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

The Villain

Trystan Arthur Maverine took torture quite seriously, but the past fortnight was a newfound low even for him.

Attempting to stay away from Sage was akin to a horror spectacle he’d seen performed at a theater a few years prior: bloody, awful, and forcing him to question his ability to make sound decisions. The door was cracked open, and the morning buzz of the workers trickling in made an ache form near his temples. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to close it.

Because while Sage was on the other end of the wide office space—and though he had to strain to accomplish it—he could still hear her humming.

He couldn’t close the door…and risk missing it.

Even if the sound ravaged as much as it healed.

The low din of the office beyond grew louder, the telltale sign of some new tidbit of gossip that would be in Tatianna’s ear before the day ended. He didn’t care to know; his foul mood had plowed through any sense of social decorum he might have had. Not that much had existed inside him even before he’d extracted himself from Evie for their own good. Sage believed their separation was in the name of protecting his magic, but in truth, he didn’t care about that. He cared for nothing but preserving the fragile thread between them without destiny cleaving it in two.

Evie Sage is meant to be your downfall, and you her undoing.

Destiny monsters were rare; most considered them mere myths. Creatures that existed before the creation of the magical continent, watching, waiting for the gods to paint it in magic and color.

The destiny monster at the Fortis Family Fortress had announced the tragedy of their future as if it were absolute, but Trystan declared to himself he could avoid it…if he avoided her.

His chair screeched against the stone floor as he threw it back so far it slammed into the wall. Wood creaked beneath his fist as he gripped the door by the edge, but before he could slam it closed and bring himself the peace he desperately craved, the entry to the main office space opened.

And what he saw bent the knob beneath his hand.

Sage appeared at the entry, one shapely pants-clad leg moving in front of the other, giving him no choice but to pull the door to his office open wider, treading away from his safe haven, the same space where her desk had once sat.

The ice pixies were wafting cool trickles of air through the office vents to compensate for the cloying heat outside. It brushed against the skin at Trystan’s neck to chill him. But it made no difference. It all felt like it burned.

Sage stepped inside, the loud conversations lowering to mumbles as she began her walk down the middle of the office floor, straight for him. He tried to remain unmoved despite the purpose in her eyes as her hips swayed, and she looked directly at him for the first time in thirteen and a half days.

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway, waiting, watching, trying for indifference. Meeting the challenge in her eyes with one of his own. Only wavering when Trystan noticed a few gazes from other workers—lingering on the way Sage’s pants clung to her or the way her hands clasped behind her back, on how she thrust her chest up at a soul-rendering angle, or on the small curl of her red lips as she was stopped by one of his finance men. She politely pushed past him when he leered down and whispered something in her ear that made her cheeks pink. It was only a flash of discomfort as she continued past the man.

That was enough.

Finally, he thought maniacally. An excuse to burn every arithmetic book within a ten-mile radius.

Sage’s laugh knocked through Trystan’s inner tirade as she bumped her hip against the finance worker gently. Too gently, if you asked Trystan. She needed to use more force…or a pickax.

Trystan made a note to have one left in her office later with a blue bow on it.

Keeping his distance from her didn’t mean he couldn’t gift her with weapons—that shouldn’t tempt fate or destiny or whatever fucking force decided that together they would be each other’s downfall and undoing.

As if she sensed the turmoil of his thoughts, Sage’s light eyes lifted back to Trystan’s. His practiced stoicism was well in place, if the answering ice in her expression was any indication. She hated when he was emotionless. Little did she know, beneath the blank expression was so much feeling it was practically coming out his ears. It was horrid.

She stopped in front of Trystan, too close for comfort, too close for breath. “Good morning, sir.” Her curls were pinned back with little strands left out, teasing the sides of her face.

She hadn’t addressed him directly in a fortnight, and those three words had his black heart lodged in his throat.

“Good morning, Sage.” Trystan swallowed, almost wincing at the hoarseness of his voice.

Without standing on ceremony, she thrust a small page of notes wrapped in brown thread against his chest. It was then he saw why her hands had been clasped behind her back: it wasn’t simply to torture his senses. At least, that was what Trystan inferred, looking down at her gentle fingers with more curiosity than horror.

“I’ll ask about these documents you presented me with, Sage, but first I think I’d rather address the giant in the room.”

Gods help him, she looked confused as her brow furrowed and her nose scrunched. “What?”noveldrama

“Your hands,” Trystan said wryly, gesturing at them. His patience was walking a tightrope with no net below.

Surely she knows it is obvious.

Sage looked down, her suddenly white cheeks the only indication of something amiss.

“What about them?”

Trystan’s eyebrows shot toward his forehead. “Is there any particular reason?” He scrubbed a hand down his chin.

“For what?”

“That they’re covered in blood?”