Love for the Cold-Blooded (40 page)

“Your father tells me you have chosen a young man to warm your bed and stand at your side, my snakeling,” said his mother. “When will I meet him?”

Best laid plans, and all that. “Errr,” said Pat. “I’m… not sure? He’s pretty busy.”

“Patrick, if he has time for you, he has time for your family. Besides, do you think that world domination will leave me a lot of leisure in which to question and test your… partner? A quick meeting here and there will suffice. One will have to take place before we begin to put my plans in motion, of course. He must be made aware of the consequences should he fail to make you happy.”

“Mo-oom,” Pat groaned. His sisters had fought this battle with Mom so often that Pat had always hoped it would be a non-issue by the time he found someone. Nobody liked to bring their date home to meet the parents only to have them terrified into incoherency or (once, in Zen’s case) immediately pack up and flee the country.

Not that Nick would be terrified, let alone attempt to flee the country to evade Serpentissima’s wrath. Of course he wouldn’t, which — incidentally — was yet another sign that Pat had managed to strike the relationship jackpot.

“Oh, alright, Patrick. I will refrain from threatening the boy, if it embarrasses you so. Your sisters always insisted that such talks are frightfully old-fashioned. It isn’t as though you aren’t perfectly capable of tearing him limb from limb yourself, if he makes you unhappy.”

Protesting that he would in all likelihood have serious trouble tearing Silver Paladin limb from limb — and that he couldn’t actually imagine a situation in which he would want to — would have been counterproductive, so Pat took the high road and refrained from comment. He was proud of himself for his wisdom and moderation for almost five whole seconds. Then, his mom began pressing him for details about the mysterious Nick she’d heard so little about.

He didn’t hold up very long before succumbing to the urge to talk about how smart Nick was, and how socially inept and clueless, and how wonderful. His mom’s tongue flicked out periodically as he spoke, scenting the air.

Come to think… she’d been doing that a lot all through the apartment tour, too. Pat faltered a little in his take-down of Nick’s horrible taste in music, trying to remember if she’d always tasted the air so often when wearing serpent skin. She was probably searching for traces of Nick’s scent in Pat’s place, trying to get a better idea of who he was.

There had to be a lot of scent traces of Nick here by now. Pat smiled a little, remembering. Nick standing in front of his book case reading the titles. Nick in Pat’s tiny kitchen nook, making scrambled eggs with Ay giving instructions over the phone. Nick curled up in the desk chair with
Demon Heart
(Nick had scoffed when Pat had talked about the book, but the joke had been on him. Pat had known nobody would be able to resist the wild romance of Pascal, the noble exiled prince, and Marguerite, the half-demon assassin sent to permanently remove him from the succession).

Nick waking up in Pat’s bed, all mussed and grumpy, warm and pliant with sleep… sighing sweetly into Pat’s mouth.

Suddenly Pat was glad he’d gotten rid of the old couch before his mom visited. There were some things no mother needed to know.

~~~~~

“N
ick, about that minion duty rotation my sisters and I have going. You never let me tell you why the West family is so wrapped up in the challenger network, but I’m gonna do that now. Seriously, dude, events are conspiring here. We need to up our level of disclosure, like, stat. So just listen for a moment, okay? Don’t interrupt and hear me out.” Pat paused to take a deep breath and let it out again slowly, evenly. Yeah, that was a good start. He could do this. It was time. It was high time, and he could so do this, because he was awesome and fearless and undaunted by the terrors of the mortal world. Even if he’d started nervously gnawing his lip at some point in the last five seconds. “It’s because of my mom. She knows everyone — every challenger who is anyone, or ever was, or ever will be. Which is because my mom is Serpentissima, the Serpent Rising.”

Silence. Silence that practically shouted curses and accusations. The sounds of some radio interview filtering in to the bedroom through the thin walls did nothing to lower the tension. Pat cleared his throat, noticed he was still (again?) biting his lip, and went on doggedly.

“You said you considered her the most impressive supervillain, which, yeah. She is super impressive, although remember how we talked about the wording thing? She’s a challenger, not a villain. Mom isn’t evil, she just knows that she can do a better job of running the world than the people currently making a hash of things. Hard not to agree with her there, yeah? I mean, you watch the news, right? That bullshit would make a saint want to pick up the challenger mantle. Not me, though, no worries. That is so not my thing. My parents know that too, and they’re fine with it.” Kinda… mostly. Now. But those were minor details, and would only muddy the waters.

Almost there. One more point, and he was done. “Mom’s back, ready to rise again in terrible glory. So, yeah. Thought I should give you a heads-up. Don’t want you finding out on your own and deciding that you have to break up with me for evilly hiding pertinent info or whatever. That would suck, and also be complete nonsense. Also, you should know that the parental units really want to meet you. You my boyfriend, not you Silver Paladin. I haven’t actually told them about the part where you’re a superhero. They just want to make sure you’re not some creepy abusive lech preying on their youngest kid, so again, no worries. They even promised not to threaten you with bodily harm if you make me cry, which is good because sometimes I cry at sad movies. Also books.”

Pat got stuck there because he hadn’t intended to talk about crying, and wasn’t sure how he’d managed to get on the subject. It was fine, though, he’d just leave that bit out. The rest was good.

“Yeah, just wanted to disclose that, Nick,” he said softly, turning to his side to face the pillow next to him, which still bore the indentation of Nick’s head. “You’re not going to be an ass about it, right?”

Okay, maybe he’d better leave out that last bit, too.

Nick was in the kitchenette, poised over Pat’s single frying pan near-motionless, with the air of a general mid-battle. He was wearing Pat’s favorite gray sweatpants and an €linore t-shirt. Both were slightly too small for him and clung enticingly to the clean lines of his body. Pat stole a look at Nick’s glorious butt, hugged lovingly by worn cotton; couldn’t resist looking again slightly more lingeringly.

“Patrick,” Nick said, flatly. He didn’t even glance at Pat. From anyone else, it would have been a brusque greeting, even an unfriendly one. From Nick, of course, it was a sign that he was concentrating on something else, but was nevertheless willing to pay attention to and make time for Pat.

Pat sidled a bit closer until he could see over Nick’s shoulder. He slid a hand around his middle for balance, only feeling up his abs very slightly in the process. “Hey.” It came out soft, almost a whisper.

Heat shimmered in the air above the frying pan. Nick had unearthed a wooden spatula from gods knew where, and was rinsing it in the sink. That was one advantage of a small kitchen — everything was right next to everything else.

“Test the temperature of the oil by introducing a drop of water into the pan,” said Ay, speaking through Nick’s mobile phone. The phone was propped up on the shelf at an angle that gave its camera (and thus Ay) a good view of the stove and work surface.

Nick hovered the wet spatula over the oil in the pan, carefully placing a single drop of water squarely in the middle of the smooth surface. The water danced and sizzled, evaporating with a hiss that Nick acknowledged with a brisk, satisfied nod.

“The oil has reached a level of heat sufficient for omelet frying,” announced Ay. “Reduce the heat to 3 and pour half the egg mixture into the pan.”

Nick did as instructed, filling the room with the mouth-watering scent of eggs and chives. Maybe Pat should wait until Nick and Ay were finished with cooking breakfast. After all, there was a real danger of burnt omelets, and nobody wanted that, right?

“Allow the omelet to set for two to three minutes, when its consistency will have gained sufficient structural integrity for flipping.”

But no… Ay would never let burnt omelets become a thing that happened. Pat was just looking for an excuse to delay his confession, which was stupid, because it wasn’t like this was going to get easier after breakfast. No. He’d do it now, without further delay, before he chickened out or Butterfly turned them to stone for their bad fashion sense or anything else happened to prevent him from finally doing this.

Show time. “Nick, there’s something I…” Stop! What was he saying? Nothing that started with the words ‘there’s something I have to tell you’ ever went well! Thank gods he’d caught that in time.

“Hey, remember when I told you about minion duty?” Much more the thing, yeah. Except that when Pat tried to go on, he ran out of air and ended up wheezing like some moron who couldn’t coordinate breathing and talking. Fuck. At least Nick wasn’t looking at him.

Needless to say, the moment in which Pat thought to be grateful for that particular small mercy was the same moment Nick chose to abandon his omelet in favor of turning in Pat’s hold, careful not to bump into the frying pan. His hair was still wet from the shower he’d taken earlier, falling into his face in a casual, effortlessly sexy manner normal people needed a team of stylists to achieve. He was stupidly, unfairly attractive, and also zeroed in on Pat like a laser targeting device.

“Uhm,” Pat said intelligently.

Hang on. He’d prepared for this. What was it he’d been about to say, exactly?

But Nick wasn’t listening, anyway. “I heard from Nexus this morning,” he said gravely. “Serpentissima’s back. She’s been sighted by extremely reliable sources.” Pat’s heart jumped into his throat, but he couldn’t read anything in Nick’s expression except the same kind of seriousness the omelet had warranted. “She hasn’t made a move yet, and so far none of our sources have been able to provide additional information. So I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay beyond breakfast — I have to investigate.”

“Uhm,” said Pat, less intelligently. What the hell, Mom hadn’t even begun to put her plans into motion yet. How could this be starting already?

Nick’s hands settled on Pat’s hips, thumbs stroking absently over the strip of bare skin above Pat’s sweatpants. “I’m going to be very busy for a while, Pat.”

“Why does it have to be you?” The question burst out with an almost vicious bite as he stepped back, shaking off Nick’s touch. Nick’s hands hovered briefly in midair before lowering; Pat’s pang of regret was drowned out by the frustration rising at the back of his throat. “You’re not the only superhero in the city. Can’t the others step up to the plate for once?”

The worst part was that Nick and Pat’s mom were a perfect match — the fierce, dedicated and brilliant science-based superhero and the wild, primal challenger powered by ancient serpent magic. Before his mind’s eye, Pat watched it play out with perfect inevitability: The two of them would be battling it out for weeks or months, growing increasingly obsessed all the while, and end up swearing heartfelt oaths of vengeance. Mom had been looking for a worthy nemesis ever since she’d lost Vindicator, and a hero of Silver Paladin’s stature was long overdue a proper nemesis of his own.

Not Pat’s mom of all people, though. Pat didn’t want to end up a footnote in the annals of the epic struggle between Serpentissima and Silver Paladin.

Nick was frowning at him, brow furrowed in puzzlement. “Every member of the Hero Corps will do their part to foil Serpentissima’s nefarious plot, including me. We all share in the responsibility to keep the city and its citizens safe.”

Yeah, right. Like Star Knight kept the city and its citizens safe by tearing down half a block every time he sneezed. With protectors like that, who needed an invasion of extraterrestrial battle droids.

“Pat.” Now Nick was leaning close, alight with intensity. “It’s Serpentissima. Even if every hero in the world were on hand to fight her, and I was completely superfluous — even if Star Knight were not helpless against her magic, and there were three dozen hyper-intelligent clones of him. Even then I would need to be a part of this. Pat, it’s
Serpentissima
.”

Yeah, Pat got that, much as he would have liked to pretend he didn’t. Some challengers were a bigger deal than others, the same way heavy-hitting hoagies like Star Knight, Silver Paladin and Nexus were bigger deals than wannabes like Mariachi or The Commander. Silver Paladin couldn’t pass this up… no hoagie would. It was the same the other way around. Serpentissima wouldn’t want to pass up a chance to tangle with Silver Paladin, either.

“This is going to be a fucking disaster.” Pat could see his future now, stretched out before him like an endless show of horrors. He’d end up an emotional wreck with neither his boyfriend nor his parents ever speaking to him again, cast out by his family as well as the community of challengers…

Well, probably not the latter. After all, Pat was hardly the first to dally with a superhero. There’d been talk about Doc Destiny and Ariadne for years. Even Cassiopeia was rumored to have had the odd weak moment around Mr. Liberty. Things got weird when you were forced to join forces with your nemesis to fight a common threat, as inevitably happened from time to time. Plus, some heroes were fucking hot, okay? Mr. Liberty was kind of a douche, but he wasn’t bad to look at if you were into the corn-fed and wholesome thing.

Of course, that nobody held Cassiopeia’s indiscretions against her might also have had to do with the fact she could spin light into any shape she wanted, including (say) a net to crush you and your wagging tongue, or a spear to lodge in your unsympathetic heart. But mostly it was sympathy and the undeniable hotness of certain heroes, Pat was pretty sure.

Ay interrupted with an announcement that the omelet needed to be turned. Pat watched glumly as Nick went to work, following Ay’s surprisingly technical step-by-step instructions. He was so out of sorts that he wasn’t even tempted to needle Nick about the way he’d obviously programmed his AI to teach him to cook, like a giant loser.