Damsel[ed]: Some Rescue Required (#2 of the Damsel[ed] series)

Chapter Fifty: Down for the Count

Heaven.

Nope. Nada. No way. That didn't happen. How could it have happened?

Every battered bone seems to creak the words with me. The air is stuffy and thick, the little shop squeezing all the oxygen out of my lungs. My teeth gnash against the inside of my lips, my heart straining against my ribs, my eyes pinned open against the searing heat behind my skull. I growl deep in my throat and hold a shaky breath, Fallout scooping Poison in his arms like a little kid. The remorse, the horror, it's all clear on the villain's face. Something about it makes my chest go tight, makes me think of Angel. 

Natalie shuffles through the door, her mask hanging lopsided on her face. Smart girl, coming back instead of trying to take Owl on by herself. Kepler bats her leg and wines. I force a weak smile. My knuckles hurt from squeezing. My insides feel ripped raw, the loneliness of death, followed by coming so close to taking my friends back home, all to find it for nothing. For them to be pulled away from me. For Gats to take my hand and try to drag me to Owl. She took him from me. She hurt him and molded him into her little pet.

He's not her little pet.

And Angel's not hers to take.

My wrists already ache from the cuffs, though the pain is slight compared to the sting in my chest. I suck in a breath. She won't get away this time.

Poison twitches. "Ceres." His voice is raspy and weak. It barely sounds out. "I have to get him. We need him."

Fallot brushes his fingers through his son's burned feathers. Poison looks over his shoulder at me, his chin tucked against his father's neck, his eyes cloudy with a sort of wistfulness that looks foreign on him. The pain doesn't seem to fit his cocky demeanor, his ceaseless jerk-er-y.

"Why did you do that," I ask Fallout, my teeth still gnashed together so my words come out an angry growl. If he hadn't held me, I could've chased after them. Maybe I could've saved Angelos and Gats, too. I pace. "Fallout, we need to get them."

He forces a smile. Now, in the dim light of morning, he looks so young. I blink a couple of times and shake my head. His eyes are bright, his wrinkles gone, his graying hair no as black and shiny as Angel's. Could be from his powers. "We have to wait." His voice is smooth and taut from stress as he fidgets with his fingers. "Figure something out. You can't take her head on, kid, and you know it." His jaw's squarer than Angel's, his cheekbones sharper, and in his youth he looks handsome. The observation makes me want to kick myself, even when the orange-haired girl pops her head through the door, spots Fallout and whistles with two fingers. 

He shoots her a look and her face flushes red. Then she touches her fingers to the holes in her sweater and smiles, her lashes batting.

"Where were you?"

"Sir?" She laughs and tosses her hair out of her eyes, all her weight crooked on one hip like a teen pop star. "I and Mathias decided to stay out of the way of your flames. Some of us can't handle the heat." She licks her lips and smirks, an eye traveling appreciatively up the curves of his body, settling on his shoulders, his neck, where a ragged scar cuts down his throat. Poison squirms and rubs the dirty streaks off his face with the back of his sleeve, kicking out of his father's grip. My eyes dart around the room for something to free my hands with. If I'm saving Angelos, I might have to do it alone. Jaylin looks at me. I can't hold her gaze.  Angry at her, at the villains, at the world. Anger hasn't gotten me anything to show for it, except a few white strands of hair at sixteen. I drop my eyes to the floor and breathe out in low heaves, just concentrate on the smooth motions of my chest, rising and falling, rising and falling, like a low tide. My jaw relaxes.