Page 88 of All Superheroes Need PR
I shake my head and smile up at him like a crazy person. My shoulders are starting to shake. I feel cold even though I’m in jeans andVinny’s hoodie. Underneath, I’m wearing a black T-shirt with holes in it. It’s one of Rollo’s. I don’t know what compelled me to wear it.Comfort. I’m comforted by him. And horns aren’t going to change that.
“And I’m supposed to protect you. I love you.”
He blinks at me, looking shocked, looking ... vulnerable. He shakes his head and scoffs, “Like ... this?”
I nod. “Especially like this.”
He closes the space between us and drops to his knees at my feet. “Christ, baby. You’re gonna be the death of me. I love you more.”
“It’s not possible. You don’t have any idea how strong you make me feel. You make me feel like a superhero ...”
“You are. Always have been. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”
“I love you so fucking much.”
“Stop ... talking,” he says, and he kisses me, really fucking kisses me. I kiss him back just as hard, just as biting. Well, notquite.
“You have fangs,” I whisper, breaking the kiss to admire his sharpened canines, dazzling white.
He nods. “They bother you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure this,” he says, glancing up at the same time his horns catch fire for a split instant that makes me jump, “doesn’t bother you?”
I grin, adrenaline and elation and shock warring in my chest, making my heart pound like a tempest against the sail of a ship.
“Nessa, look at me. Be serious. I’m no Prince Charming.”
“No.” I glance from his horns to his impossibly thick chest to his gem-colored skin to his clawed feet. “But you’ll never be the villain to me.”
His chest shudders on the exhale, and I watch something in the vicinity of pain flash across his features before it settles into a cool veneer of relief. “It’s a lot.”
“It’s kinda hot.” I barely get the words out before he crushes his lips to mine again, kissing me deeply enough that I swoon. He cups theback of my head with one massive hand and drags his thumb across my jaw, the claw tickling my cheek as he does.
“Thank you,” he whispers when he’s finished with me.
I’m so confused, so deliriously drunk on adrenaline and lust and love. “For what?” I blink.
“For being my hero too.” He kisses my cheek briefly and then pulls me even tighter against him, a rumble picking up in his chest.
He laughs and takes my hand, and when he pulls, he brings us both to our feet. I only numbly take whatever it is that he puts into my hand as he kisses me one more time, very sweetly. “This was an incredible rescue. Let’s grab Mr. Singkham and Emily, then we can help your crew.”
I smile. We. He saidwe. I nod, and I’m still nodding like a dope as he heads to the far wall, where I finally notice for the first time a groaning body—Mr. Singkham—and then a woman emerging from behind an open cabinet door.
“Roland? Is that really you?” the friendly COE doctor asks.
“It’s me, Emily.”
“Holy shit. I don’t think the electric sander is gonna cut it.”
He laughs, and though I don’t get the joke, I smile too. “Let me give you a hand.”
An explosion outside turns our attention toward the hangar door, and feeling like a total badass, I lift my new sword. “No, no. You go. I’ll see to Mr. Singkham,” Emily says. She brushes the back of her wrist over her forehead, smearing soot across her face, before turning her attention back to the disheveled, sleeping man. “Good heavens.”
“Is he gonna make it?” I ask.
“Yes. He’s fine. Now go!”
