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

Evie

The back courtyard was quiet, save for the occasional whimper coming from the grate that led down to the male guvre’s enclosure. Evie tried not to fixate on it or the way it caused a twisting in her gut as she and The Villain exited the manor into the night. The stars were shining, with only the small hint of a breeze, and the smell of burning logs drifted from the manor’s many chimneys. Torches lit outside saved them from the shadows.

The stained glass pieces clanged in Evie’s skirt pocket. She took the pouch out as she slowly came to her knees, laying them gently before her.

A loud, nasal snore caused her to drop one, nearly slicing her hand when she dove to catch it. “Aw. Fluffy is sick.” The dragon slept on his back under one of the awnings, all four of his purple feet stuck up in the air. He reminded Evie of a stray cat in her village, except bigger…and scalier.

The Villain harrumphed, placing the pieces he’d been carrying beside hers. “He always does that.”

Evie frowned. “Perhaps we should send for a veterinarian.”

“I’ll consult Blade in the morning,” her boss offered, scratching at the stubble he clearly hadn’t had time to groom. “Let’s just attempt to put this back together without waking him up.”

Evie began to move the pieces around, remembering how terrible she was at puzzles, how the pieces always looked the same. She didn’t know why she’d thought it would be different merely because she’d spent nearly all her days for half a year staring at it.

“Promise me when we’re done out here we can return it to the kitchen exactly as it was,” Evie said as she gently pushed the pieces around on the stone pavement.

Earlier, her boss had been quiet as he dismantled her favorite window piece by piece. The entire process had taken him no more than fifteen minutes, and Evie had only protested for the first ten. “I told you I would. I beg you to stop asking.”

“Well, if you’re begging.” She stuck her tongue out at the back of his head, and he must have sensed it because he turned so fast she fell back on her heels, her hand falling to the ground to prop her up.

His gaze burned, his black eyes fathomless and unreadable as he tossed a basket he’d hooked under his arm toward her. “Here. Eat.”

Evie stared at it, then lifted the wicker flap and pulled out a large loaf of bread, cheeses, a fig spread, and various fruits piled atop a folded checkered blanket. “Sir…is this a picnic?”

He stopped the puzzle to stare blankly at her. “Absolutely not.”

“Then what is it?”

He helped her lay out the blanket along with the rest of the food. “It’s dinner. Outside dinner.”

“On a picnic blanket?” Evie asked, looking pointedly down at it, giggling when she found a white rose buried at the bottom of the basket. She lifted a brow, letting the stem of the flower play between her fingers. “And this is?”

He grabbed her wrist—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to keep her from moving it. “Less talking. More puzzling,” he said, giving her a look that made her toes curl in her shoes. It was an unspoken message that said she was being obstinate and if she continued, something bad would happen. But what? She had no clue, but for some reason she wanted to push every one of his buttons until she found out.

Don’t be sadistic, Evie!

Unless it’s for a very good reason!noveldrama

Was this a very good reason?

He turned to fully face her, and a sliver of skin became visible in the loose V of his black shirt.

Good enough.

The boss was staring at her expectantly. Oh dear, he’d said something just now. She’d registered the words coming from outside her head, but for some reason her brain refused to process them while she ventured onto one of her mind’s unwanted tangents.

“Well?” Trystan said, gesturing for her to answer. It was simply unfair that even disheveled with an overgrowth of stubble at his chin, he still managed to be devastatingly handsome, his skin gleaming in the moonlight. He looked warm and inviting, like a fuzzy blanket with murderous tendencies.

She was riding a train of delusion whose last stop was hopefully off a cliff. “I wasn’t paying attention, sir.”

Trystan frowned. “Why?”

“I was staring at your chest,” Evie blurted, her grin turning sheepish at the way his eyebrows shot to the top of his head.

“I beg your pardon?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m sorry?” Words continued rolling over her tongue, like a runaway carriage wheel. “You could stare at mine, too, if you want.”

What are you doing? she asked herself. Make it stop!

“To ensure we are, you know…even?”

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

Amid her self-flagellation, her boss looked on the verge of a panic attack.

“That won’t be necessary, Sage, nor is it a-appropriate.” But Evie didn’t miss the way he stumbled slightly on the word, nor the subtle puff of his chest and the way his eyes flashed to the small amount of cleavage peeking out of her green dress.

She scrunched her nose. “After I get you some pearls to clutch, would you mind repeating yourself?”

“I asked if you’ve had any luck with the information you received when you ventured out with Keeley.” His eyes found something interesting about the stone archway in the back courtyard, and she had the sneaking suspicion that his control was slipping. It made her gleeful.

Evie clicked her tongue. “It turned out to be less useful than I’d hoped.” She eyeballed the few glass pieces he was forcing to fit together. “I still don’t understand why we couldn’t just leave the window as it was and direct the sunlight against it in the morning.”

He bent at the knee and gestured to the glass before him. “Because, Sage, it needs to be held directly in the sunlight, not at an angle to it, and it was either take apart the window or knock down the west tower.”

Well, that hardly seemed to matter; it wouldn’t be the first time part of the manor needed rebuilding in some form or another. The Villain had a standing tab with the magical contractors for all the mishaps they endured. Only 30 percent of them were his fault. The other seventy was a split between their enemies, dragons with bad aim, and of course the most destructive of all of them…Evie.

“And you’re sure the sunrise will hit it right here?” she asked. “What if we can’t put it back together exactly? What if none of the words are right or none of them go together?”

He looked away from the arch, and though he didn’t glance anywhere south of her face, she still felt blood rushing to her cheeks at the near reverence in his gaze. “Ironic, little tornado. You’re the one who taught me all words go together if you’ve the proper imagination.”

Oh, that was…inconveniently sweet.

She rolled her eyes in a poor attempt to hide the way he had affected her. “I’m your apprentice, sir. You’re meant to be teaching me, not the other way around.”

He lifted a brow, his voice low and rasping when he asked, “And what is it you’d like me to teach you, Sage?”

The most inappropriate and mortifying sentence popped into her head so quickly she desperately grasped for something else. Anything.

“How do you balance villainy with, uh—taking care of your, uh…physical… needs?” NOT THAT.

Looking at her quizzically, he scratched his chin. “I don’t take your meaning, Sage. What is there to balance? Exercise? Personal hygiene?”

Oh well. If she was going to be brash and bold, she was going to do it as aggressively as possible.

She stared at him head-on when she said, “No. Sex.”

He pressed his mouth shut, suddenly much closer than she remembered him being. His head angled down to look at her. His brows drew together in anger as he asked, “Having difficulty with that, are you?”

“No.” She smiled reassuringly, and his eye twitched. “I was just wondering how you went about it.”

She would’ve been more embarrassed if the way he was nearly choking on air wasn’t so entertaining.

“I am certain this is not appropriate conversation between colleagues,” he replied through gritted teeth.

“Do you think we should ask Becky?” She was bluffing. If they asked Becky, they’d probably send the HR woman into heart failure.

“I don’t,” he rasped.

She blinked. “You don’t want to ask Becky?”

“I don’t balance between them.”

She gaped. “Are you saying you do them at the same time?”

He threw his hands up and banged his head into a nearby pillar.

“Sir?” She closed in on him, putting a hand to his shoulder, and there was a near-painful shock at the contact, making them both jolt. He wouldn’t look at her, but he didn’t shake off her hand, either. “Trystan?”

“I haven’t needed to balance them,” he admitted.

She paled, releasing a nervous laugh. “Ever?”

He didn’t say anything else, just gazed at her, pleading in his black eyes, willing her to understand. And then she did, somehow, like lightning to the heart.

I haven’t…since you.

“Well. There’s no choice, then.” Her voice broke, nearly overcome.

“In what?” he muttered hopelessly.

She closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.