Page 3 of Lovesick Gods (Lovesick #1)

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.

?

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, b ut 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.

“ 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.”

?

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.”