears, wrapped from the waist down, water trickling down every curve and dip of his body.

She’s still in nothing but her underwear and her senses are overwhelmed by the steamy heat coming off his body and the concentrated scent of soap. Heart thumping, she backs into the counter and he approaches her with ease and confidence.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

He’s entirely too hard to resist.

Except he doesn’t make a move. He just reaches for her and pulls her into a tight bear-hug.

“Quinn?” she says, nose pressed into his chest. It’s not a bad place to suffocate.

“I knew you were special, Astrid. I could tell the first time I met you. You’re strong and talented but I didn’t realize how brave. You took a chance with Owen’s idea—a fucking stupid-as-hell idea—but it paid off. And you used it to help him.”

“I want to do it again to find out the truth about him and Demetria at the group home.”

He nods. “I can get behind that, but I want to be there too.”

“I want you there; to be honest, a lot of my memories of those days are mixed up and filled with fear and anxiety.”

“Me too.”

“We were just kids,” she says, leaning into his weight.

“Yep, but now it’s time to face the past so we can do what’s right for the future.

Chapter Seventeen

Quinn

We sit on the floor of the living room, circled up like kids over a Ouija board.

The Pixie Dust is already mixed in the cup of soda, and Astrid and Owen have split the contents. Quinn sits nearby, unwilling to drink on his own—more like a babysitter because of his wariness of the experiment. It’s not a bad idea, though, and probably something they should have considered the first time.

The feeling of Astrid reading his echo isn’t something easily defined. At first, it’s a tickle—if she was feeling a room, it probably wouldn’t be noticeable. But Astrid didn’t just touch his fingertips, she dug deep, probing for something beyond his current emotions. She wanted his echo. His memories. And she pushed her own feelings back on him. It was akin to having her fingers under his skin. She felt what he felt, and he felt it back in return. A circle of energy and emotion; he has no doubt that with a little practice she can become even more powerful.

“Ready?” she asks, holding her hands over his.

They’re not in virgin territory this time. Owen closes his eyes and does his best to clear his head. “Yes.”

Her fingers are cool against his, but warm instantly on contact. He feels the tickle first and the probing second. Then his brain peels apart like an onion.

The backyard is large with a garage in one corner. A basketball hoop hangs on the front, the net ripped and weathered. Music flows from inside the building and there’s the rhythmic clink of metal on metal.

“That’s just Junior lifting weights,” a voice says beside him. “He wants to be the strongest man alive when he grows up. That seems silly to me. Who wants be strong?”

I would, Owen thinks. He’s seen Junior’s muscles. They’re bigger than any he’s ever seen before. He opens pickle jars and carries out the garbage. Ms. Rosalie likes him because he’s nice and doesn’t hurt the kids.

Muscles are something you can control, unlike the darkness that builds in Owen. All he can do is make things disappear. Or change things—usually when he doesn’t want to. The doctor said the shot they gave him would help him control his mind. He doesn’t feel in control, though, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Come on,” she says, tugging his elbow toward the playset in the backyard. The girl with big eyes and pretty brown hair has been working on it, or so she said. “You’ve got to see my ship.”

All Owen sees is the sad-looking wooden structure. There are two working swings, but the slide has a bend in the middle. Demetria pulls a small object out of her pocket. It’s a small plastic boat with white sails. Like a pirate ship.

“Remember the book Ms. Rosalie made us read? About Peter Pan and Captain Hook?”

Owen nods. He didn’t care for it much. He likes comic books.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she says. Her brown eyes get a faraway look. “Having a magical place to escape to. A friend who can fly.” She smiles at him. “I think we can go there.”

“What?” he asks. He knows why Demetria likes him. He showed her what he can do. Their powers are similar. He can change things and she can bring objects to life. Together, they are probably very dangerous.

“I think we can turn this yard into our Neverland. I know we can’t leave. The doctors would find us and Ms. Rosalie would get in trouble, plus there’s cherry pie for dinner and I don’t want to miss that, but we can still make Neverland happen.”

The next moments are a blur of boats and treehouses and mean crocodiles on the ground. They’ve built an entire world in the whole backyard, and she calls him Peter and in return, he names her Wendy.

Owen blinks, his mind yanked back to the present.

“You okay?” Quinn says, his voice cutting through the haze. Owen blinks and finds the man crouched between them.

Astrid nods, but her eyes are pinned to Owen’s.

“That’s all you did,” she says.

“What?” Quinn asks. “What did he do?”

“He played with her. That’s all you did. It’s all she wanted.”

“That’s all?”

“What did you say about her mental illness?” Astrid asks. “She lives in a fantasy? That’s all she needed, someone to go down the rabbit hole with her. When she found you again, maybe she thought she could have it back.”

Owen hasn’t spoken since coming out of his memories. It’s the first thing he’s remembered about his childhood—and it wasn’t bad. Demetria was his friend. Everything feels very confusing.

“Owen?” Astrid asks. She makes an effort not to touch him again. “Are you okay?”

He nods, feeling exposed—raw. The look in Astrid’s eyes knows she understands this. “Thank you for doing that. Hopefully getting to the rest of my memories won’t be so difficult. I will say that going to that place helped me figure out how we’re going to defeat Kincade and keep Demetria in check.”

Quinn perks up. “How?”

“By doing the unthinkable. Doing what your mentors set us up to do. The reason behind all of this.”

“What’s that?” she asks, but she knows. They both do.

“The right thing.”

Chapter Eighteen

Owen

The house is tucked between two vacant lots—both filled with junk, trash, and an obscene amount of drug paraphernalia. Owen adjusts his mask, getting used to the screen in front of his eyes. He’s been wearing it in training, but it’s still weird.

“Stop messing with your domino,” Casper hisses in his ear. “It jerks the camera around. I’m getting vertigo.”

“It’s too tight,” he complains, shifting the elastic strap in the back.

“It’s molded exactly to your face. Echo sent me measurements. The old one was too big.”

“If I get lines on my face…”

“Shut up, you big baby. I’ve never heard a guy—a superhero, at that—complain so freaking much.”

Owen mutters a swear word, tired of the bickering. “Any intel?”

“Echo is across the street. Charger is under the front picture window. I’m getting heat sensors off four people inside. Two aren’t moving, which makes me think they’re the homeowners. Probably tied up.”

“That leaves two home invaders.”

“Yep.” Casper pauses and clicks everyone on the comm. Their faces all appear in the corner of the screen. “I’ve been working on something that can get us better information. Now seems like the time to use it.”

“You better hurry,” Astrid says. “I’m not waiting much longer. We got the call twenty minutes ago.”

Take-out from Pesto’s Pizza had just arrived at the gym when all three phones lit up with an alert. The same push number as last time—a number Casper tracked back to Kincade. He’s now sending them crimes in progress way before the police arrive.

The man has eyes everywhere.

Quinn assumes it’s a test, so they suited up and got down to the middle of the Swamp as fast as possible. Home invasion. Shots fired. It was their job to save the day, or rather prove themselves to that slimy bastard Kincade.

“Give me two minutes.”

“We don’t have that long,” Quinn whispers.

“Deal with it,” Casper says.

The whirring sound comes from overhead, Owen jumps, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. A small, card-sized triangle zips through the air.

“Is that you?” he asks.

Casper laughs. “Yep. A recon drone.”

Footage runs in the corner of his eye mask. The others can see it too. The goblin is right, the information is priceless. From the window, the crime scene is visible. A woman and a man, tied to a chair. The man is bleeding. The woman crying. And a young boy squirms in her lap.

“Fuck. A kid,” Astrid mutters. “That information would have been helpful, Kincade.”

“It’s almost like he wants us to fail,” Owen adds.

With the new information, a plan unfolds, and he takes his spot at the back of the house. They’ll come in at once. Quinn will blow the lights. Astrid will track their movements with her senses and he’ll do what he does best—mess with their heads.

Owen’s screen goes blank, giving him full visualization. He’s on the back step, careful not to trip over a tricycle, when the fuses blow. Voices raise inside the house and he hears the glass break at the same time he kicks in the door. Running in the room, he flicks his hands, altering the guns--at least to the invaders’ eyes--from weapons into a ball of spiders.

“Ah!” one yells, dropping the gun on the ground. The mother and child scream. The spiders scatter and the gun returns to shape. The invader and Quinn lock eyes and they both dive for it.

The other guy, bald, ugly, and with a crappy tattoo on his neck, flinches but doesn’t drop his gun. He aims it at Owen and fires. Owen ducks and pulls the two blades from his waist. He’s been practicing on his own, figuring out how to make these weapons work with his ability. A blade isn’t always a blade, he realized. It’s just an object that he can alter.

His move is fluid, one knife cuts along the wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. The other alters mid-air, shifting from a blade to a weighted rope. It twists around his legs until the thug falls, landing hard on his back.

Astrid grabs the gun and tosses it to him and he holds it over the intruder’s face.

Quinn has his opponent face down in the carpet, hands behind his back. He jerks his chin. Everyone is secure.

“Casper, call the police,” she says, untying the victims. She bends over the boy and takes his hands, gloves off.

“It’s going to be okay,” she tells the kid. Her voice is calm, only skips once as she gains her strength. Her eyes connect with Owen’s and he nods. She can do this. Make the scene better instead of worse. “You’re going to be okay. The bad guys are gone. Your mom and dad are safe.”

“Are you one of the superheroes?” he asks, touching her mask.

She smiles and holds his fingers. “I’m just trying to help. We all are.”

Police sirens wail. They don’t need to be there when they arrive. That’s definitely not part of the deal with Kincade.

“What’s your name,” the kid asks when Astrid releases him. There’s no doubt he feels better—that she channeled his fear and turned it into something else.

“I’m Echo,” she says, then looks at Owen and Quinn. “And we’re the Elite.”

*

Two days have passed since the home invasion and the gym is under siege by the media.

There’s no one to blame but Astrid, and she knows it.

The Elite.

That’s what she told that kid in the Swamp the other night, and they told either the police or the media and by the next morning, every news station in Crescent City was banging on the gym door.

“Why doesn’t one of us have the ability to reverse time?” she asks, pacing in front of the television. She cancelled her sessions for the day and has been up in the apartment compulsively watching the news.

“That would be cool,” Owen says from the bathroom in the hallway. He’s shirtless, standing over the sink. Shaving cream covers half of his chin and cheek. He tried doing it with the door closed, but Astrid kept yelling questions at him or the TV and he gave up any sense of privacy.

The whirr comes from the kitchen, drowning out any reply. Owen rinses his razor and takes a deep breath.

Quinn is in the kitchen, firing up the blender. Every three minutes the machine whirrs, interrupting the talking news heads and their quest for the truth.

Astrid appears in the doorway. “What did you say?”

“I said that the ability to reverse time would be cool. Also, you did fine with the reporters.”

Her eyes widen in horror. “Dude, no I didn’t.”

“Yes you did.” He drops the razor and grabs the remote from her hand and rewinds it to one of the interviews being shown on constant replay. He presses the button and the scene unfolds:

Astrid stands in front of the gym, her hair long and hanging over her shoulders. She’s wearing a black gym T-shirt and manages to keep her nerves in check. “Atticus started the gym with the hopes of helping the best athletes with their training. The result was dozens of graduates from his programs that have entered into a variety of careers. Do I think a few of them are out there fighting crime, unofficially under our name? I have no idea, but it would be pretty cool.”

The remote is snatched out of his hand and she presses the mute button before tossing it on the couch. It lands an inch from Harry Styles, who hisses at her, and Owen can’t help but laugh at the cat.

“Oh Harry,” she says with a sigh, reaching down and picking him up. She snuggles him close to her chest. Harry eyes him with smug contempt. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Man, he hates that cat.

The blender revs up again and they both glare over at the kitchen. Quinn is in the zone, tossing kale and spinach and yogurt into the container. Astrid makes a face like she’s about to barf.

“Do you have to make all that noise?” she asks him.

He looks up. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m almost done.”

The cat squirms from her arms and she lets him go. He walks into the bathroom, grazing Owen’s legs. He fights a grimace and focuses on shaving. It’s not like he can go around with half his face clean.

Astrid watches him in the mirror and he tries his damnedest not to get distracted. It’s harder and harder though, being trapped in these cramped quarters.

Like the couch. It’s not just a couch—it’s also Owen’s bed. Yeah, he’s still sleeping in the living room. The three of them are living in a small apartment made for two. A girl and her guardian. Not a full-grown woman and two men, one who takes up the space of a gorilla. All of them burning with adrenaline, super powers, and hormones.

As the days pass, Owen can’t help but notice their differences. Astrid is a freaking disaster. Messy, sloppy, eats like a twelve-year-old boy. Quinn is obsessed with health, exercise, and work. And Owen? He’s not used to being around this many people, or a cat.

Especially not the cat.

He eyes Harry, who is now sitting on the back of the toilet watching him shave. He has an audience even for this. He doesn’t mind the gorgeous blonde in her endless tank tops and form-fitting yoga pants. Things haven’t changed since they kissed that night after they went bowling. They’ve been too busy. It’s too crowded. Another dude lives here and he’s pretty sure she kisses him too—if not more.

Seriously, the whole thing is getting confusing. Add in the stress of Kincade, the publicity, and the tight living situation…it’s getting to him.

“Are you okay?” Astrid asks. He must have sighed out loud.

“Feeling antsy, I guess.” He finishes up and rinses off his face. Pulling his shirt over his head, he almost runs into Quinn. He finally poured his smoothie into a glass. “Sorry man.”

From the tight set of his shoulders, Owen has a feeling it’s getting to him, too.

They either need a mission or someone needs to get laid.

He’s willing to volunteer for either.

The news comes back from commercial and Astrid’s face appears again.

“Agghhhhh! Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” she yells at the screen, clenching the remote in her hand. She pulls back like she’s about to throw it and Owen and Quinn jump toward her. If she breaks the TV, they may really all lose their minds.

Owen lunges over the couch, reaching for the remote. Quinn drops his smoothie and tackles her. Astrid fights back, sliding off the couch with a shriek and rolls on her belly.

“Hand it over, As,” Quinn says, grabbing her legs. Owen goes for her arms, which are tucked under her body. She squirms away, dropping a series of curses.

“Man, you have a filthy mouth,” he says, smiling at the woman.

They battle for a minute longer but it’s two against one and he’s got Quinn on his side. Owen manages to get his fingers on the remote and after another intense struggle, pries it out of her grip. She flips on her back, breathing heavy, her hair a complete mess. Damn, she’s freaking beautiful, and he stares at her a minute too long.

“I’m not giving this back,” he says, shoving the remote in his back pocket.

Quinn sits back on his heels. “I think we may all need to get out and do something.”

He laughs. “You think?”

“Don’t make me go out there. At least during the day,” Astrid says. The press has been hovering outside the door.

“Any ideas?” Owen asks.

“Yeah,” Astrid says, pushing to her knees. “You know, I think maybe I do.”

Chapter Nineteen

Quinn

Astrid leads them down to the hallway that leads to the locker rooms off of the main gym. She uses a key to unlock the door and it takes them directly to another set of stairs.

“How big is this place anyway?” Owen asks, closing the door behind us. She doesn’t reply but climbs the flight of stairs leading to another door at the top. She opens that with a different key and stops in the doorway.

“Back when Atticus first started the gym and the Elite program, he had an idea to house the participants. He started converting this space into dormitories.” She walks down the hallway, flipping on lights. Rooms shoot off of each side. Six in all. They’re not big, but adequate for a single or bunk beds. A bit further on, she turns on the lights to a larger room.

“A game room?” Owen asks, walking directly over to a pool table. He grabs a stick off the rack on the wall. “You had a game room the whole time and never said anything.”

“I know it sounds stupid, but I forgot about it,” she says, shrugging. “We never came up here. Atticus started the program before he took me in. Once I started living with him, he felt like he didn’t have time to pursue this angle of the program.”

The room is the width of the building. A pool and foosball table are on one side. Several couches are on the other. A massive TV hangs on the wall and several video game consoles rest underneath. All are outdated but look to be in good condition.

“Come on,” she says, and Owen hangs the pool stick back on the rack.  Quinn walks next to her and pushes open a door.

“Kitchen?”

“Yep, and a dining area.” She points to a long table that will easily seat twelve. “Then there’s also this.”

Quinn walks to the open space at the opposite end of the building. Mats cover the floor and walls. There’s a rack of weights and dumbbells. “Is this a training room?”

“It was supposed to be. It’s not totally finished but it’s usable.”

“This is amazing,” Owen says. “The whole thing—it’s twice as big as your apartment.”

“Yeah,” she says. “And even more private. I’m thinking maybe we can start training up here—testing our powers.”

Quinn raises his eyebrow. He doesn’t like the idea of her using Pixie Dust again, but a safe place to experiment? It’s not a bad idea.

“So what do you think?” she asks them both.

“I think training up here is a great idea,” Owen says. “Also, I’d be down with having my own room. Or you know, a bed.”

“It may take a little work getting it cleaned up and furnished, but yeah, you can totally stay up here.”

“Awesome,” he breaks into a grin. “Because the couch was nice and everything, but I could use a little space. Also? I need a door to keep your cat away from me at night.”

Astrid frowns. “What are you talking about?”

“Harry stares at me at night. He comes in and just watches me. It’s freaking me out.”

She and Quinn share a look, her eyes wide with amusement, and she bursts out laughing. “Dude, it’s a cat.”

“Yes, and he’s always freaked me out. Even when we were kids, he would attack my feet when I walked by the porch.”

“Wait, what?” Quinn asks. Owen stops and blinks. “What did you say about the cat?”

“I said that even when we were kids…”

“You remember Harry from the group home?” Astrid asks.

“Yeah, uh…” His face pales. “I remember the backyard and Harry as a kitten. And the screen door when it slammed shut. Shit, shit.” He clutches his head. “I remember that kid with the fireball and the one lifting weights.”

“Junior and Devin,” Quinn says.

“Junior! He was in the garage in the memory I had with Demetria.” Owen faces him, fingers still tugging at his hair. “I remember you fucking with the lights. Setting off all the alarms.”

Astrid stands between them, clenching her hands into tight fists. It’s clear she’s agitated but it’s probably from the wave of emotions coming off of Owen. Even Quinn can feel it.

“You okay?” Quinn asks, putting his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t acknowledge him, instead keeps her focus on Owen.

“Do you remember me?” she asks.

Owen shakes his head. “No.”

The information leaves her visibly shaken.

“It’ll come,” Quinn tells her, pulling her in for a hug. He smiles at Owen. “Who knew a cat would be the thing to bring your memory back?”

“Trauma, probably,” he jokes. “I think it’s going to take me a minute to process all of this.”

Overwhelmed, Owen walks down the hall, poking around the game room and empty bedrooms. Quinn hasn’t taken his arm from around Astrid’s shoulders, but when the other man is far enough away he says, “What’s bothering you so much? I’m sure the memory will come. His brain my not be able to handle any more right now.”

She walks into the kitchen and opens cabinets, checking to see what’s inside. They’re mostly stocked with pots, pans, and whatever else people would need. She leans against the counter and crosses her arms.

“I guess I wanted to feel that connection like I have with you and Casper. The fact our relationship goes back so far—that our experiences were similar.” He’s standing inches away, almost pinning her to the counter. She splays her right hand over his heart, which she has made clear always races when he’s near her. “It’s hard not having bonds with people. No family. No long-term friends. But what we have is special, like really special, and I just want to have that with him too.”

He wraps his hand around her slim waist. “Today was progress. He does remember and soon he’ll get a vision of that scrawny girl in three hats and wonder how the hell he ever forgot.”

She tilts her head and smiles. “I wasn’t that scrawny.”

“You were ridiculously small. A brisk wind could blow you away.” He presses his forehead to hers. “I think you wore all those clothes to weigh you down.”

His hips are against hers, and there’s no denying his attraction to her. She does this to him, makes him hard and unbelievably horny. Astrid’s body responds, her nipples peaking under her shirt. He sighs. Having Owen around in that small apartment makes it hard to find a chance to be together.

“Maybe we should all move up here,” he says. “Give us all a little more space.”

“You think?”

“You want to build connections? Increase your power?” He bends his head and kisses her slow, hoping to give her a little reassurance. “A little one-on-one time between all of us is more likely to happen up here, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Owen says from the door. They both look up in surprise, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “I really do. But I have one request?”

“What’s that?” Astrid makes no attempt to move away from Quinn and smiles at the man in the door.

“For the love of god, do not bring that cat up here. I can’t take it.”

Chapter Twenty

Astrid

The cold air burns her lungs and her muscles are tight, but the blue sky overhead is worth the discomfort.

She had to get out of that building.

After two more days of media circus, Quinn placed Mick at the front entrance of the gym. Once it’s clear she’s not doing any more interviews and they’re not getting past her new guard, the reporters give up. It doesn’t hurt, Casper tells her, that the President threatened to bomb an ally country, giving Astrid a reprieve and the media a new focus.

With Quinn and Owen busy working on their new living and training quarters, and Astrid’s new recruit class not starting for another few weeks, she decided it was time to stop hiding and get some fresh air.

She’s finishing up her second down the Harbor Line when a silver car slows beside her. Dammit, she thinks, if a reporter steps out of that car or a camera flashes in her face, Jensen will have to use his leverage to get her out of jail.

Because she’s not holding back.

At the end of the block she gets in a tight spot, forced to either wait to cross a busy road or turn back. Neither is a good option with the car idling next to her. If only she had Quinn with her so he could mess up the cross walk. With her eyes away from the car, she decides to turn around and run back down the road.

She times it well, right when the light changes, and ducks between a few pedestrians and circles a baby stroller. A dog sniffs at her feet and she makes the turn quick, dashing back the way she came. The car is stuck at the traffic light.

Her heart pounds and the sound of the engine fades; she dares a glance over her shoulder and sees that the light has changed. A horn blares, demanding the silver car go. She smiles, laughs actually, and crashes into a brick wall.

“Mother effer!” she shouts, falling backwards. A pair of strong hands keeps her from landing on her ass. She’s struck dumb at the sight of the man. Sheer physical perfection. His face, his light brown hair, the muscles of his arms strained and bulging as he holds her. His teeth are perfectly straight. Not a scar or wrinkle mars his face. His heart rate is a steady beat, cool and calm. And his smell. God, he smells like rain on a summer day. The instant after an orgasm. Cookies.

He’s an alien, maybe. Or a supermodel, and instantly her guard drops.

Terrible mistake.

“Astrid Petta?”

“Yes. That’s me.” Her voice comes out a breathy whisper. It’s like it’s physically impossible to lie to him. He’s the embodiment of good.

“My boss has requested to see you.”

“Sure,” she replies, her senses knocked completely out of her. She stands. His hand is on her elbow, holding her steady. “Uh, who is your boss?”

His face gives away nothing but he does answer. “Demetria Holmes.”

*

The car ride is quiet. As is the entry through the building’s garage and ride in the elevator. Astrid has never been in the WIND-E Corp building, but she does feel her running tights and sweaty hoodie are probably not standard dress for executive offices.

“Should I go home and change?” she asks Mr. Perfect, knowing it’s a stupid question. “I’m a little gross. You know, from the run. I’m sure you’re familiar with this—working out. You work out, right?”

What has this man done to her?

He keeps his eyes on the elevator doors. “Ms. Holmes won’t mind. She’s very eager to meet with you.”

The elevator bell chimes, declaring they’d reached their floor, the twenty-third. She grabs on to his arm and says, “Does she know who I am? Like who I really am?”

He smiles. It’s kind and she’s pretty sure he’s not a supervillain. Or maybe she’s just sure that he’s pretty. God, he’s pretty.

The lobby stretches across one side of the building, giving a wide view of the city sprawling below. Along another wall are photos of WIND-E’s most popular toys. Rainbow-colored unicorns. Glittery fairies. All things Astrid has seen in the aisles at the store. One unicorn catches her eye in particular and she’s checking it out when the receptionist says, “She’s waiting on you.”

“Thank you, Marissa.”

“You’re welcome, Draco.”

Draco. Of course his name is something bad-ass like Draco.

She follows and just before they enter, she acknowledges to herself that she should be nervous. But she’s not. She’s excited about seeing her old friend. Her only friend way back when things were scary.

The step across the threshold stops Astrid cold.

Holy shit.

Demetria’s office is…her. Totally her—well, at least the twelve-year-old girl that Astrid knew. The walls are painted a shiny silver. Glitter is infused with the paint, giving it a sparkly sheen. Tall columns stand in each corner of the room, wrapped in rainbow-colored silk. Massive glass cases line the walls holding every toy WIND-E has ever produced. Tiny figurines, lunch boxes, backpacks, and everything in between.

“Draco,” a familiar, comforting voice says. “Thank you for being so prompt.”

Astrid peers around his hulking figure to see Demetria standing behind a massive purple and pink desk. A pink velvet chair sits behind her and frames line the wall. Astrid, ignoring the woman she came to see, stares at the pictures.

“You drew those,” she finally says, looking at Demetria.

“I did.”

“You drew every day. All day. Those hung in our room.”

“Ones like it, yes.” Demetria smiles, as if enjoying the memory. Her smile is calming, peaceful. A shock of undeniable grief rolls through Astrid’s body. Demetria moves from behind the desk and walks around it. “Obviously the originals were destroyed, but I’ve always saved as many things I could. I think it comes from losing my home—twice.”

Without warning, she takes Astrid’s gloved hands in her own.

“Thank you for your assistance, Draco. You may leave.”

“My pleasure,” Mr. Perfect says, leaving the room.

“I thought you died that day,” she says to Demetria, holding back a sob. She’s not sure why this is making her so emotional. “And then I saw you at the Gala and everything was so crazy.”

“Darling, come sit, I know this is a lot for you.” She directs Astrid to a sitting area across the spacious room. More velvet, this time purple. The chairs have gold fringe hanging from the bottom. A tea set sits on the table and Demetria pours her a cup.  Astrid picks up the cup and takes a sip. Anything to calm her nerves.

“How did you know how to find me?” she finally asks.

“I’ve known there were others with unexplained powers around for a while. I’d heard about the vigilantism in the Swamp. Obviously the attack on my Pixie Dust warehouse. But at the Gala, I knew for sure. Things did not go as planned that night. It was unfortunate.”

Between Astrid, Owen, and Quinn, they made certain of that.

“But when you approached me at the Gala and took my hand in the dark I felt something. A kinship. We shared something in that group home, Astrid, a bond no one else can explain. I felt you. I sensed the others. But when the lights turned back on, you were gone.”

She pauses to drink from her own cup of tea before continuing. “I knew for certain when I watched the news the other night. The child from the home invasion explained it perfectly. That a superhero saved him. She touched his hands and all the bad things went away. I knew it was you.”

“Why?” She’d only recently tapped into that power.

“Oh, Astrid, even as a little kid you had a lack of awareness of your strengths. You used that skill at the group home.”

“I did?”

“Of course. More than once you settled my mind and helped me go to sleep. You brought peace to Rosalie when she was about to pull her hair out. You controlled the moods of the house—good and bad.”

An uneasy feeling builds in her chest. “Bad?”

Demetria laughs. “Oh yes, bad. Your anxiety was through the roof when you first came. The entire house was on edge. The others acted out. The boys harassed one another. The girls became catty and insecure. I sunk into my toys and drawing just to escape the noise.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me. I was definitely a basket case.” She holds the tea cup in her hands.

Demetria smiles. “Me too. But it did get better and you helped us, so when I heard about this little boy who went from terrified in one moment to peaceful in the next, I had a feeling I’d finally found you.”

Astrid looks around the room. At the toys and drawings. The grandeur and scenic view over the Harbor Line. “I don’t understand what you’re doing, Demetria. I don’t get the Pixie Dust and the attempt to steal from the patrons at the Gala. You have so much here. You’re wealthy, smart, talented. You’re a famous and important CEO. You want to help your community but why the drugs? The theft?”

Demetria places her cup on the table and gives her a reassuring smile. Or tries to. “My mother was killed when I was a kid. Just like yours. I was taken, housed and tested on. My body was manipulated. My mind probed. They tried very hard to turn me into a weapon. You, too.”

“Tried, Demetria. They didn’t succeed. Look at you, everything you do makes people happy. You fight for the people in the Swamp. You’re a good person.”

“Thank you. I think that I am, but I’m scared, Astrid. What if they did turn some of us into weapons? What if they come back and try to kill us. What if they turn us on one another?” Her voice raises as she speaks. “The people that did this to us are still out there. The doctors and organizers behind Project 12. They live in this city, in the shadows. They’re wealthy. Powerful.”

“That seems a little dramatic.”

She chuckles. “They’re hunting us, do you know that?”

“I do. They killed my mentor as well as the mentors of the others I’ve been working with. But we’re strong and we’re working together.”

“Yes. I see you’ve been collecting my Lost Boys.” He tone shifts, as does her scent. Jealousy. “Are they well? Happy?”

“They’re not lost and they aren’t boys, Demetria. They’re men. And yes, they’re trying to rebuild their lives. But none of us are set on vengeance. That was not the aspiration of our mentors.”

She leans back in her purple chair, crossing her long legs. She wears a skirt made of shimmery chiffon. The fairy pin Quinn described is on her shoulder. “When you realize how foolish you are, you’re welcome to come home. Neverland is always open for the Lost Boys and Wendy will always be here to take care of them. Tell me, how is Peter?”

“You mean Owen? He’s better.”

“He was my favorite you know.” She leans in conspiratorially. “He can fly, you know.”

Oh jeez. Astrid now understands the psych evaluation a little better and as much as it saddens her, there’s also something terrifying about it. She doesn’t argue, instead she changes the subject.

“I’m glad you tracked me down because there is something going on that I think you’ll be interested in.”

She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“We have a common enemy who is trying his best to take down the swamp. Brutus Kincade.”

“Bastard,” Demetria spats. “He approached you? What does he want? Your gym?”

“Blackmailed is the more accurate word.”

Her eyes narrow and her hands clench. Her nails are painted hot pink with rhinestones on the tips. “He wants my buildings—I’m fighting with the city right now to keep that property away from him. Code violations,” she mutters. “He wants to get rid of all of the affordable housing in the Swamp.”

“I know. And he wants me and my team to help him clean up the area or my building will be next.”

Demetria studies me for a moment, her mind running faster than a hamster on a wheel. She sits up straight and there’s no mistaking the gleam in her eye. “This may be the perfect opportunity for us to work together, Astrid. A common enemy and a mutual goal. Together, we’ll bring down Kincade and protect the less fortunate in the Swamp.”

“I’m down with that,” Astrid agrees. “But I’m going to need some assurances from you.”

The woman eyes her skeptically. It’s obvious she’s not used to making deals. “What do you want?”

“You have to promise to leave my team,” she swallows, “the Lost Boys alone. You have to leave the gym and programs alone. And this is a one-time arrangement. We’re not joining up with you, not while you have a vendetta.”

She pouts. “Fine. I’ll leave the Lost Boys alone.” She looks up at me under her thick lashes and holds out her hand. “Deal?”

With only the slightest hesitation they shake, Demetria’s firm hand against Astrid’s gloved one. “Deal.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Demetria

Before

They found her with blood on her hands. She was in the yard playing with a doll, a marble, a rusty Matchbook car, and a chipped cup from a child’s tea set.

“Miranda,” she said to the doll. “It’s time for your nap.” The baby’s glass eyes fluttered and she yawned. Demetria wrapped her in a dirty blanket and cradled the doll in her arms.

The blood was dry but sticky.

She heard the men in the house. She knew one uniformed woman stood by the back door keeping an eye on her. She’d given her a purple lollipop and told her not to come inside. The police officers would check on her mother.

Demetria knew her mother was dead. She’d watched as her eyes glazed over and she slid to the floor from her spot at the kitchen table. The girl waited to see if it was like the other times when she’d used the white powder to feel better.

It wasn’t.

Her mother was dead. No matter how hard Demetria tried to force her to come back. To smile. To stand. To walk. It didn’t work.

She heard the rattle of the van before she saw it. A frazzled woman stepped out in a brown skirt and blue cardigan. Her hair was brown-messy—and pulled back behind her head. Demetria knew this was the person coming to get her. She’d have to leave her home. Probably the Swamp. There was no way they’d let her stay here. Not with what she can do—her mother always knew that. She’d say, “Be careful, little one, they won’t want you to have powers like that.”

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.

“They’ll be here in a minute,” he says, easing into the desk chair.

“That took you a while, everything go okay?”

Quinn grunts but doesn’t elaborate. He’d gone to the dormitory looking for Owen. Instead he found the two of them undressed and on the bed. That wasn’t what gave him pause though, it was hearing Astrid’s confession about using her hands. And Owen’s understanding she’d been with Quinn, too.

Whatever arrangement this is forming between the three of them is something different they’ll have to get used to. Or at least, he will.

He looks up to see Casper, or rather his avatar staring at him. “What?”

“Caught them boning, didn’t you?”

“Dude, no.” He exhales. “Shut up.”

“Look, you and I both know Astrid has developed a strong connection to you both. She needs that kind of relationship—supportive men that get her.” His voice lowers and becomes more serious than he’s heard it in a while. “Don’t let her down.”

“I’m not planning on it.”

“Good.” The video boots up on screen. “Don’t be too much of a dick about this, either—not until you hear what she has to say.”

“She got in a car with a stranger. It could have been anyone. What if Kincade sent one of his ghouls after her?”

“She’s not an idiot. She’s got good instincts and can kick ass if she needs to.”

“Did you see the size of that guy?”

“Yeah,” Casper admits. “He’d be hard to take down, but she’s still not stupid.”

Quinn feels the anger from before flaring up again. He can take a lot of things. Astrid with another man. Watching her climb into a burning building and running toward trouble. But this video makes him uncomfortable. Going off alone with a stranger and not telling him about it has triggered his protective nature.

The door swings open and Astrid walks in, hair clean but still damp. She’s got on her hoodie—shit—she’s probably preparing to hunker down in that thing. Owen walks in behind him and their eyes meet. Quinn nods, letting him know everything is good. Astrid may need both of their support, but that means they have to get on the same page.

“Okay,” Owen says, “Let’s see this film.”

Casper remotely starts the footage. Quinn has already seen it and instead watches Astrid. Her arms are crossed defensively. Owen watches the video with rapt interest, elbows propped on his knees. It’s not until the part at the end where she’s in the car with the bodyguard laughing that he straightens up and says, “Wait, were you flirting with that guy?”

“No.” Astrid scowls. “And what the hell, Cas? Stop being a buggy little pervert.”

The video stops. Casper says, “Look, I’m not going to lie. I’ve got every camera on public property rigged so that I can keep track of the city. I have photo recognition running on you guys, Kincade, Demetria, Jensen, and any of their known associates. I’m not being perverted. I’m being smart. It’s my job to watch, to wait, and to listen.”

“I agree it’s intrusive,” Quinn says. “But right now, with things so tense, it’s important we take every precaution. We’ve had a few death threats and the attempt at Owen’s house. Someone has to keep an eye on us when we’re out on the street.”

“Are you ready to hear my side of it now?” she asks.

“Yep. Go for it,” Owen says, leaning back in his seat.

“You saw how they cornered me. And you also saw how big that guy was. There was no getting past him, and when he said Demetria wanted to talk to me, I was curious.” She shoves her hands in the front pocket of the hoodie. “First of all, Quinn, you were right. Girlfriend lives in a straight-up fairytale. You wouldn’t believe her office. It’s like a rainbow-unicorn-fairy vomited in there and then coated the entire place in glitter.”

He can’t help but laugh. “Sounds about right.”

“She’s batshit, but I’m not sure she’s a lost cause. I told her about Kincade and what he wants us to do for him. We agreed to work together.”

“Excuse me?” Owen asks. “You did what?”

“We made an agreement,” she says. “We’ll keep the Swamp safe, help her prove he’s trying to steal her properties on the Harbor Line, and she’ll get Kincade off our back.”

“And what do we get?” Casper asks.

There’s a pause. The slightest hesitation. Her eyes flick between us. “She said she’d back off. Let us do our business and she’ll keep the crazy on a moderate level. No more Pixie Dust or attempts to fleece the rich like at the gala.”

Quinn can’t help but push. “Anything else?”

“She’ll stay away from you. All of you. No more of this Lost Boy shit.”

“While I appreciate you negotiating for us, there’s a huge problem here. You’ve got to commit to being more open with communication—like immediately. No more secret meetings or making deals without everyone involved.”  Quinn settles his eyes on Astrid, knowing he’s being harsh and acting like an authoritarian dick, but risking her life isn’t acceptable. “Trust is the only way this team is going to work. The only, fucking, way.”

“Got it, boss,” Owen says. Quinn checks his expression for sarcasm but there is none. He seems to agree completely.

Astrid sighs. “I made a call. I don’t regret it, but I could have looped you in faster.”

“Aww,” Casper says. “You guys should hug it out. Like, really squeeze the shit out of her.”

“Shut up, Goblin,” Quinn says. “Or I’ll mute you.”

“I’ll override it.”

He opens his mouth to retort but a blip sounds from the computer and an aerial map pops up in the corner. It’s a city map, and from a quick glance it looks to be the Harbor Line. Red circles one of the buildings. “Not another fire,” Owen says with a groan.

“Not yet,” Casper says. “I put cameras on all of Demetria’s holdings to keep us ahead of Kincade. This is an abandoned school WIND-E has slated to revitalize as a charter school for the area. My alarm triggers if someone is inside. That one has been going off for the last hour. I think it’s just a bunch of kids tagging the walls or something. But it won’t hurt to suit up and head down there.”

“Sounds good,” Astrid says, already out of her chair. Owen has already moved to the changing room. Quinn reaches for her hand and holds her back.

“Are we okay?”

She nods. “I know you’re just being protective. It’s your nature.”

“You do?”

“I can smell it on you, Quinn. I have since day one. It’s comforting.” She smiles. “And a huge pain in the ass.”

She pushes up on her toes, giving him a quick kiss on the lips before going to change. Following her, Quinn notes the irony in the fact that for all of his worries, she’s the one that steadies him.

Chapter Twenty-four

Astrid

“Great, an abandoned school. Nothing can go wrong here.”

“Scared?” Quinn asks Owen.

“No, I’m not scared,” he replies, “But if something is going to go wrong, it’s in that building. Every horror movie ever told me so.”

Astrid has also seen enough episodes of The X-Files and Supernatural to know he’s right. The dark, broken windows. The chain link over the front door, cut down the middle so people can sneak in and out. Abandoned school is high on the list of terrifying locations, third down the list from an asylum and theme park.

The building is historic, which gives it an even spookier feel. Two stories with a large brick stairway leading to the front door. The windows are huge and during the daytime probably provide a lot of light. Unfortunately, it’s almost midnight and there’s no moon overhead. Owen and Quinn carry flashlights attached to their jackets. Astrid has a small one but with her enhanced eyesight she has no problem seeing.

“Casper’s right,” she says. “It’s probably just a kid’s tagging walls.”

“Thank you, Astrid,” Casper says over the com.

“And it’s dangerous for them to be in here so we should flush them out,” she adds. “Split up?”

Owen shakes his head. “You’re determined to set off the horror movie gods aren’t you? Thank god none of us are still a virgin.”

“What?” Quinn asks.

“In a horror movie, the virgin is always the first to get killed,” he says, smirking at Quinn. “Although it’s probably a good thing Casper isn’t actually here.”

“Hey!” he shouts, blasting their ears. Astrid winces and holds her hand to her ear.

“Don’t do that ever again,” she says to Casper. Then shoots Owen a glare. “And you’re not funny and your punishment for not being funny is to go first.”

Quinn holds back the chain link fence so Owen can slip through. She follows and runs up the steps and into the lobby of the old building. Offices sit on both sides along with long-empty trophy cases. A few murals are still visible beneath the peeling paint. Astrid never went to school. Neither did the others. It’s like walking into a relic of time.

“Crescent City Cavaliers,” Owen reads. The words and mascot are painted on the wall.

Ancient signs hang on the wall. Old but probably still accurate. She points. “Owen, take the hall to the right. Quinn, left. I’ll hit the library and gym.”

“That sounds really stupid,” Owen says. The tense lines on Quinn’s forehead says he agrees.

“Casper?” she asks, “Can you see us? Any concerns?”

“Nope. I’m not even getting any heat sensors other than you guys, but if you stay out of the cafeteria and avoid the ghost of mystery meat stew, you’ll be fine.”

Owen mutters a curse under his breath but heads off.

Quinn leans over and kisses her forehead for luck and does the same.

As their footsteps fade, she opens the door to the library. The books are long gone although the furnishings never were removed. A few sagging posters and faded bulletin boards still cling to the wall. The smell of chemicals hits her nose. Fresh.

“I’m scenting something,” she tells Casper. “Toxic.”

“Spray paint?” he asks. It’s logical. “If they’re tagging inside with no ventilation, then it’s going to get pretty smelly in there.”

A glint of silver flashes on the walls. She notices the paint then. A blocky signature across the back wall. “Yeah, they’ve been here.”

She passes through the room until she finds a door on the other side. It leads to another hall. A sign points to the gym. The chemical smell is still strong but out here she finds evidence of tagging; brightly colored graffiti coats the walls. The images are amazing—little anime-style characters. It’s impressive work. A sound tickles her ears. “I hear something.”

“Hold on,” Casper says, fussing with his systems. Her screen pops up. Fuzzy bodies move behind the wall ahead. “I’m counting four. Wait outside the door. I’ll call the others.”

She follows his directions and waits, listening to the voices inside the gym. There’s laughter. Some of it high-pitched while still male. Teens. Astrid tugs on her light, flipping it on. She shines it down the hallway, looking at the artwork again.

The smell is awful.

She pulls off her gloves and touches the surface. Sticky—almost wet. She holds her fingers to her nose and flinches from the toxicity.

“Echo,” Quinn says over the com. “Location?”

“South exit.”

“Pan?”

“Stage entry.”

“Charger is in the gym lobby,” Casper says. “Be quiet and careful. Remember, they’re probably kids. But they could be armed.”

“I do not want to be on the news for hurting teenagers, okay?” Astrid reminds them. “That is not the kind of PR any of us need right now.”

On the count of three, they enter the gym.

The kids are completely involved with their project, unaware that anyone else is in the room. They’ve got the bleachers pushed back and use the flat surface as a wall. Lights are clamped to the top of the stairs and a few lanterns sit along the floor. The scent of weed lingers over the spray paint.

“Shit,” Owen says.

“What?” she asks quietly. None of them have made a move.

“Look at the painting.”

It’s a city—their city—complete with the harbor and landmarks along the way. Astrid sees the park and then her gym. In the middle, high above the others, is the WIND-E building. A unicorn flies overhead. She steps closer, trying to get a better view. That’s when she spots the people.

Not just people.

Her team.

Anime-like characters like the ones in the hall stand out to her, dressed in their super suits and brandishing their weapons. It’s an incredible rendering even if it’s supposed to mock them. Her foot hits something and the sound of metal spins across the wooden floor.

She doesn’t even have time to react to her mistake before Owen and Quinn are by her side. The kids turn, startled from the racing of their heartbeats.

“Dude,” one says when he sees the trio. “It’s them.”

“He said they’d come,” another says.

“Who?” Quinn asks, his fingers twitching.

Astrid shoots him a look. “Don’t mess with your energy. There’s so much wet paint in here it could spark.”

Fuck.

“I think you guys need to get out of there,” Casper says. “Look at the bottom of the buildings.”

She narrows her eyes and sees it. Flames lick the bottom of everything on the mural. The buildings, the unicorns, and the heroes.

The kids take their distraction as an opportunity. Three scatter to the left. One to the right. “Don’t let them get away,” she says. “Someone got them to do this. And we need proof.”

There’s no hesitation with their roles. This is where their teamwork shines. Casper gives them each individual information and Astrid follows the kid she’s chasing through a set of doors into stairwell. He races down the cement steps, his long legs creating a distance between them. She looks over the railing. Three floors below. She slings her legs over the side and drops, falling and falling until she uses her hands to slow her speed. With her knees bent on landing, she stands two feet away from her runaway.

“Holy shit, Echo,” Casper cackles in her ear. She ignores him and grabs the kid, who is already turning back up the stairs.

Pushing him against the wall, his brown hair flops in his eyes. “Who told you to paint that?”

“Nobody. Artist interpretation.”

“Bullshit,” she says. The images were too specific. “You can tell me, or I’ll make you tell me.”

“No offense, but he’s way scarier than you are.”

With dread she holds him against the wall with one hand and pulls her glove off with her teeth. His eyes are wide and confused when she takes his dirty, paint-stained hand in hers.

“Don’t worry,” she tells him. “This won’t hurt.”

Fear. Panic.

That’s what he feels now. She needs to know the other stuff. The echo of his memory. She pushes in deeper.

Laughing. Stoned. Tagging Under a Bridge. A face. Black hair. Pale skin. A roll of cash in his hand.

Astrid blinks. She’s seen the guy before. One of Kincade’s goons.

“Kincade put you up to this?”

“Who?”

He wouldn’t know that. She tries again. “Who paid you that money?”

The confusion and fear rolls off him like a stank sweat. “How do you know about the money?”

“Kid, don’t mess with me. Just tell me the truth. If not, I’ll get it out of you another way. It will hurt me and then it will hurt you. Using your words is way better.”

He thinks for a half a second longer, too long, and Astrid tightens her grip on his hand. She dives in again.

Small house. A bed. Sick woman coughing. The kid standing over her. Grief.

Astrid shakes off the last one but it’s real. Deeply embedded. It tugs at her. “You took the money for your mom? She’s sick?”

He nods. “Grandma.”

“Whoever is doing this is using you. He’ll torch this place and you guys will end up in jail. Is that what your grandma needs? Is this guy worth it?”

“I don’t know his name,” he says in a cracking voice that reveals his youth. “But he found us where we tag under the bridge. He gave us the paint. Told us what to put up there. He said to be done by midnight.”

“Or what?”

He shrugs. “I have no intention of finding out.”

Astrid has a feeling they’re cutting close on the deadline.

“We need to get out of here.”

“But we didn’t finish. He said he was going to check.”

“Cas,” I say into the com. “Where are the others?”

“Outside. One kid caught climbing the fence. The other two are cornered by the old baseball field.”

“Your friends bailed. You need to go with them. I’ll deal with the guy.”

“He’s dangerous.” His eyes dart to the door. “I’ve seen what he can do.”

“What can he do?”

The kid holds up his hand in offering. He must have figured out what Astrid can do and how she does it. “What’s your name?”

He hesitates but says, “Luby,” with a sigh.

“I’m Echo,” she replies, wrapping her fingers around his.

Luby painting the underside of a bridge. Silver cans. He coughs. Nausea. The man raises his hand and a small spark appears. Luby backs away. The man tosses it at the wall. Fire ripples up the surface.

Astrid gulps for air.

“It was so hot,” Luby says. “And he made the fire with a snap of his fingers. I’ve never been so scared.”

“Go,” she says, wiping the sweat off her forehead. “Find your friends. Lay low.”

He nods and runs to the back door. “One last thing,” he calls. “He has a street name. It’s lame but…”

“What’s that?”

“Blaze.”

*

“I’m heading upstairs. Luby told me he’s coming back.”

“Who’s coming back?” Casper asks.

“Blaze—the guy starting the fire. I saw him in Luby’s echo. He’s one of the guys working with Kincade. He was at the warehouse that night.”

Astrid doesn’t say what’s really nagging at her. She’s seen this power at work before and he was at the group home, a member of Project 12.

“Where are Charger and Pan?” she asks, reaching the doors to the gym. The toxic smell is stronger up here.

“They chased the other kids down. I think Charger is lecturing them about private property right now.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sounds about right.”

“Echo, I really don’t like you being in there alone right now.”

“I’m not alone,” she says, pushing open the doors. “You’re with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“If this is our chance to stop him, then I should.”

He doesn’t respond but his silence says volumes.

Astrid wedges her foot in the edge of the bleachers, climbing to the top. It’s a good vantage point. She checks the time on her screen and at exactly midnight the main doors open. Blaze walks in.

He’s thin with dark hair and she knows in her gut who he is. He’s one of them, one of the twelve.

Devin. The fire starter. It’s hard to tell from his features, but people change. Some look exactly the same but others shift so much it’s impossible to recognize them. She closes her eyes for a moment and tries to get a sense of the kid from the group home. The one so desperately trying to control his power. All she gets in return is the strong smell of sulfur and a heavy dose of angst.

“Luby!” the man calls walking in the gym. “Come out, kid!” His voice bounces back and his feet echo off the wooden floors. He stops before the bank of bleachers, checking out the incomplete mural. Astrid hides in a well at the top.

“Worthless punk,” he mutters, and she hears the unmistakable clink of a spray can. She dares a look and watches as he sprays the paint into the air and uses his fingers to light a flame. The spray instantly becomes a torch.

“I know you’re in here,” he says, and the hair on the back of her neck prickles. “Can’t mind your own damn business, can you?”

“I think he’s talking to you,” Casper says. “Do not engage.”

She ignores the Goblin.

In a swift move, Astrid hops over the edge of the bleachers and lands on the floor. Her braid flops over her shoulder and she slowly stands with her hands on her hips.

Blaze smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Looks like we’re both tracking one another.”

She shrugs. “I like knowing who I’m dealing with.”

“I thought that was clear? You and the boss had a deal.”

“Kincade is a sleazeball businessman out to make money. This isn’t about money for you. It’s something different.” She tilts her head and studies him. He’s wearing a black leather jacket and dark jeans. He’s tall and thin—not much muscle. His sideburns are long and his blue-black hair slicks back. She desperately tries to find Devin, the boy she knew at the home, in his hazel eyes but there’s nothing recognizable there. Not anymore.

“We’re both something different, sweetheart.” He smiles. “But you know that, don’t you?”

“I can’t let you destroy any more property. What you and Kincade are doing isn’t okay. It’s criminal, and I’m tired of having to go in and save lives and clean up your mess.”

“I saw your heroics on the news. People love you, what’s wrong with that? You’re special. You can handle a little risk.” He spreads his arms wide. “People love Kincade, too. He’s cleaning up this mess of a neighborhood. Rebuilding and revitalizing.”

“No. You’re hurting people.”

He winks. “Not if you and your friends get there in time. It’s a win-win, sweetheart.”

They stand across from one another but there’s no doubt he’s got the upper hand when it comes to weaponry. He’ll burn her alive before she ever reaches him and she doubts many of her tools will stop him before he lights the place up. She does the unthinkable to make him stop.

She reveals herself.

“Leave this one alone, okay, Devin?” She relaxes her pose. “For me.”

“What did you call me?”

“Devin. That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Fuck Echo. Fuck,” Casper freaks in her ear.

He narrows his eyes and the darkness behind them is intense, but there’s also something else. A recognition, a flicker of familiarity. It’s only there for an instant and then it vanishes.

“My name is Blaze and you better move out of my way or you’ll be nothing but an oily smear on the floor.” Flame bursts from his hand. It’s not the spark from Luby’s memory or even the small flame from before. It’s a ball of fire, so hot she can feel it ten feet away.

“I don’t know what happened to you, Devin,” she tries again. “But you’re not alone. I can help you. We all can.”

He reacts by throwing the ball of fire at her head. She ducks, but in her heart she knows the fire won’t hit her. He can’t use his power against her any more than she can use hers against him. But fire is tricky—dangerous—and that paint-stained wall behind her catches and a ripple of fire runs up the bleachers.

“Stop!” she screams. “This is not what we are made for!”

“This is exactly what we’re made for, Astrid!” her name bounces off the room. He knows her name. He knows her. “This is who we are. Weapons with a purpose. It’s not my fault you don’t know your place or worth in the world!”

“My place?” She eyes the growing ball in his hand. This time bigger. More deadly. It could take the whole place up.

“Don’t think they won’t come for you. I know they killed your mentor. Quinn’s and Owen’s, too. They won’t kill you, but they will find you.” He steps closer and the heat is unbearable. Sweat drips down her neck and back. “And they’ll put you to use just like me.”

He backs away quickly, faster than she can react. He tosses the massive ball of fire and it lops over her head. “You’re better off dead. Trust me, I’m doing you a favor.”

The fireball lands in the chemicals and in an instant engulfs the floor. Cans of paint heat and explode. She runs toward the door, leaping over the fire. But it spreads quickly, too quickly, and soon she’s surrounded by an impenetrable blaze.

“Cas, I’m in trouble.”

The ear piece grows hot and she yanks it out before she can hear his response.

Smoke fills the room, filling her lungs. Sweat pools against her palms and the fingertips of her gloves. Falling to her knees, she knows this is it. There’s no way in or out. Devin wants her dead.

She falls over, coughing and covering her mouth. The heat is unbearable—her skin pulls tight. A flash of black catches her eye. She’s sure it’s the reaper coming for her. A shadow crosses over her and strong hands lift her off the floor. Half-conscious, she’s aware of being carried through the flames, her head covered by something hard and metal.

The air just outside the gym is clearer but still not safe and her body is racked with spasms from the smoke. The crash of glass is followed by her falling to the ground. Wet grass. A hovering shadow. She reaches up and feels sharp angle of a jaw.

“Quinn?”

He tugs her gloves off, peeling away the melting fabric, and his warm hand meets hers.

A window explodes behind her and flame seeks oxygen. Light fills the night and she sees his face. It’s not Quinn.

His eyes aren’t quite right and his shoulders, while broad, are too narrow. He holds something over her head, protecting her from raining glass.

“You…” she says, trying to form the words. He looks down on her and his name is on the tip of her tongue.

The world turns black.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Astrid

“As.”

Her name floats down like a cloud, miles away and completely out of reach.

“How long has this been going on?” a familiar voice asks. A normally kind voice, but now it’s laced with anger.

“A few weeks,” Quinn replies. Two heartbeats echo in her ears. “It was under control.”

Thumpthump

Thumpthump

Both pound with tension that vibrates across her skin. The fire didn’t dull her senses. If anything, it’s made them stronger. The only time it fades away is when the nurse brings her medication and she slips back into unconsciousness.

“She nearly died, Quinn. I wouldn’t call that under control.”

That voice comes from Jensen. No wonder it sounds so pissed.

“I’m sorry. That last one. It was a trap of some kind. I thought Astrid was in the clear.”

“You thought wrong!” Jensen shouts. Astrid tries her hardest to open her eyes. She wants to tell him it’s okay. She’s okay, but that there are bad guys out there they need to find. “This little game you’re playing. This foolish idea of Atticus’s! It has to stop. It’s too dangerous.”

Her head weighs a million pounds.

“The doctor says she’s okay. She’s just sleeping to heal herself.”

“You better hope she does,” he says, followed by a loud bang that filters through the fog.

Her hand is lifted. Held. Her forehead kissed.

She sleeps.

*

The sharp scent of antiseptic and bleach wake her from a long, deep sleep. She stretches, achy from lack of movement. It’s dark outside. A figure slumps in the chair at the end of the bed and she fumbles with the switch for the light.

Owen shifts in his seat, rubbing his eyes at the sudden brightness.

“Hey,” he says, jumping up. He’s at her side, holding her hand in an instant.

“Where are we?” She swallows at the pain in her raw, smoke-damaged throat. He hands her a cup with a straw.

“Crescent General.” He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand. “Things went sideways at the school. Thought we lost you for a minute.”

“How long have I been here?” She thinks back to the faint conversations she overheard while sleeping. Quinn and Jensen had been here.

“Three days. The smoke damage was bad. The doctors wanted you to sleep it off.” He strokes her hair, and after a lifetime of little touch, it means more than she could’ve imagined. “Do you remember what happened?”

Devin’s face has been with her every second. The way he looked throwing those fireballs at her. The evil things he said. It’s too much to process right now but she says, “The guy who did it goes by the name Blaze. He works for Kincade.” She clutches Owen’s hand. “He’s one of us.”

His forehead furrows. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a Super—one of the twelve. I had a suspicion from the echo I read off the kid I chased. As a last-ditch effort to distract him, I called him on it. He knew my name.” She swallows. “And he tried to kill me.”

He lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses her gently. “This job keeps getting harder and harder.”

“I know.” She notices a huge vase of purple and pink flowers. Beneath it, a green bottle of soda and a pink bakery box. She doesn’t have to ask about the flowers, but she does anyway, “Demetria?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shake of his head. “How did you get out of there? By the time Casper radioed me and Quinn, the whole place was engulfed.”

She stops. “I’m not sure. I remember the fireballs Blaze threw at me and I remember the com melting.” She holds up her hands, still bandaged from the burns. “Somehow I got out.”

“Someone dragged you out. You were left on the grass by the road. Footprints say it wasn’t just you. Jensen’s been working the case twenty-four-seven.”

She searches her memory. She does recall the fear of death and knowing someone had come for her. But beyond that, everything is hazy.

“There was so much smoke. Maybe Blaze changed his mind and got me out of there?” Even as she says it, she knows it’s doubtful. She couldn’t sense anything good about him.

“Yeah, I doubt that. But someone got you to safety. Guess you have a guardian angel.”

She laughs, darkly. “Poor bastard. They’re going to have their work cut out for them.”

“Bastard?” Owen raises an eyebrow. “You think it was a man.”

Astrid knows it was. It’s just a feeling.  She nods.

“Great, just what we need is another male pissing around you.” He looks at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to get out of here—still dodging Jensen. He said he’d be back before his morning shift.”

“Thanks for being here, Owen. It means a lot.”

He touches her chin. “We’re a team, As. You’re stuck with me and Quinn and Casper for good.”

He kisses her, soft and sweet, and when he leaves she burrows down under the covers, feeling less alone than ever before.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Quinn

With Astrid in recovery, management of the gym falls to Quinn. The trainers, Mick, and customers all seem to accept him in the position. Jensen, on the other hand, is a harder sell, but something shifts the older man’s understanding about their relationship. Quinn isn’t going anywhere, and after yelling at him for an hour about allowing Astrid to put herself at such risk (as though anyone could tell her what to do), Jensen agreed to push the next round of Elite recruits back another week. That gave Quinn time to manage the day-to-day side of the business. The recruits are her thing and he didn’t want to feel her wrath if he interfered.

The official story is that Astrid got caught in the school fire helping some boys out of the property. Jensen was able to cover up her super suit. Instead of Echo, Superhero of Crescent City, the news reports focus on Astrid, community leader and business owner. It reveals another side of her, one that Quinn didn’t fully grasp. She’s well-revered, not only to the members of the gym but in the entire community. She’s left a mark here with her kind nature and unconditional commitment. Each morning, he opens the front door and finds flowers and notes.

Today, after opening the door for the early risers and bringing in a mason jar of wildflowers, he straightens the weight area. The guys are messy and inconsiderate, leaving barbells and equipment all over the place. He puts them away, sliding them into their appropriate rack before heading over to the ring. A lone boxer—a new guy—attacks the speed bag. His muscles ripple beneath his tight white shirt and he hammers the bag like no one else he’s seen before.

Other than himself.

Quinn picks up a towel and tosses it in a nearby bin. There’s another reason he’s keeping an eye on the gym. Some of these new visitors? He’s got a feeling there’s more to them than just curiosity. The guy beating the ever-loving shit out of the punching bag is one of them.

“Hey,” he says with a nod. The guy pauses and lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face.

The guy nods back. “What’s up?”

Quinn, wanting to test this a little further, nods toward the sparring ring. “Any interest in a round or two?”

“Sure, yeah, that would be great,” the man says. He seems perfectly nice. No nefarious vibe at all, but he’s not Astrid; he can’t get an accurate read on people the way she does.

Quinn removes his sweatshirt, dropping it on the bench. He grabs a pair of gloves off the rack on the wall and climbs into the ring. There’s never been a time where he felt intimidated from the physique of another man, but standing across from this guy, who appears to have zero fat and is carved out of solid muscle, he has a moment of doubt.

Mick walks over and says, “You need a ref?”

“Sure,” Quinn replies, feeling grateful for a witness to possibly the biggest mistake of his life.

Mick waits until they’re both ready, toes on the line, and presses the buzzer.

“Show me what you’ve got,” the man says, holding his fists in front of him. The fight escalates quickly, and the guy uses his entire body with every move. His speed is incredible, but Quinn holds his own. Two jabs to his side is like pounding into a brick wall. He doesn’t flinch. Quinn kicks. He’s blocked. He punches, swerves, ducks. In a moment, he’s breathing heavy but still holding on. The guy? Damn. He hasn’t even broken a sweat and when he looks into steel gray eyes, Quinn realizes he hasn’t even started.

Focused on his opponent, he doesn’t even notice a crowd has gathered. He takes a tooth-rattling punch to the jaw. Swearing, he spits blood, then delivers one of equal intensity and the guy actually stumbles back. The crackle of energy flickers in his hands, an instinctive protection, but he staves it off. Not here. It’s not okay, but damn Quinn wants to fry him.

The moves turn less boxing, more physical—like MMA. Quinn smashes a knee into his chest, then slams into him, wrapping his arms around his expansive shoulders. Quinn falls, grunting on impact. The other guy is sweating now. Actually sweating, and he considers that a win.

That’s how badly Quinn is losing.

Mustering his last bit of strength, he swipes his feet. The crowd, nearly everyone in the gym, shouts when the bastard falls and crashes onto the mat next to Quinn. From there, it’s a scramble. A race to the knees, then to one another. He gets his hands around the man’s massive neck, lost in the haze of competition. His fingers wrap around Quinn’s forearms. He’ll break them.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Her voice cuts through the crowd that has automatically parted to allow her through before they flee. They’re right to scatter. She’s fucking pissed.

Quinn releases his hands and interestingly, so does the guy about to break his arms. He turns his head and sees Astrid standing on the edge of the ring. Owen is next to her, eyebrow raised. Her eyes skirt over Quinn and he can only imagine what he looks like. The taste of blood pools in his mouth.

“Hey,” he says, lifting on a wobbly arm. “You’re home—”

“You?” She’s not looking at him, but rather the brute that pummeled the crap out of him. “What are you doing here? And what the hell are you doing beating the shit out of my…” she glances at him, “Quinn.”

“Just came by to check out your facility.” He looks around. “I’m impressed.”

She stares at them both, blinking with disbelief.

“My office. Now.”

“I’m Draco,” the man says and offers Quinn his hand. This is the guy that works for Demetria. He takes it, reluctantly, because he has a feeling things are about to change; this guy may be an ally, or he could be like Blaze. An enemy. Regardless, he has a feeling that this beast of a man may just be one of them.

*

Mick hands him an ice pack on his way into the office. “Who is that guy?” he asks, watching Draco’s back.

“Someone Astrid knows.”

He laughs. “You did pretty well against him. He’s a beast.”

If only he could have electrocuted him. That would have shut the whole thing down, but it also would have exposed them all and probably sent him to prison. Sometimes it’s better to take a beating and get a feel for your opponent.

He tugs his hoodie over his head, covering the bruises. His lip is already swelling. His eye only opens halfway. Draco doesn’t look nearly as bad, but he knows he got in a few good licks.

What the hell is this guy doing here?

The door slams behind him and Astrid leans against the gym desk.

She looks tired, even though she’s spent the last week at the hospital. Quinn also feels ashamed this is what she came back to. It wasn’t his intention.

He opens his mouth to speak but she holds up her hand. Draco watches her carefully.

“Owen, Quinn…this is Draco. He works for Demetria. He’s the one that picked me up off the road the other day and took me to her office.”

Owen’s eyes narrow, no doubt thinking about Astrid laughing in the back seat of that car.

“So you came to spy on us?” Owen asks.

“I came to check out the gym. And keep an eye on you guys. I was aware Astrid was still in the hospital from her injuries.” He looks at her. “Demetria has been very worried about her.”

“Yeah,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I got her flowers.”

“So, you’re what?” I ask. “One of her bodyguards?”

“I’m on her protective detail,” he replies. His lip is split and his tongue darts out to feel it. “But I’m involved with other parts of her business as well. I perform whatever job she wants me to do.”

The glint in Astrid’s eye tells Quinn she thinks Demetria probably has many uses for Draco. Owen coughs his annoyance.

“Did she ask you to come to my gym and beat the shit out of Quinn?”

He looks at Quinn. “No, he asked me to spar. I was minding my own business.”

Quinn shrugs guiltily and defends himself. “I was being friendly.”

Astrid sighs and rubs her face with her hands. “I’m exhausted. The hospital just released me. This is not what I needed to come back to.”

“I’m sorry,” Quinn says.

She ignores him and glares at Draco. “You don’t get to come in here and assess my business. Or me. Or my friends. You have nothing to do with our arrangement with Demetria. If she wants to talk, then she knows how to get in touch.”

“Actually, she’d like to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. All three of you.”

“Dinner?” Astrid says. “Where?”

“At her house. Tomorrow night.”

So he did come for a reason, and beating the crap out of Quinn wasn’t his primary goal. Just a perk.

“There’s something else,” he says reaching into the pocket of his pants. “This is from me. Not her.”

He reveals a small vial. Inside is a powdery substance.

“What is that?” Owen says. He gives Astrid an uneasy look. “Pixie Dust?”

“A variation, it’s called PD-1. I think you’re aware that if you are using Pixie Dust, it removes the protection you have on one another’s abilities.”

“How do you know that?” Quinn asks.

Draco doesn’t answer. “The R&D department at WIND-E has isolated the chemical that removes that protection. If you inject this powder it will remove the protection for good. Wipe out any recognition. Sort of like a reverse vaccine.”

“Why would we want to use that?” Owen asks. “Why would we take the risk of hurting one another?”

“The lines are getting murky. Don’t think Demetria hasn’t taken this already. The Survivors of Project 12 are popping up all over the place and you don’t know who is a friend and who is an enemy.”

Blaze is the perfect example. No one mentions his name.

Astrid takes the vial and holds it up, looking at the shimmery white substance. “Why are you giving us this, Draco?”

He leans back in his seat. So comfortable, so confident. It’s probably easy to feel that way when you’re built like a Greek god. When he speaks, he looks at Astrid, and Astrid alone. “Because I believe in what you’re doing and I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Quinn knows she has more questions. He definitely has a million, but Draco stands and says, “She’ll send a car tomorrow night. Six sharp.” He looks over at him on his way to the door and offers his hand. Quinn blinks for a minute, but takes it. “Best competition I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

He exits, leaving the three of them alone in the room.

“That was fucking weird,” Owen says. “But seriously, do I have to go? I’m not a big fan of dinner with creepy chicks who play with ponies.”

“We’re going,” Astrid says, rubbing her forehead. “But right now, I need my bed, my cat, and a bag of chips.”

Owen jumps up and opens the back door. Quinn does too, it just takes him longer, the ache in his muscles spreading.

“So about that bed thing,” Owen says, “How mad are you going to be if we moved you to the dormitory upstairs?”

“You what?”

“We thought it would be better if we’re all close together.” Quinn stands next to them and adds, “We already moved the cat.”

Owen exhales slowly. “He’s been sleeping on my bed.”

Astrid smiles, then laughs, then pushes past them both to go up to her new room.

“Did you buy any chips?” Owen asks him.

“Three cases.”

They laugh, realizing how much she’s trained them in so little time. It’s a good feeling, one he hasn’t had in many years, and from the expression on Owen’s face, he feels it too.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Astrid

Another night of rest helps, and Astrid feels almost whole when she wakes up the following morning. Quinn, on the other hand, looks like shit.

“Do you need some painkillers?” she asks, going for her morning shot of caffeine. The pastry box on the counter will provide the follow-up hit of sugar.

“Took them,” he says from his seat at the table. He nurses a cup of tea. “It looks worse than it feels.”

She bites down on the powdered doughnut and sits next to him. His eye is bruised, his mouth puffy. She kisses him, leaving a dusting of sugar on his lips.

He licks it off and then kisses her back, gently. “Is this what happens when you pick a fight on a guy three times your size? If so, I may do it more often.”

“I’m not rewarding you for your bravery,” she says, dropping her hand to this thigh. “I feel bad for you because you’re so stupid.”

“Hey!” he says in mock anger. “Not cool.”

“Good thing you’re handsome. And you’ve got those super skills.”

She can’t help but notice his eyes change color when she flirts with him and there goes his heart, kicking in to high gear.

“Are you talking about my, uh,” he swallows, “unique skills or the more, hmm, intimate ones?”

She can’t help but laugh. Quinn is adorable. Not much more experienced than her, but what he does know, he knows well. Like how to quicken her pulse and make her want to get closer. She knows he got in that squabble with Draco over a sense of protectiveness for her. It’s his biggest flaw. It could be worse.

Before she can give Quinn an answer about his skills, footsteps pad down the hall. Owen walks in. His hair sticks up in a thousand directions and he’s shirtless, with cotton pants slung low on his hips. He heads straight for the coffee and says nothing before taking his first sip.

“Morning,” he finally says, rubbing his lower stomach. With a little more space and a sense of the dormitory being for all of them and not just Astrid’s apartment, there’s a new sense of ease in everyone.

“Good morning,” Quinn replies. Astrid can’t keep her eyes off of the well-defined V carving his hips. Quinn’s hand lowers to her thigh. It’s too early in the morning for such conflicting interests.

“How did you sleep?” she asks him.

“Great, until your cat came in and sat on my chest at 3 a.m.”

“I noticed he’d left me.” She shakes her head. “I told you to close the door.”

“I forgot.”

She squeezes Quinn’s hand, a promise to continue their discussion later and stands. “I think we need to spend the day training. For real training.” She digs into her pocket and pulls out the vial Draco gave her yesterday.

“You’re kidding,” says Quinn.

“Nope. Running into Blaze was terrifying and there wasn’t anything I could do. I do think the protection kept him from actually hitting me with the fireballs, but it didn’t stop the place from going up in flames or me being injured. I know by practicing that there is more to my power than I thought. You both must be the same. It’s time to test it. Push our limits. We can’t trust anyone out there but ourselves.”

“And you trust this Draco guy?” Owen asks. “Why? You don’t know him, and his boss is crazy—not to mention our nemesis. She may have sent him to fuck with us, Astrid.”

“I do trust him,” she says, although she can’t completely say why. It’s a sense she gets from him. A feeling, and that is the only thing she’s ever been able to rely on. He does seem loyal to Demetria, but that loyalty may mean that she and her teammates need to get better. Do better. “I spent all night thinking about it. The doctors are the ones that made us unable to use our powers against one another, but what I realized is that it limits us. We can’t help one another, either. You can do your thing and I can do mine and we can cobble together a team, but the big stuff, protecting one another—fighting with each other—we can’t do that. I think they added the glitch so that we can’t bind together and fight back.”

Both men absorb this. It’s a big concept, one they’ve never talked about before.

“You may be right. It may just be a handicap but on a personal level it means more for you, psychologically and emotionally. It removes the protection, Astrid,” Quinn says. “That means you can’t turn off your empathy. Ever.”

She knows what he means. During sex she’ll be able to read him. Owen too. She’s thought over every angle. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“As, I don’t know,” Owen says. A line of worry appears between his eyes.

He and Quinn share a look, one that excludes her, and it pisses her off.

“Are you scared I’ll feel something you don’t want me to?” she asks, challenging them both.

“No,” Owen says, holding up his hands. “You read me already and it was fine—good, even. Got us on the same page about a few things, but Quinn is just being logical. All of this is so new, we don’t need you hyper-exposed if you’re not ready.”

She looks at Quinn, wanting to hear his excuse, but the only thing he says is, “You’ve barely had a chance to enjoy it.”

“Then I’ll have to figure out how to control it better, won’t I?” she says, knowing deep down that’s the answer. She also knows she’s not afraid to feel these men, know their hearts. But like every step in her life dealing with her senses, she’s had to face it head on. It doesn’t get more head-on than this.

Owen agrees first. “I’m in. And support whatever decision you make.”

They look at Quinn. His jaw is tight, his heart pounds violently. He’s scared. Of what? Losing her? She’ll prove him wrong. Finally, he nods his agreement.

“Let me go change,” Owen says, grabbing a doughnut and leaving the room.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” she asks Quinn.

“Nope. I can’t answer that the way you want me to.”

“I won’t force you.” She touches his cheek and he winces.

“Promise me you’ll let me know if it’s too much.”

She nods and seals it with a kiss on the lips. It’s the only thing she can offer, and she hopes it’s enough.

*

“Who’s going first?”

The question comes from Casper, who is linked up via a live feed and speaker system in the training room. The guys did it while Astrid was in the hospital.

“The Goblin may want to play video games all day, but he needs to stay in the loop,” Quinn told her later.

Owen winked. “No cameras in the bedrooms, though.” It’s their own going joke now that Casper was holed up with his games, the internet, and a shit-ton of porn.

“I will.”

Owen drinks his shot of soda mixed with the PD-1 Draco gave them quickly and without hesitation. Quinn, to her surprise, does the same. He made a decision. He’s resolved. It’s one of the things she likes about him.

Ironically, she’s the one that has to push every argument, every fear, and every second thought out of her mind.

“You don’t have to do this,” Quinn reminds her.

She doesn’t reply, just takes the shot. Seals her fate. It’s to protect her—protect them all. Her gloves are firmly on her hands. She hasn’t been wearing them around her teammates lately. Her gloves have always provided comfort—now they feel like chains. Hot and confining.

“Let’s get started,” she says, slamming the glass on the counter. Owen holds his hand up and they slap high-fives.

“I’ll go first,” Owen announces, walking to the middle of the room. “I’ve been working on something since my memories started coming back. If I can perfect it, I think it will make what we just did worth it.”

Astrid sits on the counter next to a work sink. Quinn leans next to her, arms crossed.

Owen stands perfectly still. His arms are outstretched and his face is furrowed in concentration. Astrid has no idea what he’s doing; there are no objects to manipulate or alter form. But after a moment she sees it and jabs Quinn in the arm. “Dude,” she whispers, afraid to break his concentration.

The air in front of Owen shimmers. Shifts. He cups his hands over a small area and pulls them apart, like he’s gripping the air with his fingers. The sound of fabric ripping tears through the room. At the very center of the distorted area, a bright dot appears. He holds it for a minute, but then his arms drop, his body drenched in sweat.

“What the hell was that?” Astrid asks, almost afraid to know the answer.

“He fucking ripped open a hole in the universe,” Casper says over the speaker.

“For what? Why?” She asks. Science has never been her thing.

“An escape route,” Owen says. “I’m not there yet, but I’m getting closer. And once I get the variables together I can think of where I want us to go, open a portal, and off we go.”

Every muscle in Quinn’s body tenses. Astrid can feel it—him—more than she could before taking the drug.

“You think this is a bad idea?” she asks him.

“No, just, well, a little scary.”

“Tell me about it,” Owen agrees. He raises his hand and a towel stacked on the counter next to Astrid lifts and floats through the hair. He catches it and wipes off his face. It’s an impressive move, but the way his chest heaves is a tell that the activity wore him out.

“So you can not only alter objects and people’s mental perceptions, but physically fuck with time and space.” Casper sounds more impressed than she’s ever heard him.

“I think so,” Owen replies. “And now that we can use our powers with one another, it may be a huge benefit.”

Astrid hands him a bottle of water and looks at Quinn. “You have anything to share with the class?”

He moves to the middle of the room and he looks extra bad ass with the split lip and bruised face. “So you guys got me thinking the last time you experimented. I was able to learn to use my skills when I was younger. At first, I was very dangerous—to myself and anyone else in a five-mile radius. Honestly, there were times I wondered if I was the one that caused the explosion at the group home.” Astrid frowns. “It was possible. An electrical fire or some kind of major surge. I don’t know, but it was enough to make me face my power.”

He pushes his sleeves over his elbows and, similar to Owen, holds his hands out. “The power comes from inside—not just out. I can blow fuses or knock out a transformer with touch, but the current runs in me too.” A charge zaps between his hands, blue and cold. It spreads like a spiderweb of lightning, twisting and alive. Astrid has felt this energy before, but she’s never seen it, and she can’t take her eyes off of the beautiful light. “The idea of protection intrigued me, and I started playing around.”

Quinn moves his hands apart and the current spreads with them. The further they go, the less visible the energy. The charge is still there, raising the hair on her arms. Owen flattens his with his hand.

“Throw something at me,” Quinn says.

Owen doesn’t hesitate and grabs the green bottle of soda and tosses it at Quinn.

“Hey!” Astrid yells, watching her precious drink go flying by. But her outrage is short-lived when the bottle sailing toward Quinn’s face stops in mid-air and bounces back.

“Holy shit,” Casper cackles. “Holy. Fucking. Shit.”

Owen doesn’t hesitate and picks up three more things: a weight ball, a can of disinfectant, and his bottle of water, and rapidly tosses them at Quinn. The lighter two bounce off. The heavier ball actually pushes Quinn back a few inches, but he holds—the shield holds—and the weight falls to the floor with a thud.

His hands drop and it’s obvious from across the room that his arms shake from exhaustion, but there’s the curve of a proud smile on his face.

“That was amazing.”

“Come here,” he says to her, and she walks over. Taking a deep, steadying breath he makes the shield again, this time with Astrid behind it.

“Take your best shot, Owen,” he says.

Owen doesn’t pick up anything, instead he uses his hands and turns the room into a darkened jungle. Vines ripple off his body, twisting across the floor, up the walls and covering the ceiling. Dark smoke fills the room and Astrid feels the hammering of her heart. It all looks so real. Snakes slither toward them and Owen moves his hands, pushing them into an attack. Their jaws widen, their fangs glisten and the hissing echoes in her ears. She knows they aren’t real, but her mind can’t push back. Owen is good, very good, at this manipulation and for the first time she feels the full onslaught of it, mentally as well as physically.

“Fucking snakes,” Quinn mutters and pulse kicks into high gear. “You know they freak me out.”

“Yeah, that’s why I made them,” Owen quips, not the least bit sorry to be challenging Quinn.  But what Quinn is experiencing isn’t normal—he usually doesn’t panic, but she feels it rolling off of him and that fear is going to make him fail.

She makes a decision.

Ripping off her gloves, she drops them on the ground, reaching for Quinn’s hands. He wavers for a second, and the shield falls but she says, “Don’t drop it. Hold on.”

He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. Fear races through her. Absolute, terrified panic. She swallows it back and thinks of something good. Something happy, and channels everything she has back on him.

Saving the kid from the fire. The first time he and Astrid spoke. His smile. The ring. Their fight. The way his body feels beneath her hands.

The last one seems to do it, sparking something in him, and the fear fades entirely. She removes her hands, confident he’s got it.

The snakes and darkness ascend, crashing into them, but the shield holds, keeping them at bay. Quinn envelops them, moving his arms wide. They’re encircled by his protection and no matter how hard Owen tries, he can’t get through.

The darkness blinks, fades—his strength is waning. Quinn grits his teeth, trying to hold on. Astrid watches as their eyes connect and they both give at the same time. The shield falls, the manipulations vanish. Both men gasp for air.

Astrid wraps her arm around Quinn, holding him upright.

“I can’t decide if I should be turned on or terrified,” Casper says over the speaker.

Owen exhales and looks up at the ceiling. “Dude.”

“Why do you have to make everything weird?” Quinn adds. His eyes dart to Astrid. She can feel her lingering effects on him. She may have to find something better than lust that makes him happy.

Astrid just smiles, almost buckling under Quinn’s weight.

“I’m not sure what your friend Draco is up to,” Casper adds, “but he just gave you all a massive advantage.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Quinn

Exhausted from experimenting with their powers, they agree to take a break. Owen crashes on the couch in the game room. Astrid heads to her bedroom and Quinn follows.

She’s not getting away so easily.

He stops in the doorway, watching as she kicks off her shoes. Without turning, she says, “You know I can hear your heartbeat a mile away. Especially now.”

“Yeah, that’s not the only thing you got wound up in there,” he replies. She hit him with a hard dose of lust during the test. One he could handle while fighting off Owen’s creatures, but now that it’s over, he’s left with the lingering effects of her empathy and a painful hard-on in his shorts.

She turns and eyes him in the doorway. “Sorry about that. I’m going to have to figure out a better way to motivate you.”

“Your power is strong,” he says. “More than I realized. Like, I thought I understood, but what you pushed into me? It dominated my mind and body as much as Owen’s snakes.”

“Yeah, he really scared the shit out of you. I felt it.”

“I hate snakes.”

She laughs. “You never should have told him that.”

He wills away the desire while they talk, but it’s impossible. She got in his head. Both of them. “Yeah, so—” he’s about to tell her he’s going to take a shower when she cuts him off.

“Now you know what I go through.” She holds up her hands. “Why I protect myself.”

“I want you to learn how to control it.”

She wrinkles her nose. “What if I can’t?”

He steps into the room, holding up his hands, and raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t exactly say yes but she also doesn’t run. He takes her right hand in his but doesn’t take off the glove, not yet.

“We can’t go back from this,” she tells him. “The way we were before. You know me now.”

“I’d like to think I knew you before.”

“I’m a bundle of walking nerves, Quinn. Raw and untethered. Doesn’t that scare you?”

He works his jaw, trying his hardest not to scare her. Scare himself.

Linking up to her like this—now he gets why she and Owen have become closer lately. Knowing Astrid like this builds a bond that can’t be easily shattered.

“Do you want to go back? To before? Before we found one another?”

She shakes her head.

He holds her eye and runs his hand down her cheek. Her skin burns from the touch, heating instantly. Her nipples peak and her tongue darts between her lips. “Every layer you reveal makes me care for you more.”

“And it’s not just the lust.”

He laughs. “No, it’s not just the lust but damn, yeah, that may be something you want to get a little more control over.”

They both look down at the hard erection in his pants.

“Damn, you’re horny,” she tells him. “Like, do you deal with this all day, because I’d go crazy.”

He chuckles. “You got me going and I’m having a hard time shaking it.”

“I’ve never had feelings like this before. Mind and body, with the protection stripped away, everything feels raw. Like my skin itches, but in a good way.” She reaches for his hips. “A very good way.”

His mouth hovers close to hers, but he waits…waits for her to make the first move. It takes what feels like forever before her lips crash into his. Their emotions churn like a hurricane, wild and unrepressed. It’s nothing like he’s felt before and she shudders with emotions.

“Are you okay?” he asks, holding her face in his hands. “I can stop. Just say the word.”

She doesn’t, but she keeps her hands tight on his waist, holding on like a lifeline. He skims her arms, her back, and down her sides. Each one makes her gulp, shiver, and steel her resolve. There’s nothing holding her back right now but sheer will and he’s not going to be the one that breaks it.

Her emotions run high, not the same as behind the shield when she touched his hands, but it’s still amped up. And he pushes her against the door, looking for leverage, friction, stability, but the latch gives under their weight and they crash into the hallway.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Owen stands in the hallway, hair messy and a faint tint to his cheeks. He shifts and they both look down and spot his massive erection, clearly visible in his pants. “You know the whole town can feel this, don’t you? Every guy down in the gym is probably humping a barbell.”

Astrid’s hand covers her mouth. “Oh god. No, I didn’t think.”

Her cheeks blush and a new wave of emotions rolls through the room. Embarrassment. Humiliation. Horror. Owen holds on to the door like he’s being rocked by an earthquake. He looks between them.

“I told you this was a bad idea,” he says.

“And I told you we have to get a handle on it,” Quinn snaps back. Between the exertion with his own powers and the emotional whiplash, exhaustion settles in his bones.

“Whatever,” Owen says. “Talk it out, fuck it out. I’m taking a cold shower.”

He vanishes, no doubt to do exactly what he said. Quinn kisses both of Astrid’s hot cheeks and says, “Yeah, that may be a good idea.”

“Wait, what?” she asks, calling out after him.

Three people, three sets of hormones, and three emerging superpowers. Quinn thought the bad guys were going to be the biggest problems they faced, but now he’s not so sure.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Owen

It’s hours later when Astrid appears in Owen’s bedroom doorway. She’s wearing tight black pants and a gold beaded top. Kick-ass boots with lethal heels make her nearly his height, and black gloves cover her hands. Her hair is a long curtain of gold.

He looks at her in the reflection of the mirror while he straightens his tie. “Don’t get me worked up again,” he says. “I can’t take another shower before we go—and next time, you’re taking it with me.”

“Talk like that really isn’t helping.”

“No, I suppose not.”

“I’m sorry about that before. Things got a little out of control.”

“You think I meant to throw all those snakes at Quinn?” he asks. “I meant to do one and next thing I know it’s like a fucking snake bomb went off in there. You used what you had to in order to help him get through the moment. We’ve all got a long way to go before we really get a handle on our powers.”

“It’s going to take a minute to get used to it,” she admits. He finally turns to face her and her eyes skim from head to toe. “You look nice.”

“Thank you.” He grabs his phone off the dresser. “You think we’ll be able to get through this dinner without some kind of major issue?”

“I doubt it.” She laughs. “So, I had something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Panic hits him. He’s not sure why. Probably because he likes it here and there’s a small frown on her lips and frowns are bad news. She senses this—of course she does—and says, “It’s not a big deal, well maybe it is, but not in a bad way.”

“Okay.”

She gestures to the bed and he sits, careful not to wrinkle his pants. She sits next to him, her leg close to his. “After our experiments, I think I know why you don’t remember the group home—or at least not all of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I have this distinct memory of you, Owen. Seeing you in the backyard. You and Devin were messing with Harry and I was really worried. I loved him so much, even then.” She frowns. “I touched you and read your echo. It was the first time I’d done it. The doctors must have triggered something in my last visit, but it must have been before they blocked us from one another. I read you and you were in a lot of pain. Like, a lot.”

“With everything going on that doesn’t seem like a stretch, even if I don’t remember it.” Her confession makes him uneasy, like he knows where this is going but isn’t sure he wants to hear it.

“I think I felt bad for you in that moment and well, I think I took away your pain. The way I helped that little boy in the home invasion, and Quinn today.” She twists her hands in her lap. “I didn’t mean to do it—or intrude—or god, take away your childhood. I was young and stupid and had way too much power I didn’t know how to control.”

Owen sits for a minute, taking in Astrid’s story. He feels the nervous energy rolling off her and he reaches for her gloved hand and takes it in his.

“You’re a good person, Astrid. It sounds like you were a good kid. I’m sorry I don’t remember you but I’m not sorry you took away the pain.”

“Yeah?” she asks, looking up at him. Her hair swings over her shoulder and her lips are pink with gloss.

“I think it’s just another confirmation we’re all supposed to be doing this—working together and helping one another. You helped me back then and I’m going to keep working to help you get your powers under control. Any way you need.”

She bites her lip and stares at him. “Thank you, Owen.”

“Always, Astrid.”

She leans forward and kisses his lips with gentleness. He fights his hormones—fights hers, too. Because they’re susceptible to passion, but they also have willpower. There will be other times to explore. Right now, they have to finish getting ready for their date with the devil.

“If you need me tonight, you let me know,” he tells her, squeezing her hand. “Demetria is a master manipulator. She’ll sense your emotions.”

“Thank you. And you let me know if you’re planning on snake bombing someone.” She stands and pulls him off the bed. “Mostly so I can get out of the way.”

“Got it,” he agrees, yanking her closer and kissing her thoroughly. “For luck.”

She laughs darkly and straightens his tie. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

Chapter Thirty

Astrid

The car arrives exactly on time. Draco isn’t in the driver’s seat. It’s an unfamiliar face. Unfamiliar and unfriendly. Quinn sits in the front next to him, giving Owen and Astrid the backseat.

They’re quiet on the ride from the gym to Demetria’s home. Casper couldn’t find any details on the location, but it’s surprising when the car heads out of the city toward the suburban area of Crescent Park. The homes are notoriously lavish, locked behind gates and tucked in the hills overlooking the harbor.

Owen’s hand winds with hers when they approach the large wrought-iron gate, secured between two white brick fences. The house isn’t visible, but the shine of light filters through the trees.

“Tell me this is the right thing to do,” Owen whispers in her ear. Quinn looks back at the sound of his voice. Astrid nods. It’s the right thing. A crazy thing, but the right thing. They’re caught in the middle of a showdown between two desperate, greedy people, and right now Demetria seems like the least dangerous. They need her on their side, at least until they shut Kincade down.

The gates slowly open and the car travels up the winding driveway. Twinkling lights hang from the trees, giving everything a magical glow. None of this is a surprise, of course, including the treehouses tucked just out of sight. Owen’s hand tightens in hers and she hears the uptick in his heartbeat and the quickening of his breath.

“What’s wrong?” she whispers.

His green eyes lock with hers and she feels the tug of her glove as he slips it off her hand. Her own body reacts in fear. What is this? What is he doing?

Their fingers touch and she’s slammed with his echo.

Owen, younger—boyish—standing before Demetria. Her eyes skim over him. Absorbing him. Her smile is predatory. “I’ve waited a long time for you to come home, Lost Boy. So many games we’ll play.”

Astrid’s eyes pop open, meeting Owen’s. “What was that? When was that?”

The car comes to a slow stop at the top of the hill. She tugs her glove back on, trying to calm her pounding heart. The driveway curves next to the enormous home. It’s not a home. It’s a castle; like something out of a fairytale. White stone with turrets on each corner. Stained glass fills the glowing windows and giant topiaries line the walkway. Perfect for Demetria and her delusional fantasies. The instant the door opens and they’re out of earshot of the driver, Astrid turns to Owen and hisses, “What is going on?”

“I’m telling you she’s fucking crazy and she got in my head when she found me a few years ago. I don’t want her doing it again.” He looks at Astrid. “What if she backs out of your deal?”

“Hey,” she says, squeezing his hand. “We’ve got this.”

Dark sadness fills his eyes. “I’m not used to relying on other people. I’m sorry.”

Lord, he really is Peter Pan. Trust issues and everything.

“Owen, do you think this is a trick?” Astrid finally asks. She has one foot on the step. “A trap? Are we walking into something we’re not prepared for?”

He takes a deep breath and his eyes dart to the door. They’re waiting on them. “I know you made a deal with her to stay away from us, but I don’t buy it,” he says. “Me and Quinn. Casper. It’s some kind of obsession and you’re messing with her fantasy. She’s Wendy. I’m Peter.”

“Who does that make me?” she asks.

“Tinkerbell.”

Astrid racks her mind for the story. “Wendy hates Tinkerbell because she takes Peter and the other Lost Boys’ attention away from her.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Quinn asks, rubbing his head. “Stay in reality people. Don’t go to this level.”

Owen shakes his head. “I don’t know how this will go, but here is my suggestion. Be nice. Flirt a little. Do not insult her. Let’s see what she wants and get out of here, okay?”

Astrid sighs and shares a look with Quinn. He nods. “Okay, but if you feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, let me know.”

“Got it,” Owen says.

“And remember,” she tells them both, “you aren’t her Lost Boys. You’re my men. My teammates and my lovers. No one is taking you away from me.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Quinn

“Astrid,” Demetria says from her position in the foyer. She’s been waiting for them to arrive. If she’s annoyed that they lingered in the driveway, she doesn’t reveal it. With her, it’s hard to tell. Everything is an act—or a fantasy. Reality is lost somewhere in between. “Darling, I am so sorry to hear about the terrible incident at the old school. I had such exciting plans for that place! But once again, Kincade got there first. But regardless of all of that, I’m glad to see you healthy.”

“Thank you, Demetria,” Astrid says. She’s got on her game face for sure. Pleasant, grateful. He had no idea she could pull off such niceties. Her outfit, though, looks like some kind of bad-ass warrior, and Quinn is thankful she’s on their side.

“And you must be Quinn,” she says, stepping close. Her eyes linger on his bruised face and bloody lip. “Who did this to your handsome face?”

“Just a little mishap at the gym.”

She frowns with worry and touches his cheek. It takes everything in him not to jerk away, but Astrid watches him carefully, willing him to behave. “Next time be more careful. I don’t like to see violence like this.”

“I’ll try.”

“Demetria,” she says, drawing the woman’s attention away. “Your home is lovely.”

“It’s taken me years to get it exactly the way I like it.” She looks around the enormous room filled with flowers and gilded mirrors. A huge staircase sits behind her going to the next level, and a massive crystal chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling. The jewels are pink and purple. “It’s a bit much, I admit. But it’s perfect for charity events and hosting important guests.” She smiles. “Like you.”

Owen squirms uncomfortably and Quinn tries to squelch his anger at him for his last-minute freak out. He shouldn’t judge. He gets it. They all carry baggage. Their relationships are new. Trust is hard to come by when they’ve been told all their lives they’re alone and their abilities must be a secret.

Demetria leads the way, gesturing for them to follow her into the dining room, giving him a chance to assess their hostess.

Demetria is dressed like a princess, down to the jewels in her hair. As much as he was against taking the altered PD-1 earlier, he’s now glad he did. This place smells like a trap—a glittery nightmare, and it’s possible they may have to fight their way out of the house at the end of the night. It’s a paranoid thought, but he can’t help but notice the way her eyes linger over both he and Owen.

Especially Owen.

“I designed the house after my favorite movies. Cinderella, Beauty and the Beast, Sleeping Beauty.” Astrid nods in appreciative approval. Quinn has no real idea what she means other than everything in the house is over-the-top and looks straight out of a fairytale.

“Owen.” She pauses until he falls in step with her. Then she links his arm with his. “Did you tell everyone we’re old friends?”

“Aren’t we all old friends?” he replies, with a smirk. “But, yes, I told them we’d met.”

She smiles wide. So weird. So creepy. “Owen and I reconnected years ago after the tragic death of his aunt. He was a sad soul back then, even more than during our childhood. I should have known he’d find his way back to you, Astrid.”

“Yeah, that was a strange coincidence.”

The dining room is as ornate as the rest of the house. Soft music carries through the air and candlelight flickers in silver holders on the table. A familiar figure waits for them at the door.

Draco.

“Draco, you’ve met Astrid, obviously. These are her partners, Owen and Quinn.”

The man acts as though they’ve never met—never sparred and beaten the crap out of one another. He certainly doesn’t act as though he’s given Quinn a busted lip, provided them intel on his boss, or supplied them with the one way to overpower her.

“Mr. Perfect,” Astrid says, smiling at the man. Both Owen and Quinn stare.

Mr. Who?

“Astrid,” he says, taking her gloved hand and giving it a squeeze. “Nice to see you again.” He nods at the men in greeting.

“Well, I don’t know about you but I’m famished. Please sit,” Demetria says, pointing out chairs for each of them. Astrid and Draco on one side. Owen and Quinn on the other. Demetria herself at the head of the table. Servants appear and set a bowl of soup before them. “I’m sure you’re all eager to know why I’ve called you here.”

“Yes,” Astrid says, placing her linen napkin in her lap. Quinn can’t help but notice she’s removed her gloves. “We’re dying to know.”

“As you know, Kincade has escalated his activities in the Swamp—including nearly killing you. It’s unacceptable, ruthless behavior.”

“We have no actual evidence he’s behind these fires,” Quinn says. “Well, there is one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Astrid thinks—”

“I don’t think, Quinn. I know.”

He nods. “Astrid says the man that started the fire is one of us. A survivor.”

Demetria and Draco share a surprised look.

“Who?”

“Devin,” Astrid says. “He calls himself Blaze.”

Recognition lights in her eyes. “He told you this.”

“Yes.” She considers. “Well, close enough. He seemed quite proud to be an arsonist and for his abilities to be used as a ’weapon.’”

Demetria tents her fingers on the table, hovering them over the steaming bowl of soup. “I was certain Devin died that day. In fact, I was certain he was the one that started the fire and killed himself in the process.”

“The fire wasn’t started by someone in the house, Demetria. It was started by someone affiliated with the project. Someone that wanted to kill all of us,” Astrid tells her. “Devin is alive and is proudly burning down all your property for Kincade.”

The news seems to rattle her—anger her more than Quinn would expect. Maybe the fact that another one of her Lost Boys got away from her is too much to handle. Whatever it is, he doesn’t like the dark glint in her eye that flickers for a moment before she composes herself.

“I don’t like fighting with these people. Not in this dark and dirty way. I believe in beauty, love, and light. I want the best for this city, you all know that.”

“We’re trying to find a way to stop them. This is why we came here tonight,” Quinn says, but there’s no mistaking the mania that has taken over.

She ignores him and says, “What we need to do is have something that will bring us all together. The rich, the poor, the Swamp, the city. Tie our bonds. I was wrong before, pushing people apart. What would be better is proving to the city that the Swamp is valuable. The Harbor Line is for everyone!” She gasps and everyone at the table, including Draco, freezes. “A parade. Wait! Not just a parade—a lantern parade!”

“What?” Draco asks, thrown off his composure.

“Yes, darling, a lantern parade! A grand event that will show our support for the people on the Harbor Line. We’ll have a float and thousands of lights and lanterns. The whole community can be involved.” Her eyes light up at the idea.

“I’m sorry,” Owen says, speaking for the first time at the table. “You think a parade will stop Kincade.”

“Yes!” her eyes twinkle. “A beautiful, magical parade. We’ll start by the water and end at the Elite facility. Everyone can join—bringing their own lanterns or lights. WIND-E can provide supplies for the children. Your gym can be a sponsor! We’ll show Kincade we won’t back down. I’ll invite Mayor Steed and all the school children. We’ll have floats and a marching band. It will be truly magnificent.”

“Are you sure this won’t be too taxing?” Draco asks. Thankfully, because everyone else is too stunned to speak. “Putting on a parade with the rest of your schedule will be a big undertaking.”

Astrid and Owen nod in agreement.

She sighs. “You’re right, it will be a lot, but I don’t think I have any choice. And all of you will help! We must bring hope and happiness. I hate all this darkness and evil.” She frowns at Astrid. “Like your dark suit. Wouldn’t it be better to have something brighter? Like white or maybe purple?”

“I, uh,” Astrid looks around the table for help. No one offers assistance. “White would get dirty and purple is so, um, very purple-y.”

“I see,” she says, obviously not understanding at all. “Well, we’re doing it. You’ll ride on my float and the Mayor will have no choice but to grant me the zoning permits to rebuild.”

“So that’s your goal?” Owen says, speaking for the first time since they sat down. “Zoning permits and winning over the Mayor?”

Draco’s face has paled. Quinn can’t help but notice that he watches his boss carefully. He also notices that Astrid has shifted her attention to him and that her expression is identical to his.

“Yes, I’ll win over the Mayor,” she says, picking up her spoon. She dips it in and gets a heaping spoonful of soup. “And when Kincade retaliates, I’ll send you in to destroy him.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

Astrid

Harbor Line Lantern Parade!  This Saturday 8 p.m.! Meet by the water!

The signs are everywhere. Tacked to poles along the park. Hung in windows like the smoothie shop and yoga studio. Even the old garage and Mr. Scruggs the barber put one behind the glass of their businesses.

WIND-E Corp announced the parade the morning after their dinner. The awkward and uncomfortable affair. The wariness of being in Demetria’s demented house didn’t fade until after they were released.

“God, that was suffocating,” Astrid said, the instant the car dropped them off.

“Did I hear that right?” Quinn asked. He’d already removed his tie. “She wants to plan a parade so it will provoke Kincade and we can ’destroy’ him?”

“That’s what she said.” The lines of worry on Owen’s face never faded from the instant they walked in the door until they left.

“Blaze could take us out. Destroy the gym. There is too much to lose,” she said.

“Besides that,” Quinn said. “Is that what we really are? Henchmen?”

Fuck no. That is not what they are. The severity of the situation hit her right then and there. Things were out of control. They’d totally lost control of their own story—their own destiny. She couldn’t let it go on. They had to get out of this situation before it flipped back on them and they were the ones that were destroyed.

That realization came days ago. The parade is officially set for tomorrow. The Mayor seems thrilled. Owen and Quinn are irritable and finally sat down with Casper to release their stress over video games. Astrid heads to the changing room and zips up her suit. When she steps out, the two men in the room stop playing and glance over, their confused expressions identical. She almost laughs.

“Where are you going?” Quinn asks. Casper’s avatar shifts toward her. The game pauses. “Did you get a call?”

“No. I want to check on the kids from the fire the other night. One of them, Luby? He gave me some good intel. I want to make sure they’re okay.”

“Let me change,” Quinn pushes himself out of his seat.

“No. It’s nothing dangerous. Promise.” There’s a moment of silence as they all mull this over. She glares. “Seriously?”

“We all know you have an impulse thing,” Casper says. “Tomorrow is a big day—it may be best to lie low.”

She rolls her eyes and walks out of the room. Her enhanced hearing tips her to their conversation and she walks back. Owen is already at the changing room door. “Don’t follow me or I will kick your ass.”

He holds up his hands. “I was just going to the bathroom. Jeez.”

With a head shake, Astrid leaves them, hoping for once they just do what they’re told.

It’s unseasonably warm and the breeze blowing off the Harbor isn’t too cold. She sticks to the shadows, not wanting to be seen wandering through the Swamp. Some people find her to be a symbol of help and hope. Others feel less friendly—she’s done her share of policing down here as well.

Casper located Luby for her right after the fire—he searched the police files for vandalism and graffiti tagging. He popped right up.

The kid lives in one of the shadiest parts of the Swamp—Crescent Homes—a dilapidated housing project that smells of sulfur from the paper factory on the other side of the Harbor. The apartments are well known for crime and violence. There’s an entry gate, worked by two young men in matching camouflage. They look official. They aren’t. Jensen explained that the housing projects are guarded not by security—but by the gang members and drug dealers who want to keep track of who is coming in and out of the area.

Astrid avoids the front entrance and runs down the side, easily climbing the stone wall that separates Crescent Homes from the rest of the area. She drops quietly to the ground and makes her way through the dark buildings looking for Luby’s apartment.

Crime is public and pervasive as she creeps through the area. Shouts come from inside homes. Beer cans litter the streets. A syringe cracks beneath her feet. Pixie Dust isn’t used down here—that’s a drug for the wealthy, it’s about leisure. It’s about Neverland. Something Demetria says she wants to bring down here, but Astrid can’t see how she plans on accomplishing it. She thinks about the echo she got off of Luby at the school. His grandmother is sick. He’s desperate. These people need help. More than she or any of the other supers from Project 12 can give them.

She locates Luby’s building but something holds her back. She senses a body in the shadows. Bulky. Heart rate even. She catches a scent over the stale cigarettes, urine, and sulfur. Something sweet. Clean.

Looping around the building, she takes a left instead of a right and curves around a car with no tires, up on blocks.

“Dammit, not again,” she says, throwing her hands up when they come face to face. Well, face to shadowy face because his hood cloaks most of his features, but she knows his smell. His body.

“Echo. I wondered how long it would take you to notice me.”

“Too long, Mr. Perfect,” she admits, crossing her arms and leaning against the car. “This is the third time. Why are you stalking me?”

“Third?”

“Picking me up off the street, the night of the fire, and now this.”

“I wouldn’t call it stalking. More like protecting my boss’s investment.”

Astrid narrows her eyes. “She knows you’re here?”

He doesn’t reply, because perfect people can’t lie. The minute she touched his hand under the table at Demetria’s dinner, she knew his every thought. His motive and nature.

Seriously though, he’s perfect.

And one of them.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Astrid says. “Can we cut the shit, Junior.”

Even Mr. Perfect is surprised when she calls him by his real name and it’s written all over his face.

“Yeah, I get it now. I mean, I had a feeling. I’m getting better about identifying the other survivors as time passes. A lot of that has to do with how close I am to Quinn and Owen. We’re delving into our memories together—exploring our power. It brings out a specific bond and when I come across someone else, I can feel it, and the other night at dinner I took a risk and read your echo.”

The surface of Draco’s echo wasn’t much more than what she sensed just being in his presence, but she used her newfound skills to push a little deeper. The PD-1 let her in.

Astrid, with three hats covering her head, holds Harry in her arms and lurks in the shadow of the garage. The older boy is in there. He’s always in there, listening to music, lifting weights, stacking them heavier and heavier with each pass. The rest of the kids in this place are freaks, she knows that. She is that. But this one? He’s something different. Maybe a god like the man in the movie. The one with big muscles and the hammer.

If he knows she’s there, he says nothing. Which is what she wants—to be invisible beneath the layers of clothing. When the garage door opens she slinks back, surprised to see Rosalie enter the garage.

“Junior, there you are. The car will be here soon.”

The car. It’s his day to go to the doctor.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Can you carry in the garbage cans before you go?”

He nods and she eyes the weights on the barbell. “You be careful.”

“I am.”

She smiles and closes the door. He’s helpful, unlike the other boys, and Ms. Rosalie prefers him. Astrid watches as he lifts the bar off the rack and raises and lowers the weight off his chest. His biceps bulge and his chest heaves but she can tell it’s not a challenge. Like the rest of them, he just wants to control his gift.

He racks the weight and sits up, sweat spreading through his shirt. Astrid shifts, knocking into a can of paint, but Junior doesn’t look up. He just says, “You don’t have to hide.”

Fear blooms in her chest at being discovered but she senses no danger with him, so she walks into the light.

“How long have you been watching?” He reaches for the cat and scratches Harry’s ears. The cat bursts into a deep purr.

“Just a little while.”

“Astrid, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you wear all those hats? Don’t you get hot?”

She shakes her head. “It’s the only way I feel safe.”

The older boy nods in understanding and eases to the edge of the bench. “Did you see how strong I am?”

“Yes. Like the man in the movies with the hammer.”

He laughs, and it lights up his whole face. “Maybe not that much but yeah, I’m pretty strong. If anyone bothers you in here, you let me know. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay.”

He tugs at her felt ears and moves to clean up the gym. Astrid feels safer than she has in a long time. The security stays until later that afternoon when she watches from the back step as Junior gets into the black SUV.

He may be strong, she thinks, but he still has to go to the doctor like the rest of them, and that makes her tug her hat close down over her ears.

“Why are you really following me?” she asks.

“Because I think you’re a good person and I believe in what you’re doing, and right now you’re running between two very powerful people: Demetria and Kincade. I don’t want you to get trapped in the middle of their gunfire.”

Seems a little overdramatic. “I’m just down here to check on a kid.”

“A kid that Kincade wanted dead. He and the other taggers were supposed to go up in that fire. You spooked them and they got away. You don’t think he’ll come back and clean up the damage?”

“What about your boss. You don’t think she can stop him?”

He chooses his words carefully. “I’m not sure she even knows how to do the right thing. She may think she’s helping people, but as you’ve seen, her reality is a bit skewed.”

She snorts but his words make her uneasy—nauseous. He’s right. They’re caught in the middle of a much bigger war.

“Why are you working with her?” Everything she gets off of him, from his echo, the memories and his basic emotions imply he’s a good guy. She’s not getting any kind of bad vibe off of him.

“That’s complicated.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Really? Your story isn’t complicated? How you got in that suit? Your friends? Your mentor?” It’s the first hint of anger she’s seen from him.

“We took the drug modifier you gave us, and I read your echo at the party.”

“I know. I sat next to you on purpose, to give you that opportunity.”

Of course he did. “You think this parade is going to be a disaster, don’t you.”

“I know it will. She can’t do it any other way.” He swallows and they’re quiet for a minute as a car with loud bass shaking the windows passes by. Two dumb kids with mohawks pass a cigarette back and forth in the front seat. “Demetria found me a year ago. I’d been living and traveling the world with my mentor, Emma. She was a scientist and professor that mostly spoke at universities and conferences as a guest. I was waiting for her to come back to our hotel after an event in Brazil. She never returned. The police found her body a week later.”

“I’m sorry.” Words aren’t enough. She knows that.

“I had no idea what to do with myself—but I knew enough about the project to start digging around. I found Demetria—she wasn’t really hiding.”

“Did you know about the rest of us?”

“Not before. Emma never told me anyone else survived and when I found Demetria I was just relieved. It felt good to be around someone that understood. She’s the one that told me about you and the others.”

“Yeah, it’s a little surreal but nice. Like, oh shit, I’m not insane.”

“Exactly.” He grins and it’s almost heart-stopping. “I’m not here as a betrayal to Demetria, although she would probably see it that way. Increasingly her delusions seem bigger—deeper. I’m worried about her. The gala was totally out of control. Using her powers like that in public?”

“She had the Pixie Dust to protect her.”

“And a lot of public relations damage control. It gave Kincade a chance to slip in with the Mayor. I don’t know what will happen if he wins those properties.”

“She’ll lose her freaking mind, won’t she? You know, relatively speaking.”

“Yep. She and Kincade are already playing with fire. Literally. More people will get hurt.” He looks at her intently. “You could get hurt.”

“What do we need to do?” she asks. “Have it called off? Alert the Mayor? The police?”

“I think we let it go on as planned and just give Demetria what she needs for tomorrow. She needs a day to shine. She loves this city so much and this is a good thing.”

“You just want us to pander to her.”

“I want you to let her have her day and we’ll use it to shut down Kincade—the legal way.”

“Do you have a plan for that?” Because she sure as hell doesn’t. Not without placing them all in trouble.

“Yeah, I think I do.”

Astrid studies him for a moment, eager to hear his plan, but there’s something she has to ask first.

“I know she’s into this Lost Boy thing, but does she treat you okay? Because you know there are other options out there. You’re not alone.”

His crystal blue eyes burn into hers. “She’s intense. Demanding and often on the edge. She saved me from a very lonely, desperate place. I owe her, and I appreciate her. I want to help her.”

Astrid squeezes his hand. “She was my friend, too. I want to help her as well. But I won’t back down if she forces my hand.”

“I don’t want you to. Why do you think I set all this up?”

His smile is genuine and the emotions that roll off of him are hard to handle. He’s pure. His motives true. It’s a lot for Astrid to deal with but it’s also easy. There are no shades with Draco. Just honesty.

He squeezes her hand back and says, “Let’s figure out how to turn this situation around, because if we leave it up to her, all hell is going to break loose.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Owen

Astrid may be stubborn, a terrible eater, and a filthy slob, but she’s not stupid.

She may have gone out alone that night to check on the kid from the fire, but she turned on her mask and com. Instead of playing video games, the men watched as she crept through Crescent Homes and watched as she realized Draco was following her.

“I knew it,” Quinn mutters later. They’d left the Lair once she was safely on her way back home. She and Casper were in contact. And they’d decided to head up to the apartment to check on Luby before she left. “I knew there was more to him when I fought him.”

“She did too, I guess. Which is why she read him at the party.”

Owen stretches out on the couch. It’s been a long day. A long week. Tomorrow is going to be insane. So many things could go wrong with their plan. Both Kincade and Demetria were wild cards. “Do you think he’s legit?”

“I think Astrid trusts him,” Quinn says. He sits on the opposite end.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It looks that way.”

Quinn turns on the TV, flipping through the channels. He passes two news reports about the parade. Casper will record them to go over tomorrow before the event. To Owen’s surprise, he stops on a cartoon.

“Really?” he asks as a talking unicorn comes on screen.

“Shit. Sorry. I was trying to avoid the news.”

Down the hall, the door opens and Astrid’s footsteps carry down the hall. She speaks in a quiet voice which is followed by Harry meowing back. Owen rolls his eyes and Quinn laughs.

“Hey,” she says, standing in the doorway. She’s in a white, tight, V-neck Elite T-shirt and red shorts. Her thin gloves cover her hands. “You watch the feed?”

“Yeah,” Owen says, patting the cushion next to him. “You okay with it all?”

She nods. “Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Quinn says, watching her walk past him to the kitchen where they can hear the sound of crinkling snack bags and the hiss of soda. She comes back in the room, chugging the bottle of Mountain Dew, and stands before them. Harry winds between her legs, tail flipping.

Her shirt is ridiculously tight—two sizes too small. She probably likes the way it feels, the tight compression against her skin, but all it does is accentuate the dark circles of her nipples, and the raised peaks where they rub against the fabric.

Owen’s eyes skim down her legs at the tight shorts covering her ass. She’s oblivious. Maybe. He knows she can sense everything about them. Their heart rates. Their scent. She can probably hear the blood rushing to their balls. Yeah, their. Because there is no way Quinn’s not feeling it too.

She reaches down and pets her cat, giving them a wide view of her cleavage. “Well, I’m headed to bed, see you in the morning.”  Her next move is to step over the cat to give Quinn a kiss on the cheek. Her hand lingers on his shoulder. His cheeks flush and his eyes are glued to her chest, and when she turns to the do the same to Owen he snaps, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her on the couch.

She looks up at him with raised eyebrows and a small smirk.

“I don’t know what game you’re playing, Astrid, but I do think it’s dangerous.”

“You don’t know?” she bats her eyelashes and glances between the two men. “Really?”

He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t hesitate. He just kisses her, right there on the couch, right there next to Quinn. And when her hand reaches over to the other man he kisses her harder, encouraging her, because that is where she wants this to go and he’s known for weeks. Now he’s willing to take whatever journey she plans on leading him on.

She pulls away from Owen and faces Quinn. “You okay with this?” she asks, which is interesting that she didn’t ask Owen. But maybe enough has transpired between them for that to be clear.

“I am,” Quinn says quietly, eyes glued to hers. She licks her lips and brings him in for a kiss; it’s gentle and her hand that is intertwined with Owen’s releases, dropping to his lap. He’s already hard, turned on by the entire scene. He’s not sure how far this will go tonight, but he wants to make one thing certain: this is about Astrid. Not them.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Quinn

When Quinn finally comes up for air, Owen makes a quick move, dragging Astrid back against his chest. His friend exhales when her backside presses against his crotch, a signal of slight relief but more frustration. Quinn has never understood a man’s motivation as much as he has in this moment. He doesn’t need Astrid’s empathic abilities to know what Owen is feeling. He’s consumed by it too, intense want. Overwhelming desire.

She leans back into Owen, grinding against him, and he presses his lips to her neck. Quinn isn’t sure where to go from here. This is definitely new to him—surely, new to her, but Astrid is brave—exciting. And this has been building for days, if not weeks.

“Hey,” she says, calling him over with a bent finger, “come here.”

He scoots closer, acutely aware of the hardening of his cock, the way it bulges in his shorts. Her eyes dart downward, probably sensing his thoughts, and she touches his face and her hands travel down his cheeks to his chest.

Her eyes brighten, dilating and constricting with every beat of his heart. Owen’s hands move to her breasts, kneading them with his hands, tugging at the hem of her shirt and revealing her flat stomach.

Quinn moves to his knees and bends over her, kissing the smooth flesh of her belly. Her stomach dips, her legs spread. Owen’s hand slides down her side, thumb trailing over her nipple, and he pushes his fingers beneath the waist of her pants.

Astrid shudders and grabs Quinn by the neck, pulling his mouth to hers. Her kiss is breathless, hungry, and her hands reach between his legs. He sees Owen’s teeth flash, biting down on her shoulder before yanking her shirt over her head. Her breasts are exposed--mercy, they’re perfect--and Quinn doesn’t hesitate to press his face between them. He licks the supple skin, toys with her nipples. Her hand moves along the shaft of Quinn’s cock, building a rhythm, and her body shifts in time, lifted by strong hands seeking their own relief.

They move like this, her hands on him, Owen’s fingers pleasuring her, her ass providing friction for him. He’s got her bouncing on his cock, which makes for a glorious sight for Quinn. Her tits bounce in rhythm. All three are shirtless but clothed below. It’s a barrier that none seem ready to cross.  But they need this. He sees it in her eyes. Tastes it on her tongue. A release before tomorrow. A bonding to cement their trust.

Astrid’s breathing becomes uneven, her kisses sloppy. She whines against Owen’s fingers, whatever it is he’s doing under the cotton of her shorts is something Quinn must learn. Right now, his brain is turning foggy with every stroke of her hand.  Even over his shorts it feels fantastic. She feels fantastic and he’s stunned at what she does next.

At the height of it all, when they’re about to fall like dominoes, she whispers, “Take the gloves off and take my hands.”

He’s never known such fear.

And although he’s avoided it so far, he and Owen lock eyes, knowing this is the moment. It’s pass or fail. If she doesn’t find her truth here, then they’re over.

Completely, fucking, destroyed.

Trust.

It’s a terrifying thing.

He nods at Owen, the slightest of moves, and at the same time, amid heavy breathing, pounding hearts and throbbing heat, they pull the satin that protects Astrid from the world. From them.

She returns her hand to his cock and rests her other on her belly and says, “I’m ready.”

Owen’s hand slides down her arm until it comes to rest on her hand. Quinn does the same, enveloping her small hand in his large one, wrapping both around his cock.

Astrid gasps and a shiver runs through them. All three. She feels them and they definitely feel her and when enough heartbeats have passed to prove they are true, she exhales and once again they begin to move.

The feelings can’t be normal, because before, it felt good, even through fabric, but what comes next is almost more than Quinn can handle.

He doesn’t just have an orgasm. He has an experience. It’s one full of love, light, and trust. Euphoria. Sheer pleasure. The release comes hard, almost violent, and he can’t help but crush his mouth to hers, the sensation so overwhelming. She bites down on his lip and cries against his tongue.

He’s not the only one. Owen’s eyes close and he grips Astrid on the hip, pulling her close as he groans into her neck. A string of curses tumble over his lips and his cheeks turn red.

“Christ,” he breathes, forcing his trembling hand to stay steady. Astrid writhes on top of him, almost curling in on herself as she tumbles over the edge of her own orgasm.

“Oh god,” she cries. It sounds like pain, and the men look at one another, panicked.

“Is it too much?” Quinn asks, knowing the intensity of his own feelings. It must be quadrupled for her. She bucks against Owen’s hand.

“Do I stop?” he asks.

“No,” she pants. “Please no. Touch me. More. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

They do as she demands. Hands, mouths, fingers, teeth. She wants it hard, crying out in pleasure the further they pinch, push, and twist. She’s now sprawled on the couch with both men cradling her, feeling her—loving her.

She finally shatters, the orgasm cresting over her like a wave, with a chest-rattling moan.

“Damn,” Owen says, kissing her gently across the face and neck. “Damn, damn, damn.”

She gazes at the two of them with a grin that matches her emotions. Feelings linger under Quinn’s skin. Feelings he won’t be able to shake for a long, long time.

If ever.

As her breathing settles, a feeling of peace also settles over the three of them, but Quinn’s mind doesn’t stop. He can’t stop thinking about the woman next to him—the one he’s still touching. This wasn’t their first time. He’s fucked her before. High on adrenaline, horny from too many years alone. But this was something different. He finally understands her fear—the way her power takes over. It’s the first time he does because it’s not a controlled setting. It’s not training or testing for the field.

What they just experienced was real. From the heart. A connecting of the souls. All layers were stripped away and none of them will ever go back to how they were before.

It’s impossible.

She showed them euphoria. The place beyond lust, and may god be with them when they finally make love without the barriers. This was nothing—just a taste of what’s out there.

That is, if they make it past tomorrow.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Astrid

“I have something for you,” Casper says into her com.

She’s in the changing room. Alone. The boys are in the other room going over the parade route one more time. She’s not sure why. They’ve gone over it a dozen times and Casper has programmed all of it into their systems.

Even so, she doesn’t mind a minute alone to get ready. After their encounter the night before, things have been tense.

Not in a bad way, but in a things-have-changed-and-where-do-we-go-from-here-kind of way.

“Echo?”

“What?”

“Did you hear me?”

She’s glad he can’t see her blush, because it keeps happening after thinking about last night. “Yes, you have something for me. What is it?”

“I was going through some of Atticus’s notes last night. Ones about the suit and tools. There’s something on your belt that I didn’t realize before.”

She tugs up her gloves and pretends hearing his name doesn’t bother her right now. “What is it?”

“It looks like it was just a prototype, like a lot of the things we have, but you see those two rings hanging from the sides?”

She’s noticed them before. They seemed decorative or like a spot to hang a weapon. She touches them. “Yeah.”

“If I’m reading the material right, those are handcuffs.”

She pulls them off the belt and holds them up. “For what? An elf?”

“Pull them.”

She slips her fingers into the loops and tugs. The metal gives, expanding into wrist-sized bracelets. There’s a hum and a slight vibration between them.

“You feel that?” Quinn asks in the other room.

“It’s me,” she calls out. “Just messing with some stuff.”

She shuts them together and the current stops.

“What do they do?” she asks.

“Looks like they’re magnetic—heavy duty—if you put them on someone, they’ll hold. There’s no getting out of them.”

“So just handcuffs?”

“No,” he says. “They also can do a few other things. The biggest one is they can shut down a Super’s powers.”

She looks at them again. “You’re kidding?”

“Nope.” He pauses. “I think Atticus gave this to you and only you for a reason. To use against a Super if they go off the rails. Demetria may be there soon.”

“Blaze already is.”

“Exactly.”

She returns the cuffs to her belt. “Thanks for showing me. I have a feeling they’ll come in handy.”

“Don’t be afraid to use them, Astrid. On friend or enemy.”

She stops. “You think there’s a problem?”

“I think the field is getting crowded. Not everyone is a friend.”

“I know that. I just said Blaze is a problem. We’re going to deal with him.”

“He may not be the only one.”

She sighs. “Who are you talking about, Cas?”

“No one in particular. Just be careful. People are not always what they seem.”

“Like you’re not really a ghost?” She snaps back, then laughs. “Just kidding. We all know you’re a pasty kid hiding in the basement. Basically, a ghost.”

“Good luck, babe,” he says, offering his most annoying term of endearment. This time she had it coming.

“I don’t need luck,” she says, adjusting her mask. “I have you watching over my shoulder.”

*

The team agreed to be on the float with Demetria, and although they’re in their suits, that is not their costume.

Yes, costume.

Even before dusk, lanterns light up the streets, bringing a glow to the warring zone between two neighborhoods.

“Damn. I always knew you were a smoking hot babe, but this takes it to a new level.”

“Casper. Shut up.”

“I can’t. You look like every dream, fantasy, and nightmare of mine all rolled up in one. Promise me, when we finally meet, you’ll wear that, okay?”

“I don’t know what’s hotter,” Owen adds, “Seeing Echo in that fairy get-up or knowing she’s got more firepower under her skirts than any of the police out here tonight.”

“You too?” she asks him. He nods and doesn’t hide his appreciation of her in the ridiculous outfit. “And is that firepower thing an innuendo?”

He raises his eyebrows.

“Well, I may be wearing this stupid, glittery abomination but she didn’t get very creative with you, did she?”

Owen gets to wear his suit—only slightly modified. He wears a jaunty cap and carries a quiver full of arrows on his back. His mask is off, just like all of theirs, so he looks less menacing.  There’s no doubt about it. Demetria dressed him up like Peter Pan.

The whole float, to her absolute unsurprise, is an homage to Neverland. And sure enough, Astrid is Tinkerbelle.

Built on a flatbed truck, there’s no doubt who the star of the night will be. Demetria wants all eyes on her and her magical playground. In the front is a giant tree with a house tucked into the branches. Animals and butterflies flutter about. The back portion is a ship, Captain Hook’s, and although James is long dead, she’s made a new captain, with a perfect smile and a gleaming hook.

Draco.

None of it is real, simply fabrications created by WIND-E’s amazing creative department, but there’s a hint of realism to the whole thing makes Astrid nervous.

“Where’s Quinn?” she asks. He’d been given an outfit of his own. One of the Lost Boys that follows Peter. There are other children milling around—kids handpicked by Demetria to ride the float. Draco told her they were an insurance policy to keep Kincade and Blaze from launching fire balls at the float. Astrid isn’t sure it’s enough to keep him in check. He’s endangered children before.

“Five minutes!” Demetria breathlessly announces. She’s Wendy Darling, of course. Dressed in a beautiful light blue nightgown. There’s a matching blue bow in her hair and one on the back of her gown. Every minute that passes, Astrid feels like she’s stumbling more into the absurd.

As she takes her position on the float, Mayor Steed walks up the ladder and greets Demetria. The woman gives her most dazzling smile, but Astrid knows she’s nervous. This is the man holding the key to her plans.

The crowd is enormous. People from all parts of the city came to the parade. Lanterns of all shapes and sizes light up the air. Children sit on their parent’s shoulders and hold the glowing paper orbs in the air. They look like animals, artwork, and sparkly designs. The entire place looks like a fantasyland—just like what Demetria wanted, and Astrid can’t help but be glad for her.

A microphone is passed up to the Mayor, who raises his hand to the bustling crowd. Voices lower, and he greets the city.

“Thank you all for coming to this exciting event! This crowd is bigger than we expected, and I have to thank Ms. Holmes for donating her time and effort into organizing such a spectacular night for the residents of our city.” Demetria bows and waves at the cheers. Astrid scans the crowd, noticing the huge number of police. Blue lights flash down the side roads and many officers manage the crowd.

The mayor is on his way down the ladder when she stops him. “Have you made any decisions about the properties?”

“The committee meets on Monday. I think if things go well tonight, you’ll get the news you want.”

At that, her smile is like a ray of sunshine. “Don’t worry Mayor Steed, it’s going to go off without a hitch.”

Astrid senses the relief in Demetria. And because of that, she hopes that everything is going to be okay. She’ll get her land. Take back over the Swamp. Kick out the builders and gentrifiers. She’ll eliminate the greedy, the yoga shops, and organic breweries. She’ll save her community.

She glances across the stage as they’re told to get into position. Draco up on the ship. Quinn and Owen up in the tree. Demetria pets a stuffed fox on the head, and Astrid thinks maybe they’ll get through the night and have a little fun.

Except two things happen.

First, she spots Jensen in the crowd and their eyes connect.

Then Casper speaks into her ear.

“Kincade just messaged.”

“What does he want?”

“The buildings. Demetria. To rain terror down on the city. You know, standard bad guy stuff.”

“And?” The float starts to move, following the marching band from Crescent City High. Astrid braces herself so she doesn’t fall.

“He sent a map of the city down Harbor Line. There are explosives all over. He’s not going to let Demetria have her day.”

“Fine,” she says, catching Quinn and Owen’s eyes. “Then we’ll just have to stop him.”

But it’s too late because the first explosion rocks the float and the buildings around them. And if Astrid ever thought Demetria would sit back and let her team handle it, she was dead wrong.

“What was that?” Demetria says while waving. “Did you feel that?”

“That was Kincade,” Astrid tells her.

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Astrid

The ship built into the float cracks in half and Draco senses it just in time. He jumps off his perch and lands next to her on the front part of the float. The contents of the boat pour out. Demetria knew he would show and she brought weapons.

“What are those things?” Astrid asks, staring at the flying objects. She’s pulled her mask over her eyes. The others do the same. In seconds, they’re linked up.

“You know bad things live in fairy tales too, right?”

“Casper, find Jensen for me,” she says over the com. He’s got facial recognition software. “I need him to get out of here.”

“Shit,” Owen says, running over in his attempt to get out of the way of the tree that has now come to life. The trunk grows legs and steps off the float, entering the crowd. The screams, a mixture of confused excitement and fear, are so loud Astrid covers her ears.

“Draco.” He looks at her. “Go neutralize Demetria or I’ll have to.”

He nods, but they both know it’s too late. She’s standing in the middle of the float like a woman on fire. Her dress spins around her ankles and she holds her hands up, directing her weapons into the city.

Quinn snatches one of the small creatures out of the air and holds it up. It’s small but alive. It looks like a lizard. No. It’s a—

“Fucking dragon,” Owen says.

Quinn tosses it off the side of the float and it expands mid-air, growing to the height of a small building. Smoke billows from its long snout. Its feet land hard on the ground, cracking the asphalt.

Two more explosions rock the Harbor Line and off in the distance a huge ball of fire shoots toward the sky. Police and firefighters run toward the flames, while those caught in the middle, between the explosions and the float, are trapped. The police try to manage them, but the hysteria is too big. “Pan, help these people. Calm them down. Make them see whatever it is they need to see to get to safety.”

“Got it,” he replies, moving to the edge of the float. The dragon ambles ahead of them, on the heels of the marching band.

“Echo, I found him.” An image from the scene pops up. Jensen is stalking through the crowd in the direction of the fires. That’s what heroes do. They run to danger, not away from it.

“What do you want me to do?” Charger asks. He’s ripped off the stupid pirate costume and she finds he’s fully suited up underneath. She isn’t surprised.

“Casper said bombs. Are they on electronic triggers? Timers? Pull up the map and see if there’s anything you can do to disconnect them with your power.”

“What about you?” he asks. There’s no mistaking the look of concern in his eyes.

“I’m going after Blaze. I owe him one.”

He nods. “Be careful.”

The dragon roars and other creatures come to life. Strong horses with sleek black manes. Lizards and dinosaurs. Pixies with sharp teeth.

“You too.”

He reaches for her and pulls her close, kissing her on the forehead before jumping off the float and into the crowd.

She’s about to follow him off the platform when Pan calls her name over the com.

“What?”

“I need your help. This crowd, they’re panicking, and people are getting hurt.” She’s tried to push their voices out of her head—ignore the screams--but lets them in and it shakes her to the core. Hundreds if not thousands of terrified people running in a dozen directions. “I’ve got a way for them to get out of here, but they need to calm down. I need you to calm them down.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” she says.

“I’ve seen you!” He shouts something away from the com. She tries to find him in the crowd, but it’s swelled into a frenzy.

“Not with a crowd this big.”

“You can do it. You have to, Echo.”

The dragon roars, spitting a burst of fire into the air. Chaos follows, and she takes a deep, steadying breath and rips off her gloves. She doesn’t plan on touching anyone but she needs as much of their emotional energy as she can get. With the heat of the dragon at her back and another explosion rocking the ground she grabs hold of the panic in the air…

Terror, distress, agony, torment, suffering…

The feelings grip Astrid like a vise.

Sweat pools on her back and she claws at her ears, at her skin, wanting it to stop. But she doesn’t run. She channels it, pulls the energy into her core, building it into a small but powerful ball. Astrid lets it grow, feeding on every scream. Every faltering step.  She consumes as much as she can until she feels like she will burst and then she puts her hands together, wrapping them around the energy and holding it with both hands.

“Holy shit,” Casper says in her ear.

She barely hears him because she’s now focused on shifting the energy, but…

“I can’t do this. I don’t know how.”

Her knees threaten to buckle under the weight of it all.

“Open your eyes,” Casper says.

Her eyelids feel like they’re held down by weights. The same with her arms, her legs and shoulders, but she fights against the pull and blinks, looking into the crowd.

They’re moving, following a bright light down one of the side streets away from the danger. It’s a peaceful scene, the opposite of the horror and destruction of the parade route. Bright paper lanterns lead the way along with twinkling lights and a starry sky. The buildings are painted a cheery color and the crowd moves calmly, carefully toward their escape.

“How?” she says, her arms and hands aching from holding the energy.

“You took their fear,” Casper says. “And Pan? Well, that’s not an oasis down that alley, but it’s better than the alternative.”

She holds, feeling the wave of exhaustion rolling over her, but her heart swells when she sees the crowd thin; children racing to safety, parents carrying three kids in their hands. She doesn’t look for Draco or Charger, knowing the slightest distraction will destroy her efforts, but she does exhale in relief when Pan comes through the final people. He looks up at her with a huge smile and gives her a thumbs-up.

“We’ve got the people clear,” Casper says over the group com.  “Echo, you’re good.”

She has no idea what to do with the energy but she’s willing to try something new. She turns and faces the lumbering, terrifying dragon and opens her hands, blasting all of the pain, fear, and distress into the fantastical creature.

The energy shoots from her, kicking back and knocking her on her ass. She flails, trying to see what happened, but another explosion goes off. No, not an explosion, but a wave ripples over Astrid’s skin just as the hum of the city falls away and darkness shrouds the street, other than one thing.

Blaze stands in the middle of the street with a ball of fire in his hands.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Quinn

After kissing her on the forehead, Quinn jumps off the float and pushes his way through the crowd. Astrid told him to take care of the bombs but there are dozens, according the map Casper uploaded into the system. The small but powerful explosives are placed up and down the Harbor Line, all linked into a timer system.

“Can you hack into the timer?” he asks Casper.

“I tried. There’s a complicated firewall keeping me out. They were smart, and it would take too long to get through to make a difference.”

“Shit.” A teenage girl stumbles at his feet and he reaches down to help her up. Tears streak down her cheeks. He looks across the road and sees the tell-tale sign of Casper’s work. “Run that way. Toward that light. That’s the safe place.”

She nods and disappears into the crowd, dragging a smaller boy behind her.

What a fucking nightmare.

The dragon (dragon!) roars behind him, sending people into a bigger panic. Fire billows from its jaw and he throws up a shield, keeping the heat off the people around him. The fire blasts it and the electronic field wavers, but he doubles down and makes it stronger.

The heat and flames bounce off his shield, sending them back at the dragon. The creature stumbles back, giving the people in the street a chance to run. Quinn shouts for them to follow the lights; he truly hopes it’s to safety and not another trap.

Another explosion trembles the ground.

“Do something, Charger!”

He looks around—for something—anything to give him leverage against Kincade and his plan.

“There’s a major transformer two blocks down. One of the bombs is about twenty feet from it.”

Schematics appear on the screen and a dot shows him where the transformer is located. “Do you know when it’s set to go?”

“Two minutes.”

“Of course. Why give me any more time?” But he’s already running, pushing past the terrified parade-goers and feeling like a dick for not helping. The map helps him find the transformer and Casper has graciously provided a countdown clock in the corner. No pressure. None at all.

The box is down a small side alley with a dead end. He slips between a group of people, lanterns smashed and broken under his feet. The box takes up most of the space.

“Sixty seconds.”

“Shut up, Goblin,” he says, reaching for the box. He hears the hum of the electricity moving inside. He’s got a plan. It’s risky and could totally backfire, but they’re in some serious shit. He’s got no choice.

Quinn steps back and kicks at the lock on the door. His boot slams into it over and over until the metal twists, then breaks. It falls with a clink to the ground and he flings open the door. Cables dart in different directions, thick and black with metal caps. With a silent prayer, he ignores the safety switch and yanks two live wires out with his hands. The shock is significant, but nothing he can’t handle. The burn doesn’t even make it past his gloves, but he knows what he has to do and damn if it isn’t going to hurt.

“Be careful, bro.”

“Keep an eye on the others. It’s about to go dark. Really dark.”

Quinn holds the exposed, cracking ends and presses them together, igniting a coursing wave of electrical energy like he’s never felt before. Pulling them apart, he slams the wires into his chest and leans against the crumbling brick wall, taking in a massive dose of electricity. The timer on his mask counts down, thirty seconds, then twenty, until there’s nothing but a few ticking off the clock. He drops the wires and stumbles into the street and lays his hands on the ground like Thor would drop his hammer.

The result is an enormous surge, the size of an EMP, enough to drop the whole area off the grid. Quinn falls to the ground, hands sunk three inches into the asphalt, knees shaking as he tries to stay conscious. His screen zaps out.

“Goblin?” he asks, but the hum is gone, like everywhere else. He knocked them all offline, but he hears the roar of a creature that shouldn’t exist and he knows the battle is far from over.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Owen

One minute, Astrid, sweaty and exhausted from culling the echo from hundreds of people, is in his vision and the next, the streets fall dark. Police lights, along with the red swirl of fire and rescue, vanish into nothing. The ever-present hum of electricity completely dissipates. It has to be Charger. Please let it be Charger.

Two bursts of flame provide light. The dragon still lumbers slowly, feet cracking the pavement. Demetria stands at the monster’s feet. All her energy seems to be in this one fabrication—her other animals and toys having disappeared.

Blaze is on the other end of the street, fireball in hand. Kincade lurks in the shadows. It’s like something out of a movie. The epic showdown where magic and beasts fight to the end. But it’s not magic—not really. The fire is real, and the dragon is tearing up the streets. People are getting hurt.

“Pan,” Astrid says, finding him in the dark. Her hand brushes against his.

“What do we do?” he asks. Footsteps draw his attention and Quinn walks up. Owen expects him to look tired or worn out, but he seems the opposite.

“We let them kill one another,” Owen says.

“No,” Astrid says. “That’s not happening. We get Blaze. Contain him, and Demetria? She’s done.”

The first fireball is thrown before any of them move and it crashes into the float. The tissue, lumber, and glue holding it all together ignites easily and flame ripples across the structure. The look of fear crosses Demetria’s features but it turns quickly, changing into rage. That emotion channels into the dragon stomping toward Blaze, tail swishing, knocking into the flaming float and scattering fire into the street.

“Echo!” Quinn yells after pushing Owen to the ground. A huge piece of debris flies at Astrid. Quinn gets to her in time, knocking her to the side, but a piece of lumber hurtles in his direction and he moves to throw up a protective shield, but a shadow crosses in front of the flame before he gets the chance. The figure carries an actual shield, one made of metal and painted silver. The wood crashes into the shield and explodes into splinters.

“Mr. Perfect,” Astrid says, as Owen helps her from the ground. “About time you showed up.” She brushes her hands off. “Our plan went to hell.”

“How do we stop her?” Quinn asks him.

Draco shakes his head and hangs the shield on his back. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you!” Quinn rages.

“He doesn’t lie,” Astrid tells him. “It’s a defect of being so magnificent or something. But I can stop her.”

“How?” Draco asks.

“You’re with me.” She points to Draco. “You two go shut down Blaze for good.”

“You sure?”

She nods. “I better be.”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Astrid

“You distract her,” she tells Draco, but it won’t be as easy as that. The battle between Demetria and Blaze has caught new furor. Fire blasts from both directions. We’re seeing the curse of two Supers from Project 12 using their abilities against one another.

No wonder the doctors were afraid.

Quinn and Owen dart into the road and Charger tosses up a protective field, holding back Blaze’s attack. Kincade shouts from behind his minion and a troop of men in black clothing pours from the shadows.

“Owen can’t fight them off alone,” she says.

Draco nods. “He’ll have to give it a shot.”

He’s not the strongest fighter but he does have his powers, and he uses them the instant the first of Kincade’s bodyguards gets close. Astrid can’t watch, she has her own job to do, and she feels for the cuffs on her belt.

“Go,” she says to Draco with a nod, and he walks up to his boss with zero fear. He’s not afraid of her or her dragon. Astrid wishes she could say the same, because the woman stands beneath her beast and screams with a feral cry.

“How dare you trespass against me and my people. This is my town. My community!” She moves her hand into the shape of a claw and the dragon swipes the air too close to where Quinn is holding Blaze back.

“Demetria!” Draco shouts over the roaring fire. The heat from the burning float is sweltering. Her blue Wendy nightgown is singed along the ground. Sweat trickles down his neck.

“Draco?” she says, her voice is weak. The dragon wavers. She’s expended an enormous amount of energy.

“This isn’t what you came to do.” He takes a step closer. “This isn’t what you wanted to do to your neighborhood.”

He reaches for her hand.

“What?” Her eyes widen like she’s seeing the destruction for the first time. He holds her eyes and draws her in. How? She doesn’t know, but Draco is a very powerful man. “I can’t let him have it.”

“So you’d rather destroy it?” he asks. “Call down your beast. Echo and the others will take care of Blaze.”

Her eyes narrow. “He was always naughty. Always. I tried to get him to join us, but he’s too wicked.” She hisses in his direction and the dragon roars, spitting fire. Draco cuts his eyes in Astrid’s direction. She needs to act—now.

“Demetria,” he says, holding her eye, both of her hands in his. “I’m sorry.”

Astrid moves quickly and gets behind the deranged woman. Draco thrusts her hands behind her back. She slips the cuffs over Demetria’s wrists, pressing the button to make them magnetic. The dragon stutters and in a blink turns back into a tiny toy, landing with a clatter on the ground.

Demetria jerks against them, hair trembling down her back, but she’s locked tight.

“What have you done?” she asks. There’s genuine terror in her voice and Astrid backs away, not wanting her emotions to spill over.

With the dragon down, Blaze pauses his attack. Owen’s fighting three men in black, using a mixture of his power and tactical moves. Fighting, but not winning. Quinn turns and sees him take a hard kick to the side and fall. He drops his shield and races over to his friend, tossing his opponent to the ground.

Astrid starts to run over but Draco grabs her by the arm and holds her back. A full team in military gear runs from the side streets. They’re carrying guns, big ones, and the battle is swift. Blaze shifts his focus, tossing fire bombs in the direction of the soldiers. Shots are fired.

A segment of the fighters turn their way.

“Take her,” Astrid tells Draco, knowing Demetria needs to get out of here. Away from whoever these people are. Heavy footsteps pound behind her and she spins, fists raised. She’s ready to fight off whoever is coming next.

To her relief, she doesn’t have to. It’s Jensen.

He’s covered in soot and looks like he’s just been through war. They all do.

Draco looks between them, but his eyes linger on Jensen before he focuses back on Demetria. Already she seems to have slipped away, her mind somewhere else. Probably somewhere better.

“She’s coming with me, son,” Jensen says.

Draco doesn’t argue and steps away.  Astrid stops Jensen when he reaches for his own pair of cuffs.

“Don’t take those off.”

“No?”

“Atticus made them,” she says, as if that should explain it. He nods as though it does.

He reaches for his gun and holds it in the air. She flinches when he pulls the trigger but flares rip into the sky and his men hold.

“Who are these people?”

“They’re with me.”

“Recruits?”

She scans for their faces. She can’t see them behind the masks, but a few bodies look familiar, especially one with a massive frame. Rowe.

“You trained them well.”

“Did I train them for this?” she asks, but he doesn’t answer, handing Demetria off to a mask-faced soldier. With only a quick look at Astrid, Draco follows his boss.

Everything smells like smoke. Everything feels like adrenaline—too amped up to identify. She searches the street for Quinn and Owen, but they’re gone. Blaze is surrounded by a group in black. Kincade lies face down on the street.

“I saw you in the crowd. I wanted to warn you.”

“We’ve been watching Holmes and WIND-E for a while, since the Gala. We didn’t know who was behind those fires but she’s unstable enough to have set them herself.”

“She didn’t. It was Kincade.” She watches the troops yank him off the ground. His hands are cuffed and his cheek bloody. “They had a difference of opinion on how the Swamp should be used.”

“So they decided to blow it the fuck up instead?” He laughs bitterly. “Are you going to tell me what was going on with all this? The dragon and that guy?”

Astrid looks at Blaze’s unmoving body on the ground.

“I don’t know if I can.” No more than he can tell her how he knew all of this was going down and how his team knew to be ready.

He doesn’t push. He never has, and when he’s called over by one of his men, he squeezes her shoulder and leaves her standing in the road.

Astrid stares at the scene around her. The burned-out shell of the float. The crumbling streets. The fires and the lack of electricity. Jensen is right, these two destroyed what they wanted the most.

It will be up to her to fix it.

Chapter Forty

Astrid

She wakes in a cocoon of warmth, skin smelling of soap and lingering smoke. There’s a hint of roses and the tang of sulfur; both bring the assurance of protection. The weight of exhausted muscles wraps around her waist and her forehead presses into the hard planes of a well-defined chest.

Astrid is the lean middle of a sandwich, and it may be the best night’s sleep she’s had in months.

She wiggles under the covers, pressing her ass into Quinn. His strong hand lands on her hip. Owen stretches in front of her and she burrows into his chest. He rests his hand on her shoulder and after a tense moment whispers, “Don’t start something you don’t want to finish.”

She definitely, completely wants to start something.

So, of course, all three of their phones vibrate on the dresser across the room.

“Perfect fucking timing,” Owen mutters under his breath. She gets a good look of his face and winces at the bruises from the night before.

Quinn sighs and kisses her on the neck and stands, adjusting his shorts on the way. He picks up each phone and tosses them on the bed. He scans his first.

“Casper?” she asks, easing away from Owen. He’s warm and inviting but he’s right. There’s not time. Not after last night. Not after hell tore through the city.

Quinn shakes his head. They haven’t heard from him since the night before. “It’s actually Draco. He wants to meet downstairs.”

“When?” Owen asks.

“He’s already here.”

*

Draco stands on the gym floor. Mick opened up hours before, even though she told him he didn’t have to come in. Not with the damage to the roads outside, but gym rats are habitual, and sure enough, a dozen regulars are scattered throughout.

Draco waits at the front desk, looking a little less than perfect. Not a lot—a little. He looks as though a weight hangs over his shoulders and it’s clear he hasn’t slept. She’s pretty sure he can still take down a rhino and sweet-talk a crazy woman off the ledge, but he needs a nap. Badly.

“Hey,” she says. Owen and Quinn are back in the office. No one is ready to take Draco down to the Lair yet. He may be a survivor, but he’s not one of them. Not yet.

He lifts up a pink pastry box. “Thought you may need these.”

“How?” she asks, knowing she never mentioned her junk food habits to him. He’s also holding a puke-green smoothie and a cup of coffee. “Do we have any secrets left?”

“I’m sure there’s a few.” The curious glint in his tired eye makes her wonder if knows about her relationship with the others. “Can we talk? I have a few updates.”

“Yeah, come on.”

Quinn and Owen sit around the desk. The monitors are on, each screen a different news channel reporting on the destruction from last night. In the light of day, it looks like an unnatural disaster. The roads are buckled and crumbled. Firefighters still work on smoldering buildings. The streets are littered with broken lanterns and pieces of Demetria’s float.

Astrid turns away and focuses on the guys instead. That’s when she realizes how exhausted they look too. Owen’s feet are propped on the desk, trying to look casual, but there’s no denying his face is a battered mess. She saw the bruises lining his side when they got out of bed. Kincade’s men did a number on him before Jensen’s men finally showed up.

Quinn gratefully accepts the smoothie, even though he does pause to look at the name of the shop. Astrid nods, confirming his thoughts silently. Yep. Draco’s been watching them. The bigger questions is, for who? Demetria or himself?

Is there a difference?

Astrid pulls out a chair and pushes it to him. Then she sits in her own. “What happened last night?”

“They took her,” he says. The guilt he feels is palpable. At least, to Astrid. “To the hospital first—maybe later, jail? I don’t know.”

“She needs help, Draco.”

He nods. “She has a lot of influence, and that can go either way. They may lock her up for good or she may talk her way out of there.”

Quinn sets his empty cup on the table. “We’ll figure out what to do when a decision is made.”

“We?” Owen asks.

“Yeah, we,” he says. “We don’t get to walk away from this mess. She’s one of us. And if someone has to make the hard decisions—like with Blaze—we’ll do it.”

Draco tenses although his heart stays steady—almost intentionally so when Quinn says this—but he doesn’t argue. He’s a rational person. Maybe more so than the rest of us. He knows it could come to it.

“I’ll talk to Jensen and see what he knows. He may have more detail.”

“I’m pretty sure your man Jensen knows more than we thought,” Owen says, pointing to the monitor behind him. Her friend is on the screen speaking with a reporter.

“This is Agent Robert Jensen from the FBI. Can you tell us why your agency is involved here?”

Jensen, like everyone else there last night, looks worn out. “We’ve been monitoring criminal behavior in this area for some time.”

“What kind of crime? Specifically?” the reporter asks.

“Over the last several months there’s been an escalation of arson, the involvement of vigilante justice and the, frankly, weird scenes like the one we saw down here last night. The city called us in to see if we could help track down those involved. Last month we were involved in removing the leader of the Pixie Dust drug business off the street. Or so we thought. We’re reconsidering that now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever since the drug hit the streets we’ve noticed more and more unexplainable incidents. The chaos at the Gala. The hysteria at the parade last night. People claiming they see impossible things. Men throwing fire. Dragons walking down the streets. People that can change their attitudes and emotions. There are accusations that someone is sabotaging the electrical grid—”

“Which explains the frequent blackouts.”

“Yes. At great cost to the city to repair.” Jensen looks at the camera. “This drug seems to have the ability to make people do unbelievable things—make them think they see the unreal and the freedom of unbridled destruction.”

“Do you have a plan to stop it?”

Jensen nods. “Mayor Steel gave us full access to the city. We’ve developed a task force to look into unusual crimes. These are members of a select and highly trained team. If anyone can get rid of the scourge that is plaguing the city, it’s them.”

Quinn glances uneasily at Astrid, but she keeps her focus on the TV as the camera pans wider and the black uniformed men and women come into view. They stand behind Jensen like his own army.

“This task force will be on the lookout for any abnormal behavior. Perform drug raids. Track petty criminals and vandals. No one is off limits.”

“Agent Jensen, why are you taking such a harsh stance?”

He reaches for the camera and pushes it to the side, past his army and toward the utter destruction of the Harbor Line. “People were injured and killed out here last night. At least two died from burns. One from being trampled. We’re moving to a zero-tolerance environment. Crescent City will not be held hostage by whoever is flooding our city with this kind of danger.”

“Last question,” the reporter says. “Do you have any suspects?”

“Yes. And we’re watching them whether they know it or not. We’ll get them off the streets. I promise that.”

Jensen walks off camera and the reporter continues. Quinn reaches over and turns down the volume.

“Well, that doesn’t sound good,” Owen says. “I bet I know who’s on the top of that list.”

“I guess Pixie Dust is one way to explain the weird stuff going on around here,” Draco says. “And you know this guy.”

“Yes, he was my mentor’s best friend.”

“And his task force?”

She holds his eye and confesses. “I trained them.”

*

The estate looks different during the day. The house still looks like a castle but not quite as magical. The topiaries need a trim and no one turned on the fairy lights.

The driver opens the door for her and Draco waits at the top step. He’s dressed casually, in a pair of dark blue jeans and a light blue button-down that brings out the color in his eyes. Astrid wore a sweater that has a hood and pockets, skinny jeans and boots. It’s weird seeing one another dressed ’normal,’ but it’s all part of the façade they’ve agreed to wear until the heat dies down.

“Thank you for coming.” He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“It sounded important.”

They enter Demetria’s home. She’s still locked up in the sanatorium—a high end one located on a country estate. The facility looks more like a resort hotel.

“Have you been out to see her?” she asks. The house looks exactly the same. Draco is living here, managing Demetria’s affairs, but it’s definitely still her home. Astrid has never seen his living quarters—or anything personalized. He’s still a bit of a mystery. Which is why Quinn made her wear a recording device in the pendant on her necklace.

“I’ve been going twice a week.”

“How is she?”

He leads her down a long hallway, away from the dining room they used in their last visit. At a wooden doorway, he stops. “She’s not living in reality right now. Which may be a good thing. She’s happy, at least.”

He opens the door to an office. A large mahogany desk sits in the middle of the room, and the wall to the right is made of windows that look down the hill to the city. It’s the most masculine room in the house—totally unlike the rest of Demetria’s princess fantasy that there’s no mistake this is Draco’s private room.  Pictures of foreign countries hang on the walls along with images of him as a teenager, several with a beautiful older woman.

“Is that Emma?” She walks over and touches the frame. White-capped mountains provide a glorious background.

“Yes, that was in the Swiss Alps. She spoke in Geneva at the University.”

The picture tugs at her—something about the woman’s eyes. Her face. “I never asked. What was her specialty?”

“She was a geneticist, with a focus on mutated genes.”

Astrid pauses, her fingers still on the frame. She waits. Listens. Nothing about Draco changes but he’s the master of his emotions, body and mind. She does hear a small click, followed by the hum of electricity. When she turns, he’s standing before a computer screen built into the wall.

“I have to show you something,” he says, holding a remote. The screen is still black, reflecting back his silhouette. “But before I do, please understand I am on your side. We’re allies. Family, almost.”

Astrid’s world starts to tilt and she struggles to breathe. She manages to ask, “What are you talking about Draco?”

“I wasn’t the first survivor Demetria found. There was another. Someone smarter than all of us but not…exactly functional. He’s lived here since his mentor died—safe. Protected.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I am. Demetria wasn’t the only one that made it out of that explosion alive but damaged.”

“Who, Draco. Who are you talking about?”

He presses a button on the remote and the screen comes to life. It takes a minute for her to understand what she’s seeing. It’s a small room. A desk is surrounded by posters and small boxes. Toys and trinkets. It’s familiar. She’s seen it before. A man sits at the desk, head down, typing on the computer. Astrid’s hand moves to her mouth, she doesn’t need to see his face.

“Casper.”

He looks up like he’s heard her, but it’s obvious that he hasn’t when he focuses back on the screen. He’s the real-life version of his avatar, down to the T-shirt he’s wearing with a ghost on the front.

“He’s here?” she asks. Here. With Demetria. Their enemy.

“I don’t understand. He’s working for Demetria?”

“No. He worked with Atticus. Atticus, and whoever Demetria’s mentor was, set this up.”

“Demetria’s mentor?” Of course, she had a mentor. Where are they now? Who are they?

“The mentor was gone before I got here,” he says. “And trust me, it’s not a topic you want to bring up with Demetria. It sets off a particular trigger. I think it may be part of what has made her so unbalanced.”

Astrid looks at the screen. “Draco, this is crazy.”

“One of Demetria’s staff takes care of him. They’ve had no interaction and he works on Elite projects all the time.”

“Can I see him?” she asks.

“Soon. He’s not fully aware of his situation, we’re going to have to ease him back into society—back with us.”

“Where has he been? Why has he been offline?”

“I used to think he was just in there playing games—messing around with his programs. But he’s not. Demetria installed a full workshop for him when he arrived. This is how he and Atticus developed your suits—where the tools and equipment comes from.”

“He designs it in there?”

“Designs and creates. He’s a genius, Astrid. The quirky kind. He does better on his own with a wall between him and reality.”

“Sort of like me and my mask.”

He smiles. “Yes, a little like that.”

“When can I see him?”

“Soon. I think we can ease into it.”

Which means she’ll be spending time here. With Draco.

“I have to ask you something else.”

“Sure.”

“Is Demetria your lover?”

The corners of his eyes wrinkle. “No.”

“Never.”

“No, Astrid. That’s not what our relationship is about, and I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she lives like a ten-year old.”

“Point taken.”

He doesn’t ask why she said it, but he’s not dumb. None of them are. It’s what makes all of this so hard to navigate.

She looks between the screen and the man next to her, unsure of everything unfolding. “How do I know you’re telling the truth about everything?”

He offers his hand, palm up. He wants her to read him, but she’s done it before and didn’t get any of this. Then again, she certainly wasn’t looking.

Slowly she walks toward him and peels off her glove. Draco’s eyes follow her. They’re clear—genuine. She doesn’t get the slightest scent of corruption off of him. He’s better than her—better than all of them, and it terrifies the hell out of her.

“Test me,” he says. “Read me. I have nothing to hide.”

She inhales and takes his large hand in both of hers and braces herself for the truth.

His hand is large, warm, and steady. The echo she gets off of him is emotionless, even. He’s not a robot—he’s just…good. Deceit doesn’t cloud his feelings, neither do any of the other sins; greed, ego, lust…Astrid likes touching him. It calms her, but this isn’t about her. It’s about who they are and where this is going.

And is Draco coming with them?

“Why are you like this?” she asks him. “Are you masking your emotions? Can you shield yourself?”

The hairs on her arms prickle from his touch and she still finds it hard to look directly at this face. His jaw, cheekbones, eyes, and lips are all things that should be immortalized in a museum. It’s why she calls him Mr. Perfect.

“No.” He holds out his palm to her, revealing himself. “Like you, I was born this way. Happy and content. But I also have a deep moral compass. I not only know right from wrong—I have a compulsion to do it right. Everything right. I’m your ally, Astrid. I’m loyal.”

Astrid eyes his defined bicep and broad chest. “And incredibly strong.”

“If you’re going to fight for justice, then you need a little power to be successful.”

Huh. She’d never thought of it that way.

“Well, Mr. Perfect, tell me what happens now? Demetria is in the hospital. Kincade is locked up. Blaze is dead. My friend has started a task force looking for anyone with special powers and is using a team that I trained to find us.” She glances at the live feed. “Oh and I just found out one of the members of my group is a willing recluse and we’re going to have to help him back into society.”

“None of those things should change your motivation, Astrid.” He’s still holding her hand and she’s making zero effort to pull away. That has never happened before. Not even with Quinn or Owen before they took the drug. Not because they made her feel bad, but particularly because Draco makes her feel good. “Why were you going out there in the first place?”

“There are two reasons, actually.”  She looks up at him. “The first is to help people. I want to use this power for good and not let the negativity of it all take over. I don’t want to be like Blaze.”

“And the second?”

“To find out who killed my parents and Atticus.”

“Then there’s nothing stopping you. If anything, you have more time and resources to do that. You have a full team to back you up, and with Kincade and Demetria accounted for, less distractions.”

True, she thinks, watching the man carefully. But there’s a whole other layer of complications in Astrid’s life that she hasn’t tossed on the table. Training a new team for Jensen begins in the next week. A group of people she may be preparing to become her enemy. She’s in relationships now—two—and they work and live together. She has Casper to attend to, which means she’ll be dealing with Draco more and more.

And Mr. Perfect alone has the possibility of being incredibly distracting.

Removing her hand from his, she nods. “You’re right. We all just need to get back to work.”

He smiles. “You let me know if you need anything, okay?”

Oh yeah, she’ll be in contact. No doubt about that.

Thank you for reading Sentinels: Supers of Project 12. Book 3, Rogues, is currently on Pre-Order! You can order your copy Today!

Author Note!

Readers,

Thank you for taking this journey with me. I’ve wanted to write a story like this for a long time. Thank god for Reverse Harem—it’s opened a world of opportunites for me to get all this stuff out of my head. I never like the game of “who do you love the best?” I LOVE THEM ALL. DON’T MAKE ME CHOOSE! I feel this way about Quinn, Owen and Draco (in my head I’m already falling hard for Draco) and don’t discount Casper. There’s so much more going on there.

Quick thanks to my editor Vanessa, my beta reader Jennifer, my supporters Lisa, Ava and Alicia. My epic cover designer and friend, AngstyG. Thanks to the book community and reverse harem community and thank you ladies (and a few men) of Angel’s Antics. You guys help me more than you will know.

See you in a few weeks!

Angel

Angel Lawson Books

(Reverse Harem)

Raven Queen’s Harem:

Raven’s Mark (Part 1)

Ebony Rising (Part 2)

Black Magic (Part 3)

Obsidian Fire (Part 4)

Onyx Eclipse (Part 5)

Midnight’s End (Part 6)

*Raven’s Gift (Holiday Novella)

*

Huntress: Trial of Gods

*

The Elites: Supers of Project 12

Sentinels: Supers of Project 12 (Book 2)

The Death Fields: A Post Apocalyptic Thriller

The Girl Who Shot First

The Girl Who Punched Back

The Girl Who Kicked Ass

The Girl Who Kissed the Sun

The Girl Who Broke Free

The Girl Who Saved the World

Creature of Habit Series (Paranormal Romance)

Creature of Habit (Book 1)

Creature of Habit (Book2)

Creature of Habit (Book 3)

A Vampire’s Seduction (Ryan’s Story Book 4)

A Vampire’s Fate (Sebastian’s Story Book 5)

The Wraith Series (YA Paranormal Romance)

Wraith

Shadow Bound

Grave Possession

Urban Fantasy

The Lost Queen

Vigilant

Contemporary Romance:

FanGirl-A Girl Who Shot First Companion Novel

For the Win

Table of Contents

- SENTINELS: The Supers of Project 12   By Angel Lawson

- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty