Page 22 of All Superheroes Need PR
Two storm troopers dressed all in white—COE security—burst into Mr. Singkham’s offices, the heavy wood door slamming against the wall as they enter. “Emergency protocol. There’s VNA incoming.”
I stand and reach for Jem. She’s still seated on the ottoman, and her laptop slides off her lap and onto the floor when I grab hold of her wrist and start to pull and—BAM. The outer windows explode inward.
I somehow manage to keep my feet as my arms move to shield my head and face. I hear a deafening rumble so loud I almost can’t hear COE security shouting, “Thirtieth floor! Thirtieth floor! President’s nest, I repeat, we are under attack in the president’s nest!”
I have no idea who they’re talking to, but when the whoosh of the blast finally settles, I glance over my shoulder to find that the placewhere the windows once were is now open, revealing the Sundale skyline—with no barriers to prevent us from meeting it.
Nothing but Mr. Casteel. Roland.The Wyvern.
The Wyvern has squared off against the void, broad shoulders looking expansive enough to keep us from falling thirty stories. “It’s the Marduk. He was my VNA contact,” he shouts over his shoulder, glancing around the room. “I’ll handle this. You!” He points at the storm trooper closing in on my left. “Get her out of here. I’ll be back in a second.”
And in less than a tenth of that, he bullets out of the window in a blaze of flame, leaving a trail of ash behind him as his hoodie and sweatshirt entirely burn away. He plunges into the sky, hurtling toward a small object that I would have thought was a bird at this distance.
If I’d had half a mind—and had actually passed the practical in my war journalism course—I might have thought about pulling out my phone camera, but I don’t. I just stare in absolute terror and bewilderment as the Forty-Eight with the power over flame and the one with the power over thunder and wind battle a football field’s length from where I stand swaying toward a long,longdrop.
“Let’s go!” The storm trooper shouts at me. “Ms. Tsegaye, Ms. Theriot! Come on!” He gestures for us with a huge sweep of his arm, but I hesitate, reaching instead for Jem and her outstretched hand. Before I can touch her, a huge burst of light draws my attention up to the massive blaze lighting up the sky and then—Boom.
I hear the sound before I feel the harsh slice of the wind cut through my clothes and hair and across my face. I’m tossed up off my feet, and my shoulder slams into the storm trooper’s armor-clad chest. I shout, he grunts, and then I moan again when Jem slams into my back and all three of us go flying. Somehow avoiding collision with the chairs or the desk, we land on a soft area rug in a tangle of limbs.
I blink and plant my hands beneath me only to grab Jem’s calf instead of finding the floor. She isn’t moving, but when I look up, I see she’s awake. The storm trooper is lying face down with Jem’s head on hisback. Her face has little scratches all over it, and there’s glass reflecting in her black, curly hair. When I lift my head, I can hear glass tinkling in mine too.
“Holy shit, close your eyes!” Jem screeches a second before another gust of wind hurls into us, slamming us against the wall.
“Ooph,” I groan, Jem’s knee hitting my spine and driving the air clean out of me. My eyes open on instinct only to see the massive chair Roland had been sitting in tipping onto its side legs and threatening to fall directly onto us.
“Jem!” I manage to squeal.
I lift my arms, and a gruff groan sounds from behind me as the storm trooper suddenly shoves my outstretched arms aside and grabs the chair before it lands. He hurls it to the side with my and Jem’s help, but the joint movement sends us toppling over one another all over again. I land on his leg just in time to be distracted by another burst of cataclysmic orange—this time from farther away. I brace for the responding windstorm, but it never comes. I take a breath ... and then a deeper breath.
My heart is pounding as I watch, stunned and speechless, as the Wyvern and the one he’d been fighting break apart. The two grains of rice hovering in the sky separate, one getting smaller and smaller, one getting larger until the Wyvern comes back into focus. He lands hard on the glossy wooden floor of Mr. Singkham’s office, fully freaking naked except for one slightly singed piece of elastic slung low on his hips, holding up a fluttering tag of black fabric.
It’s not hiding much. I gulp and refocus on his face. His cheeks are pink as he stalks across the floor, glancing around only once before coming directly to me. He shoves the storm trooper’s torso off my legs and untangles me from Jem’s grasp, pulling me up into a seat.
“Fuck,” he grits under his breath, his eyes molten pits, his front teeth bared and mean. “I mean, fuck,” he says again as his fingers move over my hair, trying to pluck glass bits free.
I shake my head again and again, answering a question he hasn’t asked me.
“You hurt?” he says the same time that I blurt, “You look good.”
“What?”
“What?” Realizing what I just said, I quickly blurt out, “I mean you look healthy. No. Fit. I mean ... you don’t look injured even though ...” I point lamely at the missing wall. “The battle ...” My voice trails off.
He cocks his head. “I’m not,” he says, and that’s when I see it: high in his cheeks, just a peppering of pink. “Are you okay? Did you hit your head?”
“I’ll do it,” I say instead of focusing on my mortification.
“What?”
“The Lois Lane contract. I’ll do it for two years.”
His cheek ticks, and a feathering of fire fans over it, the world’s most insane highlighter, making me jump. He continues to pin me with his gaze, even as emergency personnel swarm the space and medical checks out Jem and Mr. Singkham, who was knocked behind his desk. Meanwhile, Roland ignores it all and keeps his focus trained on me.
“So, deal?” I hold out my hand.
He glares at it. “Five years.”
I blink in shock. “Two,” I repeat.
