Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain Book 3)

Evie

Evie spun on the wall just as the blade landed next to her.

Mere inches from her head.

Her heart rate soared as she half yelled, half screamed, dodging another slash of the blade. “Hey!” she cried in outrage, dancing from one edge of the room to the other, the intruder following her and blocking her every attempt to run toward the exit. “You almost hit me.”

The intruder’s fierce, murderous expression wavered for a moment to a near-comedic confusion. “That’s the idea, you wench!” he snarled.

Evie used the split second of his attention leaving her to bolt for the door. Her dagger, which was normally so connected to her movements, deadened in her hand, like the magic was dormant or not there at all.

The fading magic, she thought, rearing its head at the worst possible time—as per usual.

There was very little she knew how to do without the magical aid…other than stabbing until she hit skin.

Which was exactly what she did when the assailant picked her up from behind. She buried the dagger in his hand, pulling it back out and gasping in relief when he released her with a howl.

She knew she had mere seconds to take advantage of the win.

Or it surely would’ve been a win, if Evie moved through the air with the speed and grace of a Malevolent Guard. But Evie moved through the air as she always had…

Frantic, panicked, and absurdly winded.

She barely made it two steps before her attacker was swinging at her again, and the force of his fist burying in her stomach slammed her into the wall. Her head cracked against the stone, her vision going spotty and limbs going limp. “What—what do you want?” she whispered with a breaking voice as her knees buckled. “Why are you doing this? Who are you?”

“He was right.” The assailant closed a hand over her mouth, his hot breath against her face making her want to retch. “You never do shut up, do you?” Evie’s eyes widened, her words muffled beneath his hand, her vision starting to go dark at the edges now. “He’ll be displeased I killed you before he had a chance to. But the temptation is far too great.”

Who? Who would want to kill me?

Her mind answered for her: Who wouldn’t?

He grinned at the confusion likely apparent on her face. It angered her enough to clear her head—and send power to her limbs. Her heel came down in a flash, crushing into the toe of his boot. As her attacker howled in pain again, she grinned. She knew switching to higher heels had been the right choice.

“Oh, no you don’t, witch!” He gripped her harder as she tried to break free, squeezing her arms until she felt pained tears prick at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t recognize me? Do you see the family resemblance?”

His hand slid off her mouth, and she gasped for a breath, trying to steel herself so he wouldn’t feed off her weakness. In the past, she had let all her fears crush her beneath their weight, but this was the present, and she was no longer trying to hide from the people who wanted to scare her. She had decided to scare them, too. “My experience with family has been less than ideal the last few months, I’m afraid,” she rasped, desperately trying to place him.

It was then that the cruelty in the man’s expression looked familiar—so familiar it made her world go cloudy with crushing fear.

No. It can’t be.

“You don’t remember your old employer?”

Her palms dampened, and a lump lodged deep in her throat, making her airway close further. But still…Evie smiled, sucking in a breath as he squeezed her arms hard enough that the bruises would be large and ugly. “You must be a Warsen.” She feigned contemplation of the man’s scalp. “The receding hairline is hereditary, then, I suppose.”

The man’s lip curled as he shook with rage. She was physically weaker than him, it was true, but Evie’s best method of attack was talking her victims through an endless circle of torture. She’d yet to kill anyone that way, but by the gods, she’d wager she had been very close on a handful of occasions.

“You tried to run my father out of business and then murdered him in cold blood!”

“I assure you, my blood was quite warm when I did it. I think it was the wool socks I was wearing. They insulate.”

He sputtered, and Evie nearly laughed—nearly. She still had some semblance of a sound mind. Otto Warsen’s son pulled on her hair, forcing her to lift her chin. “The kingdom has declared you ‘The Wicked Woman’ for a reason. You’ve no sense of morality. Always feigning innocent, playing the victim when you are nothing but a snake.” He punctuated the final word with another slam of her body into the wall.

She nodded as he raised the blade high above her, the pain in her head now causing her ears to ring. “You’re right. I was never very good at being a victim,” she choked out, feeling something sticky and warm running at the corner of her mouth. Blood.noveldrama

His blade came down.

Evie closed her eyes and whispered, “Because I’m a villain.”

A dark-gray mist launched between them and stopped the blade less than an inch from her face, followed by a voice booming through the kitchens that made her nearly collapse at its familiar sound.

“Release her now or I will tear out your insides and lob you off the manor in pieces.” The threat was vicious, dangerous. It came from the kind of voice that gave children nightmares.

I, on the other hand, will be sleeping like a baby tonight.

“Unless you’d prefer that alternative, of course,” Evie added cheekily. Warsen’s grip on her loosened, and he spun her around and pushed the blade underneath her chin. “You’re taking me hostage? How boring,” she rasped, wincing as the tip of the blade cut the skin at her neck.

“Release her. Now!” Trystan boomed, and his magic, as unruly as it had been lately, seemed inclined to listen to him in that moment as it shot out toward Warsen and jabbed at his left eye.

“Fuck!” The man threw Evie, his strength evident as he slammed her into the table so hard she fell against a chair and broke it on her way to the floor.

Every part of her ached, her wrist was twisted, her head pounded, and her heart still battered against her chest so painfully that each breath was a struggle. Blood and sweat mingled on her skin as she swiped over her face with shaking fingers.

Trystan took in the sight of her on the floor, then found her attacker with wild eyes. He paused, frozen for a moment as he scanned the man who had hurt her, but it was Warsen’s hands, with a few of her curls twined about his fingers from when he’d yanked on her hair, that seemed to break The Villain.

He caught Otto’s son by the neck and slowly backed the man up toward the wall, his fist raised, setting him up for a fatal blow.

“Don’t!” Evie cried, bursting forward with strength she didn’t think she had, gripping his wrist tight with both hands. “You can’t kill him.”

The Villain didn’t look at her; he kept his dark eyes on Warsen’s son. But the fool must have had a death wish, because he was grinning. “Would you look at that, Villain? I think your wench likes me.”

Evie sighed. “Bastard.”

She released her boss’s wrist and stepped back as he punched his fist straight at the man’s head. Her attacker slumped over, instantly unconscious.

Not an unappetizing state of being at the moment.

Trystan’s voice was rough. “Now may I kill him?”

Her energy was sapped, the adrenaline fog fading, and everything suddenly was heavy, including her eyelids. “No, we—we need to question him first. Then you can hang up whatever body parts you want.” Her hand found the nearest surface to steady her—it was the window. Something about the window…?

Everything felt fuzzy.

“Sage?”

“Ssssssir,” she said, but the word was slurred, her eyes processing the colors in the room so rapidly she thought the ground was shaking.

“Marv, Min! Take the prisoner to the dungeons and double chain his restraints.” Her boss boomed the order with an authority Evie aspired to, and she watched in a dreamlike haze as the two Malevolent Guards shuffled in, gripped the intruder by the wrists, and dragged his prone form from the room.

“Can I question him”—she paused to catch her breath, her hands falling to her knees—“with you?” In the next moment, she was folded into strong arms, cinnamon and warmth and everything right in the world pulling her into the safest embrace she’d ever experienced.

A hand clutched the back of her head, gentle but steady, unyielding in its support as she was well and truly held.

“Sir, are you…hugging me?” she asked as floaty black spots formed over her vision.

“Yes. I am.”

“Oh, good. I thought it was just the concussion.” Her legs gave then as the last of her survival mode dwindled into heavy exhaustion. But she was caught, a strong hand gripping the back of her legs. “How did you know I was in trouble?”

“The gilded tattoo burned the fuck out of me,” he murmured.

“I thought you were ignoring it,” she whispered, clutching at him tighter.

He shook his head. “I’d never. Even if all the magic in the land seeped from the ink on my skin and yours. If you’re hurt or in danger, I will find you. I swear it.”

That assurance made her eyes close.

He had her. He always would.

Or was that just the concussion talking?

His dark magic swirled around them, flicking out the candles, shattering a stray ceramic chalice. “Sir, your magic?” she said sleepily as her boss carried her from the room. “Maybe someone else should take me to the healer’s quarters.”

“My magic doesn’t matter.” He was resolved in that. Evie could tell by how strongly he spoke the words, how the statement didn’t seem at all emotional, just factual, pure logic in his mind. “No one touches you right now but me.”

She snuggled deeper into his chest, her heart beating for a different reason now as her arms clutched his neck. “I like possessive Evil Overlord. A new side to you,” she said dreamily, drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Oh, Sage. If only you knew.” There was too much subtext in the rough words for her tired mind to pull apart.

Trystan had her. He had her.

But as Evie’s eyes drifted shut, she sensed that this simple statement was the gravest danger of all.