Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(2)

He shut his eyes for a moment and flattened his mouth into a firm line, like if he pressed hard enough, he could crush whatever emotion was about to show itself on his lips. “As much as I enjoy blaming others for my mistakes, I’m afraid there is no one to blame for my unkempt appearance but myself.” His dark eyes roved over her soft orange day dress, the distaste at her color choice obvious in the tightening of his fists at his sides. “And you, I suppose. For having the gall to witness it.”

The door suddenly slammed closed behind them, and Evie jolted, clasping a hand to her chest and her racing heart. “I hardly think it’s fair to blame me for anything, when you were the one who requested me here so early in the first place.”

He frowned deeper—if that was even possible—which made him look even more beautiful—

If that was even possible.

Annoyed and tired, she lost her patience at waiting for him to catch up to her. “You sent a raven…”

When he stared blankly at her, she continued to bumble out words, her mouth eager to get every thought out of her head to make room for the new ones. “It showed up at my window at four in the morning and scared the living daylights out of me. With a note saying we had an early-morning meeting about something urgent?”

A low hum sounded from his closed lips. It cleared any remaining tiredness from her system, like cauldron brew but better, warmer. “I don’t recall writing or sending… My restraint is at a low this morning, Sage, and apparently my memory as well. I must have written it before I was fully lucid. Please disregard the raven.”

Clanging metal sounded from the back courtyard—likely the Malevolent Guards getting in some morning exercise with their lethal weapons. Fitting, as she was now imagining grabbing something sharp and stabbing her boss in the toe. “Disregard? You couldn’t have disregarded before your damn bird cut two and a half years off my life?”

“That’s an alarmingly specific number,” he said, planting his hands against his tapered waist.

“It was alarming for me, too,” she deadpanned, snickering as he glared.

“I keep a tight rein on my magic, and I think sometimes when I sleep, when my body relaxes, it stirs uncomfortably and makes it difficult for me to continue resting.”

A pang in her chest she identified as sympathy made her anger dissolve like shadows in the sunlight. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there any way I can help?”

His jaw went slack. “Help…with my death magic? The magic that sends most people running and screaming?”

She blinked innocently. “I can do that after I help if it’ll make you feel better.”

His incredulous expression could so easily morph into a laugh, if she just pushed him a little further…

But of course, as Evie’s calling card, disaster had to strike first.

Doubling over suddenly, The Villain breathed heavily into his knees. “Damn it all. My hands burn, and my arm…” He reached up to grip his arm, circling his biceps.

Her hand fell lightly atop his, trying for gentleness with a man she was certain was scarcely used to it. And sure enough, his response was violent and startled. So startled that he jerked away like she’d laid an open flame to his skin. “Sage, are you mad? I’m dangerous right now.”

“I know,” she said softly. “You haven’t had your cauldron brew yet.”

“You are not amusing,” he wheezed.

Evie inched closer, angling her body down just a bit to meet his face. “My goodness, but that’s nothing to cry over. I think you’re as amusing as dry wood, and you don’t see me bursting into tears.”

His face softened as he looked up, perplexed, then shook his head, but in a gentler way. “Sage. How on earth did you get here?”

She folded her arms. “I walked.”

“That was rhetorical,” he said, sounding almost unaffected, his voice losing its strain.

“Those questions are the most fun to answer.”

He sighed; it was one of defeat. She knew it well. “Why is that, Sage?”

Evie propped a hand on her hip to angle herself lower. “Because it annoys you.”

The harsh sigh out of his lips could almost be counted as a laugh if she was clever enough with her imagination. When he brought himself back up to full height, rubbing his knuckles in soothing motions, the last points of tension on his face finally smoothed back into his normal flat expression.

She couldn’t see his magic—nobody could, and likely nobody ever would—but she could feel something very dark moving about the room with them, smaller than it was moments ago, but still something that should’ve made her shrink away in fear. Instead, she felt settled in it, almost…comforted?

She stayed where she was. “Is it any better, sir?”

His head turned toward her slowly, dark brows slanted downward. “Yes. It is. How did you…”

She shrugged, eyes flicking up to the glisten of sweat on his forehead. “I find that it’s more difficult to focus on pain when you’re distracted, and I excel at being distracting.”

Pulling a yellow handkerchief from her pocket, she boldly stepped forward and began dabbing at his skin, leaning on his arm with her other hand for leverage. The man was taller than was sensible.

She made a note to start wearing a higher heel.