Page 8 of Lovesick Titan (Lovesick #2)

Danny smiled. “Good, that’s…a good rule. But I’m actually a friend of…well… his .” He pointed to the doll. The kid obviously knew who lived in his building. “I’m on my way to see him. My name’s Danny. Do you like playing villain?”

“He’s not a villain .” The boy’s eyes snapped up with fire in their depths. “He helps people!”

“Oh yeah?” Danny knew that now, but he wondered what insight this boy of no more than ten years old might have. “Have you seen him help people?”

“Yeah,” he said indignantly, a pout playing at his lips as he glared at Danny. “He helps my mom with the groceries sometimes. If they’re too heavy. And…and he chases off bad people from the neighborhood. And he saved us from my dad one time!”

The smile dropped from Danny’s face. “Why did he need to do that?”

“Coz. My dad’s not very nice. He hurt my mom. When she started getting big with my sister, she said he had to stop or he’d hurt the baby. So he started hurting me instead.”

Danny’s fists clenched at the thought of any father treating his family that way.

“But Mom said that was enough. So we ran away. We came here to stay at the shelter, but Dad followed us and…” He trailed, his eyes widening as though he finally realized just how much he was divulging to a stranger. “Are you really Mr. Winter’s friend?”

Mr. Winter. That was probably the name on the lease, like Mal had given at the coffee shop once.

It was easy to let a little of Danny’s smile back in, for the boy’s sake.

“I promise. Janey, from the bakery? She gave me these leftover donuts to give to him.” He tapped the top of the pink box on the floor.

“We’ve known each other a long time now, me and…

Mr. Winter. Tell me. What happened when your dad followed you to the shelter? ”

R

Mal rolled away from the chair and sprang to his feet before Dunkirk had time to recover. He would have been faster any other week, but his reflexes were slowed from the injuries still healing after Ludgate.

Dunkirk pulled back from where he’d smashed into the computer. He wore a trench coat and ball cap in dull colors, likely a disguise to hide and watch Mal—watch the neighborhood, looking for Carla.

Mal’s stomach twisted as he wondered when he’d last checked on her. Had Dunkirk gotten to her first? Were she and Michael safe?

Swinging his hands up to blast the bastard with ice, his sluggish response meant that Dunkirk got exactly what he wanted, especially since Mal realized too late that he was carrying power dampening handcuffs.

Shit . He slapped the cuffs on Mal’s wrists before even a light mist had been released.

Then Dunkirk reached inside his jacket to pull a knife.

Unable to use his powers, Mal kept Dunkirk in his sights and started a slow backpedal.

When Dunkirk charged, instead of fleeing, diving aside, or standing there to take the blow, Mal charged back at him, surprising the other man and ramming his shoulder into Dunkirk’s chest. Then he pulled his knee up into Dunkirk’s stomach, narrowly missing the first harried swing of the blade.

Dunkirk stumbled but squared his footing, a skilled hand-to-hand fighter who knew how to brawl with the best of them, and surged forward once more with a mad push at Mal. Despite the way Dunkirk hunched from the blow to his stomach, he slashed out with the knife again.

Turning only fast enough to take the brunt of the swipe with his arm, the knife cut deep into Mal’s tricep.

He cringed from the pain but didn’t pause.

Backing up, swift as he could, he watched Dunkirk for every tell he could decipher, debating his options—charge again, risk going for his amplifier, or wait. He had seconds to decide.

“Give it up already, ya damn freak ,” Dunkirk sneered at him.

Charge it is.

R

Danny could hardly believe the story the young boy—Michael—told him.

And yet he also could. A tale of violence and sadness and terrible circumstance that had befallen a poor woman and her child—and her unborn child.

All because one man thought himself in the right to beat them whenever he was angry or unhappy or just felt like it .

Of course Cho brought them to the abuse shelter.

Of course he went in guns blazing, with Helios and Gaia at his side.

Of course he nearly froze Sean Dunkirk on the spot.

Now Danny knew why Cho had been so adamant about knowing Dunkirk’s movements; he was worried the man would come after this boy and his mother again.

When they’d needed someone, anyone to have their backs, Cho had intervened and helped them find a new home where they could be safe.

“Thank you for telling me that, Michael. You better get back inside so your mom doesn’t worry when she wakes up, okay?

Don’t make it harder on Mr. Winter to watch out for you.

He can’t be everywhere all the time, so you have to be smart and help him out by protecting the ones you care about on your own.

You watch over your mom while she sleeps.

She’s gonna need your help when the baby comes, right? ”

Michael looked down at his feet again. “Yeah, I know.”

“Tell ya what. Normally I’d agree with your mom that you shouldn’t talk to strangers, and you definitely shouldn’t take anything from them.

But I’m guessing you could get better use out of these donuts than me or Mr. Winter, huh?

” He patted the top of the donut box again.

Michael’s eyes lit up considerably. “But you can only have one before your mom wakes up. Deal?” Danny pushed the box across the floor.

Michael grinned, nodded, and reached for the donuts. He looked dwarfed by the size of the box when he hefted it up, his Prometheus doll barely clutched in one hand as he tried to handle both. “Thanks, Mr…”

“Danny.”

“Mr. Danny.”

“No, it’s—” But by the time Danny thought to correct him, Michael had already ducked into his apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. He’d probably eat more than just one donut before his mom woke up, but Danny figured it wasn’t the worst disaster ever .

He had to talk to Cho. No more stalling.

Leaving Michael behind, Danny climbed the last set of steps to Cho’s floor. He raised his hand to knock…only to hear a sudden oomph from inside.

“Mal?”

R

Danny . He was early.

Thank god.

Mal had knocked Dunkirk back but his hands were still cuffed, his powers useless, and he had to worry about the knife swiping at him with earnest hatred.

Ramming Dunkirk all the way back across the room into the wall beside the desk, he tried to press the hand holding the knife as hard as he could into the wall to keep it from driving down into his shoulder or chest.

He couldn’t risk calling for ‘Danny’ or ‘Zeus’ so he simply shouted, “Help!” as Dunkirk wriggled free and swung at him with a left hook—not his dominant, but still brutal as Mal’s eye exploded in pain—causing stars to form in his vision and for his hold on the knife to falter.

The room tilted as Mal was pushed back, blade rushing toward him, and he wasn’t fast enough to react.

But Danny was. Danny was there in seconds, whether the door had been thrown open or he merely lightning jumped through it. The knife clattered to the floor, the Irishman spun around and held from behind so he couldn’t see Danny’s face. Danny’s voice was a growl as he spoke.

“Breaking and entering, assault, attempted murder. Prometheus might not be able to press charges, but I remember a long list of priors for you, Mr. Dunkirk. Let’s see how happy OCPD is to see you.”

Danny glanced over his shoulder for the briefest moment, just long enough to meet Mal’s gaze, to see that he was okay, to make that moment linger and stretch on for ages because it was the first time Mal had seen Danny in four long days . Then he was gone .

Mal sucked in air as he fell to his knees in relief. Looking back at the door, he was fairly certain it was still closed, though he couldn’t really see it. His vision tunneled as his adrenaline came down and the brunt of everything that had happened struck him.

Not in his home. Not in his home .

Mal took in another shuddery breath. He was okay.

In the moment, even without his powers, he’d been able to defend himself, to fight, but he hadn’t been at his best, not nearly good enough with his ribs still twinging and his headache a dull reminder of his recent concussion.

Now Dunkirk’s punch made him feel like the bone around his right eye was on fire. And his arm— shit .

He tried to reach up to press a hand to his tricep, the sleeve of his navy sweater slashed, ruined, but the cuffs prevented him.

The cut felt deep, but the bleeding wasn’t bad.

Still, it could have been worse. Mal had gotten so sloppy the past few days that he’d let Dunkirk ambush him in his own home.

He was torn between wanting to scream and just wishing Danny would get back already.

“Mal!”

Then there he was, like lightning crackling through thunderclouds.

He crouched beside Mal on the floor and urged him to stand, helping him to the sofa.

Mal barely registered any of it until they were sitting.

Danny removed the cuffs with his own set of keys and took a long look at the cut on Mal’s arm; the hissing noise he made wasn’t encouraging.

“Dinner…” Mal huffed.

“It doesn’t matter, we can—”

“Turn off the burners, Sparky.”

“Oh.”

Danny was gone and back so fast, Mal almost didn’t realize he’d listened to him. A warm hand brushed gently along his eye and parted the cut in his sweater to look at the gash again.

“I’ll get the first aid kit. Are you okay?” Danny looked at him with downturned eyes and a tightness to his lips that made Mal want to kiss away the strain.

“Carla! Michael!” He tried to stand as he remembered. “If Dunkirk was here—”

“They’re fine,” Danny held him in place, “I saw them. I don’t think he knows they live downstairs. ”