Lovesick Gods Read online

  The breath he took seared his lungs. He’d been holding it since the first punch, but he lost it again when he looked at the man beneath his grasp, illuminated as the building filled with light.

  Camo looked like he’d gone three rounds with a prize fighter. Nose busted and bleeding; goggles destroyed with the bone around his eye likely cracked, already swelling; lip split; vision dazed as he struggled to stay awake. Then Danny looked at the hole he’d left in the wall and realized how close he’d come to caving the man’s face in like the plaster.

  “Danny!” Lynn and Andre cried together.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay. I…I got him.” Slowly, Danny loosened his fist and his hold on Camo. The man slumped against the wall and finally, blessedly passed out.

  “Are you sure?” Lynn asked. “Your blood pressure spiked.”

  “It just…got a little brutal,” Danny said. But there was nothing little about it. And the worst thing was, he didn’t feel sick from what he’d done—what he’d almost done.

  He felt numb.

  ß

  “You blame Prometheus for your mother’s death?” Lieutenant Liu asked.

  Malcolm Cho, the Ice Elemental Prometheus.

  “You filed a report stating that you overheard Zeus and Prometheus strike a bargain, that the known criminal had agreed to use his powers to assist Zeus in the fight against Thanatos. But he never showed.”

  “He said he’d help,” Danny spat, recalling the conversation he’d had with the man only days before the attack that resulted in his mother’s death and the deaths of countless others. He’d filed the report to protect Cho, to make sure no trigger-happy uniforms interfered. “His powers combined with Zeus might have stopped Thanatos sooner, before anyone had to die.”

  “You’ve worked several of Prometheus’s cases. You and Detective Edwards formed the Elemental Task Force. You even helped put Cho away last time, before he broke out of prison again. Why believe he had any intention of helping Zeus?”

  “I don’t. Not anymore. But at the time…” Danny’s gaze flickered to the metal surface of the table. “Cho and his Titans are thieves. Most are powerful Elementals, like his sister, but they’re not killers. Thanatos was a monster. Cho recognized that. It was in his best interest to get rid of him. But he was just a coward. Zeus waited, but no help came.” Sitting up straighter, Danny trained his gaze on Liu again. “So if I was some powder keg waiting to erupt, don’t you think I’d be tracking Cho down? That I’d take my anger out on him? I just want to do my job, Lieutenant.”

  “Isn’t tracking down an escaped felon part of your job?” she asked.

  It was, but Danny couldn’t risk that. Cho knew his secret. He wanted to drag the man into the OCPD by the scruff of his collar, but he couldn’t. If he did, Cho would out him as Zeus.

  “There are more important cases than a thief lying low, Lieutenant. When Cho shows his face again, I’ll be ready. Now are we done here?” Danny gestured at the cramped, suffocating room, eager to be free of it. “I have paperwork to do.”

  Chapter 2

  It was late. What Mal really wanted was to curl up with a good book and call it a night, but he had a schedule to keep. The Winterheart Diamond wasn’t going to steal itself. His last task for the evening was to pay a visit to the electronics store at the edge of his neighborhood—the highest point in the city.

  Even at ground level, spectacular views of Olympus could be seen, including the remains of the power station Thanatos had blown up during his final fight with Zeus. Like a skeletal reminder, cleared of debris but not yet rebuilt, it remained malformed and stark in the distance, safely far from Mal’s streets.

  He hadn’t always thought of these streets as his. He didn’t run things the way the various mob families in Olympus City ran their neighborhoods. Not like the Dunkirks or the Mendozas. Whether a small time family or a larger one, those organizations controlled their spheres of influence with fists and fear. Mal was in the game for a higher calling—the thrill of the chase, the challenge, not for power. A good score. A comfortable way of living whenever he wasn’t in the midst of a heist. But other than that, he didn’t need Mom and Pop stores kowtowing to him.

  The fact that the businesses inside his ten block radius home-sweet-home chose to offer things on occasion—information, sending the boys in blue on wild goose chases, food and equipment—just meant Mal was respected. He didn’t need to be feared. Not by these people. That he reserved for those who crossed him.

  If someone came into his neighborhood thinking they could oust him, or outdo him, or take him down, Mal retaliated appropriately. Likewise, if someone tried to hustle his businesses, his neighbors, the people who worked at Haven, his favorite bar, or anyone at the abuse shelter, that was the same as knocking on Mal’s door and slighting him to his face. He didn’t tolerate it.

  It was symbiotic. Not altruistic.

  So when Thanatos’s destructive tendencies started to get closer and closer to Mal’s streets—ransacking homes, killing civilians, terrorizing city blocks just for the fun of it—sitting on the sidelines waiting for it all to blow over became less of an option.

  Mal didn’t carry a gun. Didn’t need to. His protection came from the tips of his fingers. Like most Elementals, his powers had been triggered at puberty, when he was fourteen. Water leaning since birth, when he Awakened, his abilities had manifested as ice that he could shoot from his hands or use to chill someone with a touch. Just like dear old dad. Sometimes a quick frosting of his arms was enough to get even the most imposing muscle to back down from a fight.

  But that never would have worked with Thanatos.

  ß

  Six months ago, Mal sat in his preferred booth at Haven eating lunch. Corner spot, no windows, clear view of the bar but hidden from the door. He faced the room to be sure no one snuck up on him but otherwise enjoyed his burger and fries in solitude.

  He didn’t wear a mask when he donned his persona as Prometheus. That was the hero’s bag. He covered his eyes with goggles to protect himself from the glare of using his powers, but when in costume, he kept his ebony hair free, long enough that he could tie it back if he chose. He was proud of the recognition his face afforded him, even if he did look a little too much like his father with only his mother’s darker complexion to lay claim to his otherwise Korean features.

  The rest of the costume encased him almost from head to toe except for his arms—a sleeveless, form-fitting black bodysuit with a high collar and an equally sleeveless, long leather duster in navy blue.

  But while Mal’s neighborhood was the safest place in the city for him to tread openly, he remained cautious whenever he went out. He wore muted colors out of costume—his preference anyway—and glasses instead of contacts to dim the view to his ice blue eyes.

  The sound of the bar door caught his attention. It was late for the lunch rush, so a new patron was curious. Craning his ears, he realized he recognized the approaching gait, the particular pattern of breathing. He gave credit to his element for his ability to observe his surroundings without a single ripple of unease to disturb his calm, but when the person breached the corner of the booth and slid in across from him, Mal couldn’t place why he should know the man so well.

  He made a point of knowing most of the cops in the city who might give him trouble, so he recognized the clean-shaven face and sunset colored hair. The man was one of two detectives who’d run the Elemental Task Force when it formed after Thanatos’s arrival, but Mal had never met him.

  “Detective Grant,” Mal nodded, not bothering to pause in devouring a French fry even as his free hand slid beneath the table and started to frost over in case Grant tried anything foolish.

  “Quite the dive you got here, Ice Man,” the detective said.

  Mal sat up straighter. Only one man dared greet him with that nickname, especially with such a familiar voice.

&nb
sp; “Sparky?” he drawled with a slow grin, letting his powers dwindle as he returned his hand to the table. “My, my, so this is what Zeus looks like under that mask.” After more than half a year sparring on the streets, he thought he knew his nemesis well, but he’d expected someone older. Although, he had a feeling this kid wasn’t quite as young as his boyish looks implied. “Playing vigilante by night, Detective? What is the world coming to?”

  “It’s Danny,” he said with a shift of his eyes around the mostly empty bar, which admittedly wasn’t the best place to be throwing around words like ‘detective’ or ‘Zeus’, “and I didn’t come here for banter.”

  Mal downed another fry, more at ease now that he knew his nemesis sat across from him instead of some badge. Zeus made the game so much more fun. He wasn’t hard on the eyes either. “Pity. We’ve gotten so good at our banter. So…” Mal trailed a fresh French fry into his ketchup, “why are you here? Hoping I’d treat you to lunch to make up for that last bank heist?”

  Danny folded his hands on top of the table, a serious expression filling his lightning-yellow eyes. “I want to make a deal.”

  ß

  Mal hit the streets smiling in earnest at the smells and sounds of his city, coming to life with Spring as the last of Winter ebbed away. He enjoyed this weather best, when the air was still crisp enough to wear thicker layers but people filled the streets with bustling activity.

  The walk rejuvenated him by the time he reached the shop—Andrews’ Electronics. Simple name, simple sign, but the best quality in town for anything from home electronics to more complicated requests.

  Arden Andrews had been a supplier to many of the mob families in Olympus City over the years, depending on who owned the neighborhood at any given time. He provided surveillance equipment, EMPs, anything that could help a heist go smoother, but never guns. Some families had pressured him to change his policies, but he always refused. Risked his life several times in the process turning down people who had big guns and short tempers. Mal respected that and never pushed for more than what the man was willing to offer. His son did most of the work now, as well as their newest employee.

  “We close in less than five—” Priestly Hartigan stopped his irritable greeting when he glanced up at the sound of the bell to see Mal walking toward him. “Oh. Hey, boss.”

  He looked like an unassuming college kid: neatly cropped brunette hair, stylish glasses that might have been twice as expensive as Mal’s. No one would ever guess he was actually the notorious hacker and underworld engineer ‘Hephaestus’. Metal leaning, he was the only non-Elemental in Olympus to have earned a nickname and the only one of Mal’s Titans without powers.

  He’d been attempting a heist on his own that almost would have succeeded if not for Zeus showing up to stop him. Priestly likely would have gone away for it too, but he’d managed to escape custody. Mal had been impressed, and the next time he faced his nemesis, he had a new crew member added to his ranks.

  “Hart.” Mal nodded, crossing the shop to the worktable left of the cashier desk, where Priestly had a radio taken apart. Anything more sensitive was worked on in the back rooms. “Better watch your bedside manner. You’ll scare away all the paying customers.”

  Priestly cocked his head with a smug smile. “Trust me, my bedside manner is just fine. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Turning back to the radio, he was dressed as casually as Mal ever saw him, in a tucked in button-down shirt and slacks with his sleeves rolled up. His skillset with anything electronic was the pinnacle of what a Metal leaning person was capable of.

  Mal leaned forward on one elbow and crossed his ankles as he observed the younger man. “That looks like it’ll take more than a minute.”

  “Not this,” Priestly said without looking up. “I’m waiting for Arty. He’s late. Again. Once he’s here, he can close up the shop while I take you into the back.”

  Arty—Arden Andrews Junior. “Goodness, Priestly, you proposition all your clients like that?”

  At last, a smile wormed its way onto Priestly’s face. He flicked his eyes up at Mal, his hands still expertly removing parts from the radio. “Only the well-dressed ones,” he nodded at Mal’s mock turtleneck and long dark trench coat, “but I meant so we can discuss your power amplifier and the gas delivery system you requested.”

  “Still having trouble with the whole ‘only discuss illicit business in the back’ part of the job, Hart?” a new voice spoke just before Arty appeared from out of the curtain leading into the workshop. He had auburn hair and scruff along his face and wore jeans and a flannel shirt that Priestly sneered at as if the fabric offended his senses.

  “You know it’s two minutes to closing?” he complained to the man who was more his boss than Mal was.

  “So I’m not late then,” Arty said.

  “Not late is being fifteen minutes early.”

  “That what they taught you in prep school?” Arty turned to Mal as he reached him, ignoring the affronted scoff Priestly offered, and extended his hand. “Mr. Cho, always a pleasure.”

  Standing up straighter, Mal accepted the gesture. Most of the business owners around the area didn’t bother, either because they knew him too well or not well enough to know where his boundaries lay, but Arty always initiated a handshake. Even though Mal wasn’t much for unnecessary physical touch, he appreciated the man’s boldness. Light leaning people tended to like the spotlight; optimistic, confident. Arty’s teal eyes positively glittered.

  He was about the age of Mal’s sister, Lucy; around thirty, so a few years younger than Mal and a few years older than Priestly, not that Mal thought that would stop either of them if—

  Glancing between the two as he shook Arty’s hand, he realized why his thoughts had headed that direction—the way Priestly looked away, biting his lip petulantly as he feigned working on the radio again, said enough. They weren’t sleeping together, but the kid was interested. Arty might be interested too, or just liked to tease Priestly as an easy target. His jabs were never mean-spirited though, more congenial, playful.

  Mal filed the information away for later. “Regretting your decision to hire my young protégé, Arty? Perhaps I shouldn’t have recommended him if he’s giving you so much trouble.”

  “Nah, he’s better than slave labor with his perfectionism. Good thing I don’t pay overtime.”

  “You do too,” Priestly grumbled. “Good thing I’m the one keeping all of your clients happy by actually getting things back to them in a timely manner and in better working order than you could ever manage.”

  “He’s so modest too,” Arty grinned. He and Mal chuckled as Priestly muttered something in Russian.

  The kid spoke at least five languages. Mal hadn’t yet admitted to him that he spoke most of the same ones, but he figured for now he could refrain from giving away that Priestly had just called Arty a beautiful idiot.

  “Anything I can do for you today, Mr. Cho?” Arty asked.

  “Thanks, Arty, but Priestly has me covered.”

  With a deep sigh of exasperation, Priestly left the radio and moved out from behind the worktable to gesture Mal into the back. “Come on. You,” he pointed at Arty, “close the shop already. I am not going to be sorry if your dad decides to leave this place to me instead of you.”

  “He’s threatened it enough times since you started working here,” Arty snickered, not at all perturbed by the sentiment. “Who am I to deny a better option? Maybe you’ll take pity on me and still let me work here.”

  “Please, I’d kick your ass to the curb so fast, you’d have road rash.”

  Arty just laughed louder as he headed for the door to flip the OPEN sign to CLOSED, and Priestly turned away in a huff.

  Mal followed behind him with a barely contained grin. He liked Priestly. Kid had a lot of potential. Definitely deserved better than some 9-5 minimum wage paycheck and commission on the side for ill
egal business. Circumstance, bad luck, and scum for a father had led him here instead.

  Just like Mal.

  ß

  “A deal?” Mal repeated, eyeing the man across from him with more scrutiny. If he didn’t know this was Zeus in front of him, he’d worry about a wire. “Strapped for cash, Danny? Didn’t take you for dirty, but I suppose the hero business doesn’t include dental, and I doubt the OCPD’s much better.”

  Danny took a breath, resigned but unfazed by Mal’s mocking. His eyes were hypnotic this close, more so than any Lightning person Mal had ever met, now that he could actually see them instead of just the glowing lenses of the Zeus costume.

  “We’ve been doing this dance for six months, Cho,” Danny said, “since the moment I got my powers. But you’ve never been my focus. You’re…fun,” he glanced away with a twitch to his smile that drew Mal’s gaze to the curve of his lips. “You’re a break. A relief. The real threat to this city is Thanatos, and it’s time someone put a stop to him once and for all.”

  Talk of Thanatos always put Mal off his lunch, and he pushed his plate into the middle of the table. The man had style but no finesse. He killed indiscriminately simply because he could. That wasn’t good business. Mal had been lucky so far that the Dark Elemental hadn’t crossed his threshold yet.

  “So what’s the problem?” he asked. “Take care of him. Your no kill policy is cute and all, Sparky, but you can’t hold back with people like this.”

  “You have a no kill policy too,” Danny frowned.

  “I don’t mix bystanders up in my business, no. Bad form. But if you think my hands are squeaky clean, kid, don’t misunderstand me.”

  “Kid? I’m not—”

  “What are you asking for?” Mal sized him up, gauging his intentions and what he’d be willing to offer in exchange. “A team-up? Zeus and Prometheus side by side?”

  Danny clenched his hands into fists. “The only other Elementals in this city are your Titans and other criminals. The government won’t send help for one city’s problem. They figure Zeus has it handled enough not to get involved.”