Assistant to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #1) (25)

Her head was being cradled, and when her vision finally cleared, black eyes were peering into hers. But she was too disoriented to read the emotion behind them.

“Sage?” Her name was spoken in the smooth accent of The Villain’s voice, raising the hairs on her arms.

“Hello, sir,” she murmured weakly, trying to make sense of her rapidly moving thoughts.

The pinch in his brow smoothed, and he exhaled a ragged breath. One of the hands cradling her head came up to her cheek, and he cursed when he saw the blood. “Where else are you hurt?” he asked, his voice brusque, furious even.

She tried to assess where exactly the painful points were coming from, but if she were being honest, she didn’t feel much but contentment when he was holding her like this. He must have taken her silence as a sign of her distress, though, because he moved them both to a sitting position.

He tore a bit of his cloak, bringing it to her head to stanch the bleeding, and looked back up toward the destroyed end of the walkway. The small tower adjacent was crumbled into nothing.

“Please speak. It’s unsettling when you’re quiet.” His voice was steady, but something in him seemed shaken.

“I’m glad I didn’t explode.”

The look in his eyes warmed, and his lips pulled high, the elusive dimple making an appearance. “The feeling is mutual.”

She groaned, remembered she’d almost gotten him killed when he dove for her.

“Why didn’t you run?” There was nothing accusing in his voice, just curiosity.

She looked to her ankle. Her body seemed to remember it should be in a great deal of pain, and she gasped as the throbbing set in.

The Villain leaned back, placing her hand where his was to hold the piece of cloth to her head wound. He gently lifted her foot. “May I?”

Evie felt a little breathless but nodded.

He lifted her yellow skirt, dirtied from the smoke, until it was sitting just above her ankle. Carefully taking her worn heeled boot in his hand, he slowly pulled it off. Evie let out a hiss of pain, and he froze.

“I’m sorry.” He grimaced, pulling the shoe all the way off along with her wool sock to reveal the angry, harsh swelling that lay beneath. His warm, calloused hands gripped her calf above her injury, and Evie worried if he let go, she’d float away.

“Can you move it?” This was a different man speaking to her, or rather the same man, just without his usual layer of pretense pushed forward like his life depended on it.

He was real right now, and that safe barrier of his otherworldly splendor fell away, leaving Evie embarrassingly breathless.

He was staring at her, waiting for her response, as she attempted to move her foot quickly before he saw too much behind her eyes. “I can, but it’s painful.”

“Good, it’s not broken.” It must have been Evie’s imagination, the way his hands seemed to linger on the lines of her ankle. But they weren’t. The poor man was trying to check her for injuries, and Evie couldn’t stop the shivers that his touch sent through her.

After handing her the discarded shoe, he gripped Evie’s hand in his. Slowly, he brought her to her feet, and she favored her uninjured foot. She made the mistake of shifting her weight to the injured one out of habit and gasped, falling forward into his chest. Gripping his shoulders in both hands.

“Sorry,” she squeaked.

He cleared his throat once, twice—oh dear—three times before putting a steady hand to one side of her hip. “That’s…all right.”

Looking at the destruction around them, Evie shuddered in horror.

The smoke and dust had cleared, giving them a perfect view of the ruined tower. The top was simply gone, large pieces surrounding them while others certainly had fallen all the way down into the courtyard. Beyond the tower, a large portion of the west side of the manor’s wall was completely collapsed. From this distance, Evie could see the remains of what looked like a study or perhaps a small library.

Not the books. Anything but the books.

The end of the parapet was gone. They were both about two steps from falling right over the edge. Debris covered the ends of her hair and probably the top of it, too, and when she looked over at her boss, his hair appeared nearly white from the ash.

Hot tears burned behind her eyes, and Evie felt the horror of the last few moments seep in through every pore. “Oh no, the manor.”

She hated crying, especially in front of other people. Especially in front of her boss.

But it was too late; tears were already running hot down her face. “I can’t believe this happened. Why would anyone— I wish it wouldn’t— I can’t believe— I’m so sorry.” Evie’s hands were still on his shoulders, so he must have felt them shaking, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

The blast had been contained. The ruins surrounding them were disheartening, but the manor still stood. It could’ve been so much worse. But still, part of it was gone, and it was his home, and she had been so afraid.

A sob ripped through her, and she braced a hand against her stomach to try and push it back in, but that seemed to do the opposite. Another one poured out of her. The Villain placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her back enough to examine her face. Evie didn’t have it in her to fight him.

“Are you…crying?” He was horrified, it was so plain in his voice, and she wanted so badly to shrink away from him, but of course her injured ankle kept her locked in place.