Another knife embeds itself in the wall inches from your head. You don’t even flinch. At this point, dodging League assassins is just part of your daily routine.

Damian, however, is not as calm about it.

“Tt.” his sword is already in his hand, his expression sharp with irritation as he glares at the crumpled body of the assassin he just incapacitated. “Pathetic.” he nudges them aside with his foot, then turns to you, eyes scanning for injuries. “Are you hurt?”

You roll your shoulders. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, unimpressed. “You shouldn’t have to handle anything. This is their failure.” his grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. “They know they cannot target me, so they go after you instead. Cowards.”

The League of Assassins wants you dead. Shocking. Falling for Damian Wayne means painting a target on your back, and the League has made their stance clear—you are a liability. But if they think that’s enough to scare you away, they clearly don’t understand who they’re dealing with.

Damian steps closer, tilting your chin up with two fingers, eyes dark with something unreadable. “They will regret this,” he murmurs. “Every single one of them.”

You swallow. “You know, a normal boyfriend would just say ‘I care about you’ instead of declaring war.”

His brow twitches. “Tt. Normal is beneath me.”

You smirk. “So is saying how much I mean to you?”

His fingers drop from your chin, and he looks away. “You already know,” he mutters.