Damian's Assassin

"Do you ever feel guilty about her death? My dad died last year. I keep thinking, if I'd been in Miami instead of California, he wouldn't have," Bianca said, looking down.

"Sometimes," he said in a hushed tone. His thoughts went to the memory he wanted nothing more than to forget forever. He saw his sister drop after the strike of a sword. At barely ten years old, he'd been too weak to fight off full-grown men, too weak to protect her. "You can't blame yourself for your father's death. Some things are meant to be, and death is natural for humans."

"You don't believe that," she said with a faint smile. "Or you wouldn't still be fighting for her. Killing can't heal you, though."

"No, but it prevents the deaths of other innocents." He leaned away from her, against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. He hadn't trusted anyone outside of his adopted brothers-- and Sofi-- since he was ten.

"I'm not sure I could live if I lost Jonny," she said. "His welfare was what got me through our father's death."

"People are resilient."

"Resiliency isn't the same as happiness."

"No," he agreed slowly. "It's not. You can't regain that sort of innocence."

"So, you never gave yourself a chance to be happy?" she surmised.

"Something like that. A little too late now."

"Why?"

"I don't believe it's possible," he said and then thought to himself, and because I'm not going to be alive too much longer. "I believe in pleasure, but pleasure is always short-lived, like one-night stands."

"That's sad, Dusty," she said. "There's more than one-night stands. You're missing out."

"I don't have time for more," he replied. They both tiptoed around the sexual attraction between them, and her face was flushed again. "Someone's gotta help save the world."

"I see," she said and cleared her throat. "You'll always carry that pain, if you don't let yourself become whole again."

He hadn't heard anyone speak so frankly to him since he was a child, and never on a topic so sensitive. He shifted, a familiar fire in his blood. And yet, he feared what that fire might mean. He was not long for this world, and she was no Jenn-- a woman there for his physical pleasure. Bianca was the kind of woman who could heal his soul, if he had time to let her. For the first time in years, he found himself wondering what it would be like to feel again. He may not find the prospect appealing, if he wasn't standing beside his death bed. He held out his hand.