Super•Villainous

XIX

The gentle slide from unconsciousness to consciousness carried unfamiliar weight. A comforting heaviness I couldn't place, not until finally opening my eyes and finding a large black cloak draped around shoulders, a makeshift blanket tucked in close while I slept.

Disgusted, I tossed it away, as though covered in spiders. Days without a bath resulted in me being painted in a thin layer of grime, but none of that left me feeling quite so dirty as being covered in Shade's infamous cloak. It was like being enveloped in the villain himself.

My huff of disdain and subsequent leap to my feet failed to awaken the villain in question, who sat rigidly against the same tree he leaned against hours prior. I took the odd quiet moment to examine him fully in a way I hadn't felt comfortable enough to do before. Free of his cloak that hid any details of his form, he still cut an intimidating figure. Fabric black as pitch hugged nearly every inch of skin, excluding one partially gloved hand and the area above the high points of his cheek bones where his mask ended to reveal closed eyes framed by long, dark eyelashes. His clothes, though well worn, seemed of relatively high quality and, if I wasn't mistaken, tailored to his lean, muscular frame by practiced hands.

My attention returned to his mostly concealed face.

A suicidal part of me wanted to rip that mask away once and for all, let his identity be a mystery no longer. Unfortunately, that would mean I, too, would be around no longer, since villains didn't make a habit of letting people who were aware of their identities live long enough to share the information, regardless of his desire to keep me alive for now. If I changed the status quo, he could change his mind about my living usefulness.

And yet...

I edged closer, keeping my footsteps light and quiet by deftly avoiding fallen leaves and twigs. After a steady exhale to steel my nerves, I knelt before him, one knee to the ground between this legs and wrapped my fingers around his throat the way he had done the same to me all those days before. I squeezed, exerting so much pressure all at once that my fingers began to cramp. A shot of electricity shot through me at the contact, a mix of exhilaration and searing fear that, while I might have been making a mistake, it was too late to go back now.

His dual-chrome gold and blue eyes flew open, and for a moment thick with tension, neither of us moved.

Then, I fell back — no, he pushed me! — and Shade came down on atop me, my grip around his neck lost as he straddled my middle, forcing my arms above my head with one hand, and pressing his free forearm down on my jugular with the other.

"Darling, I appreciate the effort, but I thought we already established that you can't kill me."

There was something there, something in his choice of words that hinted of a hidden meaning, but I failed to process anything beyond the obvious: how could I forget he could heal himself? How could I be so unbelievably stupid?

Hardly daring to breathe, I forced out the first thing that came to mind. "I thought I made my opinion on the word 'darling' quite clear."

A beat of silence elapsed where it occurred to me I should have kept that thought to myself, then the moment passed. The tension in his body lessened, taut muscles going lax, and he countered with, "We agreed to specific terms around that matter, you might recall. You try to kill me first, I get to call you darling back. I hope the useless attempt at ending my life made you feel better."

It didn't.

He rolled off me to his feet, dusting the dirt from the knees of his pants after doing so. Casual. Dismissive of my failed lethal intent.

I didn't try to get up, and, in fact, considered never getting up ever again, considered growing my own roots that stretched deep into the soil beneath me.