Étienne looked at the man beside her. He was clearly exhausted. She took in his toned abs, his defined jawline, his stern yet relaxed face.
Next to him, she felt safe.
She felt like this is where she belonged.
Yet the thought of her fiancée invaded her mind.
You can only live a lie for so long before your conscience starts to get the upper hand.
His words were reassuring, yes.
But she needed more.
The young woman stretched her arm out, wrapping it around the assassin's muscular frame and pulling herself towards him, nuzzling her face into his chest.
She expected him to push her away, to lecture her.
Yet, as she felt him shift beneath her, he didn't.
Instead, to her surprise, she felt a soft hand stroking her head, playing with her hair, a soft, deep and enticing sigh emanating from him.
Looking up at the super-villain's face, she sees him in deep thought, plotting, thinking up new schemes, traps for whomever had the misfortune of getting on his bad side.
Yet, beneath all the hate, the anger and the sadness, the girl spotted a glimmer of hope;
And with her mind filled with this image, she drifted into slumber, dreams filled with wishful thinking and ecstatic sweetness, only to wake up hours later, alone, her lover missing.
She wants to cry, to plead for him to be with her. Yet she knows that this isn't the kind of man she fell in love with.
This was Slade Wilson; Deathstroke; the Terminator, the Godkiller. Deadliest assassin on the planet. The most cruel being to have ever existed. The incarnation of evil. The symbol of villainy.
And she wouldn't want him to be any different.