Chapter 4: Truth on a Golden Leash
The skylight shattered inward with a sound like a gunshot.
Glass rained down in glittering sheets, catching the dying neon light as it fell. Barbara was on her feet before the first shard hit the concrete, her body dropping into a crouch, claws extended, a snarl building in her throat.
Then she saw the silhouette against the broken frame.
Diana landed in a crouch that cracked the floor beneath her. She wore her armor—the full regalia, the gold gleaming dully in the half-dark, the lasso coiled at her hip like a sleeping serpent. Her hair was wet from the rain, plastered to her skull, and her eyes—those impossible, ancient eyes—were fixed on the man curled at Barbara's feet.
Steve hadn't moved. He lay on his side, naked, shivering, his knees drawn up toward his chest. The scratches on his chest had scabbed over, but the dried blood was still there, a map of everything Barbara had done to him. His cock lay limp against his thigh, glistening with a mix of fluids that Diana didn't need to identify.
"Steve." Diana's voice cracked on the syllable.
He didn't respond. Didn't even twitch.
Barbara straightened slowly, a smile spreading across her face. "Well, well. The princess comes to the rescue. A bit late, don't you think?"
Diana's gaze snapped to her. For a moment, Barbara saw something in those eyes that made even her predator's heart stutter—a rage so vast it had no bottom, no boundary, no end.
"What did you do to him?"
"Me?" Barbara pressed a hand to her chest in mock offense. "I didn't do anything he didn't beg for."
"I'll kill you."
"You'll try." Barbara's tail swished lazily behind her. "But I don't think you will. Not yet. Not while he's still breathing. Because you want to know, don't you? You want to hear it from his lips."
Diana took a step toward Steve. Barbara took a step toward Diana.
"Don't," Barbara said. "He's mine now. The venom's in his blood. You can smell it, can't you? That's why you're here. That's why you came running."
Diana stopped. Her jaw tightened. Because Barbara was right—she could smell it. A chemical odor underneath the sweat and sex, something sharp and wrong that clung to Steve's skin like oil.
"What did you do?"
"I marked him." Barbara's smile widened. "I fucked him. I made him come so hard he forgot his own name. And then I did it again."
Diana moved.
Barbara barely had time to react before the Amazon was on her, fist connecting with her jaw in a blow that sent her crashing into a stack of rusted oil drums. The metal crumpled around her like paper. Pain flared through her ribs—cracked, maybe broken—but she was already rolling to her feet, already laughing.
"There she is," Barbara wheezed. "There's the warrior."
Diana didn't follow up. She was already turning back to Steve, already dropping to her knees beside him. Her hands hovered over his body, trembling, afraid to touch.
"Steve," she said again. "Steve, can you hear me?"
His eyes opened.
They were wrong. That was the first thing Diana noticed—the pupils were blown wide, the irises almost swallowed by black. And there was something else in them, something hungry and lost that she'd never seen before.
"Diana?" His voice was sandpaper.
"I'm here. I'm here, I've got you."
He blinked. Then his gaze drifted past her, over her shoulder, and Diana watched his expression change—watched the hunger sharpen, watched his lips part, watched his cock twitch against his thigh.
"Barbara," he breathed.
Diana's blood turned to ice.
"No," she said. "Steve, look at me. Look at me."
He did. But it took effort. She saw him fight it, saw him drag his gaze back to her face, saw the shame flood his eyes like a dam breaking.
"Diana," he said. "Diana, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Don't." She cupped his face in her hands. "Don't apologize. Just tell me what happened."
"I can't."
"You can."
"I can't." His voice cracked. "You don't want to hear it."
The lasso was in her hand before she made the conscious decision to draw it. It glowed faintly in the dark, a soft golden light that painted Steve's face in warm tones. He looked at it, then at her, and something in his expression crumpled.
"Please," he whispered.
"I have to know."
"Please don't make me say it."
"I'm sorry." Diana's voice was barely a whisper. "I'm sorry, but I have to."
She looped the lasso around his throat.
The golden light flared, bright enough to make Barbara shield her eyes from across the warehouse. Steve arched off the floor, his back bowing, his mouth opening in a silent scream. The rope didn't choke him—it never did—but it wrapped around his throat like a living thing, like truth made physical, and it demanded answers.
"Tell me," Diana said. "Tell me what happened."
The words came out of him like water from a broken pipe. Unstoppable. Unfiltered.
"She was waiting for me." His voice didn't sound like his own. It sounded like something being torn out of him piece by piece. "I knew it was a trap. I knew, and I went anyway, because I thought I could handle it. I thought I could take her."
"You fought her."
"I tried." A sob caught in his throat. "I had my gun on her. I had a clean shot. But I couldn't take it. Every time I tried, I saw her face. I smelled her. And I couldn't."
Diana's hands tightened on the lasso.
"She kissed me," Steve continued. The words were coming faster now, tumbling out in a flood. "She kissed me, and I kissed her back. I put my hands on her. I let her touch me. I let her—"
His voice broke.
"Keep going," Diana said. Her own voice sounded distant to her ears. Cold. Clinical. Like she was reading a report.
"She pushed me down. She took off her clothes. And I just—I let her. I didn't fight. I didn't try to stop her. I just lay there like a fucking coward and let her do whatever she wanted."
The lasso pulsed. It didn't believe he was done.
"She rode me," Steve said. The words were choked now, forced through a throat that wanted to close. "She fucked me on the floor of this shithole, and I begged her for it. I begged her to keep going. I told her I liked it."
"Did you?"
"Yes." The word was torn from him like a tooth. "Yes, I liked it. I came inside her, and it was the best fucking orgasm of my life, and I wanted more. I wanted her to keep going. I wanted her to never stop."
Diana's hand shook on the rope.
"And then she did it again." Steve was crying now, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face. "She made me come again, and I couldn't stop coming, and she just held me there and kept going and going and—"
He broke off, gasping. The lasso was burning now, glowing so bright it cast shadows from every surface in the warehouse. Diana could feel the heat of it radiating up her arm, feel the power of it working, feel the venom in his blood fighting against the truth.
Something had to give.
Diana closed her eyes. She reached deeper—past the Lasso's magic, past her own pain, past the rage boiling in her chest—and she found the venom. She could sense it now, a black thread woven through Steve's bloodstream, pulsing with a life of its own. It was in his heart. In his lungs. In his brain.
It was in his cock, coiled there like a snake, ready to strike.
She gritted her teeth and pushed.
The light of the lasso flared white-hot, and Steve screamed—a real scream this time, raw and agonized. And Diana felt the venom recoil. She felt it retreat, burning away from the edges of his veins, curling back into a tight knot at his core. She couldn't kill it. Couldn't remove it. But she could push it down. Bury it. Buy time.
When it was over, she collapsed beside him.
Her hands were smoking. The skin of her palms was red and blistered, and she could feel the exhaustion deep in her bones—the kind that came from channeling too much of herself into a single act. She'd spent everything she had. Every reserve. Every spark.
Steve lay beside her, sobbing. The lasso had fallen away from his throat, and he curled onto his side, facing away from her, his entire body wracked with tremors.
"I'm sorry," he kept saying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Diana reached for him. Her burned hand touched his shoulder, and he flinched.
"Don't," he said. "Don't touch me. I'm filthy. I'm—"
"Stop."
"I cheated on you. I let her—I wanted her—"
"Steve, stop."
He stopped. But only because he couldn't speak anymore. The sobs had taken over completely, the kind of crying that came from somewhere so deep it didn't have words.
Diana pulled him into her arms.
He fought at first—weak, pathetic struggles that barely registered against her strength. Then he went limp, and she held him, and she felt his tears soaking into the leather of her armor.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. She didn't know what she was apologizing for. For using the lasso. For making him say it. For not being there sooner. For everything.
"I couldn't stop," he said. "I tried. I tried so hard."
"I know."
"I love you."
"I know."
"But I wanted her. God help me, Diana, I still want her."
Diana pressed her lips to the top of his head. The venom was still there—she could smell it, that sharp chemical wrongness—but it was quiet now. Sleeping. For now.
"I know," she said again. "We'll figure it out."
From across the warehouse, Barbara started to clap.
Slow, mocking applause that echoed off the corrugated walls. Diana looked up and found her sitting on the railing of the catwalk above, her legs dangling like a child's, her smile wide and sharp.
"That was beautiful," Barbara said. "Really, Diana. I'm touched."
"Get out."
"Or what? You'll kill me?" Barbara tilted her head. "You can barely stand. I could smell the power you just burned through. You're running on fumes, princess."
Diana didn't answer. Because Barbara was right—she was exhausted. More exhausted than she'd been in decades. Her hands were still healing, and her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. If Barbara attacked now...
But Barbara wasn't attacking. She was just sitting there, watching, her tail curling lazily behind her.
"You know what I love about this?" Barbara said. "The look on your face right now. You're trying so hard not to hate me. You're trying so hard to stay the good little Amazon. But I can see it, Diana. I can see what you're really thinking."
"Get out."
"You're thinking about killing me. You're thinking about how easy it would be. One snap of my neck and all of this goes away." Barbara laughed. "You won't do it. You can't. And that's why I've already won."
Steve stirred in Diana's arms.
Barbara's eyes flicked to him, and her smile widened. "Oh," she purred. "There it is."
Diana looked down.
Steve's erection had returned.
It stood up from his body like an accusation, hard and flushed and impossible. He wasn't aroused—his face was still wet with tears, his body still trembling with shame—but his cock was rigid, leaking, twitching with every breath.
"It'll happen over and over," Barbara said. "Every time you touch him. Every time you're near him. The venom will remember me, and it will make him want me. You can suppress it for a while, but you can't kill it. Not without killing him."
Diana's arms tightened around Steve.
"Keep him leashed for now, Amazon." Barbara stood on the railing, balanced perfectly, her silhouette sharp against the shattered skylight. "But he'll come back. They always come back."
She stepped backward and fell into the dark.
Diana heard the impact of her feet on the concrete, heard the rustle of wind as she ran, heard the distant clang of a door. Then silence. Just the rain. Just Steve's breathing. Just the thud of Diana's own heart, loud in her ears.
"It's still happening," Steve whispered. He was staring down at himself, at his own body, horror written across his face. "Why is it still happening?"
"I don't know." Diana stroked his hair. "I don't know."
"I don't want it."
"I know."
"I want you. I only want you."
"I know."
But his cock was still hard. Still throbbing. Still making a mockery of everything he'd just said.
Diana pressed her hand to his chest—the burned one, the one that still smelled of ozone and magic—and closed her eyes. She could feel the venom moving under his skin, sluggish now but present. Alive. Waiting.
"I'll find a way," she said. "I'll find a cure."
"There isn't one."
"There's always a way."
Steve laughed, but it came out wet and broken. "You're such an optimist. It's one of the things I love about you."
"I'm not an optimist." Diana pulled him tighter. "I'm stubborn."
"Same thing."
"Maybe."
They stayed like that for a long time. The rain kept falling. The neon had died completely now, leaving them in darkness broken only by the faint glow of the lasso still coiled on the floor.
Somewhere in the city, Barbara was running. Somewhere, she was planning her next move. Somewhere, she was laughing.
But here, in this moment, Diana held the man she loved and tried not to think about the way his body still betrayed him.
His erection pressed against her thigh. He didn't mention it. Neither did she.
But they both knew it wasn't going anywhere.