Damsel[ed]: Rescue Required (#3 of the Damsel[ed] Series)

Chapter Eighteen: Snubbed by the Club of Would-be Murderers

Angelos.

"I don't hate you," I tell a trembling Shiro with his thin wrist still clamped in my fist. "But if you wake up Gats or the guardians I'm...I'm gonna hit you, you know, with super-strength."

Half of that's true. I don't hate him. I don't even blame him for trying to kill me. If Owl slept in the room adjacent to mine, wouldn't I try to kill her as well? I mean, killing's bad. I don't condone killing. Don't sue me. But I admire Shiro, because a thousand suckers will tell you they'd murder a tyrant to save innocent lives, but I doubt a single one of them would act on it if given the chance. But Shiro tried, and he was willing to face the consequences. He looks at me, eyes blazing. As black as they are, they're lit up even in my darkened bedroom. He's scared of me. He hates me. But his face is blank as I stumble out of bed, dragging him with me out the open door. All I can really tell by his grimace is that he isn't happy. Shocker.

I fluff my wings and spread them gently, flexing each aching muscle until I can feel the burn in my frown. The veins light up the apartment in a hissing purple halo, and the feathers drape Shiro in shadow.

"I promise there's more to this Syndicate thing than it seems."

"It seems like a lot of kidnapping and torturing to me." Shiro doesn't bother to lower his voice. And I don't bother pretending anymore that I'm gonna hit him. I lead him out of the apartment and let the door sigh shut behind us. We're both wearing pajamas. Him, in the pink-lamb bottoms and white V-neck I saw him sporting this morning. Me, in basketball shorts and an undershirt with slits cut into the back.

"I'm not the one doing it."

"Yeah." Shiro nods, glaring down at my hand squeezing his wrist. "That's what your followers do, don't they? They stabbed my best friend and left her to die."

"Oh." I don't even flinch. Don't even slow my strides. It scares me how hardened I've become, but I don't have time to mull over my angst issues, because we've arrived at Heaven's door. I rap softly, just below the peephole. "Hev?" My voice is a whisper. "Someone just tried to kill me—again."

The door flies open, hitting hard on the nose and smashing me flat against the wall. I make a little yelp, an 'ow,ow,ow' squealed under my breath.

Heaven tears me from behind the door and tugs my cheek, as if checking my face for bruises. "Did they hurt you? Are you okay?"

No more crisp clean shirts and makeup, she's back to wrinkled hoodies and sweatpants that smell like a locker room. Her eyes stop over Shiro and widen. "Did they try to hurt you, too? Angel, you're holding him too tightly! His wrist has gone all red!"

Shiro glances down at his feet, but he only does so a second. Then, he lifts his head and meets her gaze. There's a calmness to his methodical movements, and it's a calmness I have to admire. He carries himself with purpose, like he's considered every move he plans to make. It unnerves me. He must've planned my murder and decided a long time ahead of the attempt that my death was best for everyone; his hesitation was probably only out of the morality of the thing.

"Actually." I lift his hand with the knife in it. Heaven recoils, cringing back into the doorway. Gives me room to squirm past her. Her apartment is all dark and drear, brown furniture fuzzed over with cat fur, and the smell like a kitty litter box. Shiro goes stiff, so I have to drag him into the apartment. When he tries to wriggle free, I pick him up and dump him on the couch. He makes a little cry of pain, and guilt bubbles up in me like mercury. I don't know why superpowers have made me such a brute, don't think I ever manhandled or hurt anyone before.

I don't notice Jaylin lounged across the floor until she whistles at me. "If you aren't the little supervillain."

"Hi." I blink my bleary eyes.