Moral Compass

Epilogue

In their new shared house in the Common World, Seth the tracker paced through his girlfriend's office, plopping down on the chair in front of her. She was in one of her busy moods, her map spread across the desk dotted with notes, lists and her compass. A plate of snacks he'd whipped up for her rested in the corner.

She'd been calling him a dirty distraction for the last five minutes now. Deep down, she loved to be distracted.

"You're rejecting this idea way too quickly, you know," He argued.

She clacked her tongue, eyes never straying from her map. Not even when her shirtless and terribly attractive boyfriend rounded the desk to come stand at her back.

"It's a terrible idea," She answered, sighing in relaxation when his hands kneaded her shoulders.

"It's a brilliant idea. You're just too judgemental. Way too uptight."

He wore an apron around his neck. The front read 'kiss the cook'. An instruction his oh so loving girlfriend had rudely ignored.

"I'm not wearing a superhero suit."

He groaned, planting himself in front of her. With his arse on her map, she had no choice but to entertain him.

"Oh come on baby. I've got you one already. It'd look great on you."

"It's not happening."

"If you want to keep saving people, these are the sorts of things you should be thinking about. At least look inside of the bag. I put a lot of thought into this."

He dropped said bag onto her lap. With an eyeroll, his Amazon melted and peeled the plastic open.

"What am I looking at?"

"That's your suit."

She lifted up a skimpy piece of lingerie, paired with a cape that would stop around her thighs.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"This one's the kind you only wear in front of me." The kind you're getting fucked in. "But this is the basis for something much bigger."

She dropped it back into the bag and smirked. "I'll pass."

"Fallon—don't be a spoilsport. I got myself one to match."

"I'm busy," She grumbled, nudging his leg away from her list. "Unless you've got something helpful to add, you know where the door is."

"How about we make a deal? I'll leave you alone if you try it on."

She dropped her pen and narrowed her eyes, rising to stand between his parted legs. His hands wasted no time in planting themselves on her arse—such a wonderful piece of Fallon anatomy.

"You just want my attention."

"I'm horny, Fallon. Every time you run that stupid fucking pen across your lips I picture putting something else between them. Namely my cock."

"And if I try your dumb hero costume on, what are the chances of that happening?"

Her words were a breath of fresh air against his lips, her hands joining around his neck.

"If that goes anywhere near your body, rest assured that pussy will be fucked."

She pecked his lips, finally distracted.

"Why do I bother loving you?"

"Because it pisses your sisters off. Now ass on the table." He spun her around, pinning her to her own desk. "I need my mouth on this pretty cunt."

She'd just parted her legs when a loud, obnoxious banging came from the door.

They both froze, scrambling to sort themselves out.

"Did you invite someone over?" She asked.

"No. Did you?"

"No."

In their 'honeymoon' faze, they didn't get guests. One too many of their friends had walked in to find Seth's head between her legs.

Only that banging at their door didn't stop.

Side by side, they rushed down. Fallon took the lead in opening it, even as the tracker tried and failed to shoulder her body behind his.

She opened it to a suited man with tanned skin, dark stubble and dark hair. Only his face was bloodied and bruised, his clothes a burnt mess. And that look on his face—this man is maddened.

Seth tugged his Amazon further back by her arm.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"Who am I?" The bloodied and bruised stranger seethed. "I'm your creator—now where the fuck is Kyra?"