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

The Villain

Trystan hated Lionel.

And if he touched Sage one more time, it would be the last thing the reprobate did, curses and prophecies be damned.noveldrama

“Was your animal attacking us necessary?” Tatianna huffed. “And the deer brigade? You couldn’t have come out and greeted us with a normal introduction?”

Lionel shrugged. “For Betsy and me, this is a perfectly normal introduction.”

They all exchanged glances.

“Betsy is the bat,” Trystan said sardonically, searching himself for patience. He didn’t find it.

Lionel folded his arms and tapped his lips, contemplating. “Wasn’t there a rumor spreading that the dragon in your care is called ‘Fluffy’?”

“Who told you that!” Trystan yelled.

Lionel snapped his fingers. “Ah, so it is true.”

Sage tugged on Trystan’s sleeve, and he immediately gave her his attention. She was staring ahead at Lionel in disbelief. “His people skills are even worse than yours, if that makes you feel better.”

“A miracle,” Trystan replied dryly.

Remember when you used to crave quiet?

No.

Lionel tapped the nonexistent watch on his wrist. “Time is money, Villain. Let’s get down to business.”

Trystan had never gotten this far before. Each time he’d visited, Lionel had denied his services immediately, despite the exorbitant amount of money Trystan offered. Now it felt too easy.

Trystan fixed his skeptical gaze on Lionel. “Before you do anything for us, call off the troops.”

“Dismissed!” Lionel instructed, and the deer grumbled as they disappeared back through the trees. “Now, as for payment for my services.” Lionel rubbed his chin. The Curse Consultant’s shrewd eyes scanned over Trystan, then Tatianna, then Clare, then Kingsley, then…Sage. “Her.” Lionel pointed to Sage. “I’ll take the girl. The Wicked Woman would be fun bed sport, I imagine.”

Trystan grabbed the ingrate’s throat. “You will treat my lady with respect, you damn cad!” he bellowed, heat climbing his face and prickles going up his neck when he realized he’d swapped the word “the” for “my.” He hadn’t intended to say that. His mind had not approved it.

Maybe nobody noticed.

Except Tatianna and Clare—the latter with her hand over her mouth, the former cackling into the inside of her arm.

Trystan turned slowly toward Sage. Her mouth was open so wide he had a wild urge to tip his fingers under her chin to close it. Oh. He did, in fact, do that. What was going on? The chain of command in his body had gone all askew. Her chin was warm against his fingertips before he snatched his hand away.

He rolled his shoulders, facing Lionel. “‘The.’ I meant the lady. Not ‘my.’ She’s not mine.” His magic took great offense to this, it seemed, as it snapped into his back like a rubber band. He rasped, “Slip of the tongue.”

Tatianna cackled harder.

Sage was looking at him like he’d lost all his marbles. He had suspicions she was collecting them in her pocket to keep his reasoning skills as a trophy. “What, uh.” She turned to Lionel, her dark hair catching the sunlight. “What my boss means to say is that I am not an option, and I suspect you know that. I don’t like people tormenting him for the sake of their own enjoyment. Do not do it again.”

The threat was delivered far too cheerily. Trystan would have to give her notes on it later if he was truly to be advising her. Although the delivery did make the whole threatening business far more unsettling.

Maybe I should be taking notes from her.

And Lionel did have the good sense to look not only chastised but a little afraid of her.

Welcome to the club. We meet on Tuesdays to have existential crises over tea.

“Apologies. But curse consulting can be dull work. Must get my entertainment where I can. Trystan has already fulfilled his end of the bargain. I will be happy to offer my infinite wisdom on your curses.”

Clare scanned the plants lining the waterfall with interest, keeping a wide berth between her and the bat as she bent low to look at them. “And what was his end of the bargain, exactly?”

Lionel smirked. “When we first met, I told him my price was proving to me that there was a kindhearted person in Rennedawn. Someone who met him after he became The Villain yet still cared if he lived or died. And with Ms. Sage’s offer to take his place in Betsy’s claws, I’m happy to say you’ve finally proved it!”

Sage went rigid. He didn’t need to look at her to know her gaze was burning a hole in the side of his skull. He felt it like a brand. “I’ve followed through, Lionel.”

Lionel crossed one booted foot over the other, his posture relaxed. “Only took you seven years,” he said callously.

“Hey!” Sage launched herself at Lionel, and Trystan caught her about the waist just before she reached him. “There are plenty of people who care if he lives or dies. Plenty.”

Is my heart…swelling? Vile.

Regardless, he didn’t need plenty of people. Sage was worth hundreds. Even at a distance.

He needed to release her now, but he was distracted by the rose smell in her hair and the vanilla candies on her breath when she angled her head back toward him and said, “Sir, I can’t decapitate him with your hands around my waist.” She looked down at the way his grip on her tightened reflexively.

“We need him, Sage.” He whispered the words in her ear and felt her shiver in his hands. It shouldn’t have been satisfying to know he could still affect her this way. But it was. He wanted to do it again.

That’s how he knew it was time to let go.

“Lionel. Let’s get on with it,” Trystan commanded, hardening himself back into his stoic mask. His safety net.

Lionel angled his head. “I can’t begin until you tell me what curse you would like my advice on.”

On cue, Kingsley leaped onto Trystan’s shoulder with a little sign that read: Halp.

“The frog prince with the crown on his head,” Clare said, her voice wavering a bit. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Lionel’s lips ticked up, making him look disgustingly smug. “I wasn’t sure if you also wanted consulting on the other curse present.”

Shock waves went through all of them.

Evie glared. “What curse?”

Lionel drove the final nail in the proverbial coffin—and Trystan had never wished so much to be inside it.

“The Villain’s, of course.”