Evangelina Celia Sage was woven into his being; in the blink of his eyes, in the crinkle of his smile, in his rusty unused laughter, she was there. From the moment he’d met her, he thought of her like the sun. Bright and vibrant, untouchable.
But he was wrong.
She wasn’t light; she was color. Every single one, dancing otherworldly and bright over his unworthy eyes. She was the explosion of the vivid gleams and glows of the world around him, like a constant rainbow, shining not after the rain but during.
She was everything he never deserved but longed for anyway.
He remembered the blood on her clothes, the employer who had hurt her before, the unjust way she’d been treated, and the final nail in the proverbial coffin was that echoing, agonizing word.
He was ruined.
But he loved her anyway.
He knew she might feel the same, by the way she responded to him, but he couldn’t encourage this, couldn’t give her any idea that they had any sort of future. At least not together. His future, more likely than not, would eventually be six feet under the dirt, and he refused to drag Sage there with him.
But just for now…
Trystan allowed himself just a moment to angle his head into the crook of her neck before he made a vow.
That he’d never tell her.
Chapter 47
Evie
Trystan dropped his arms and took a step back, and they both seemed unable to do more than stare at the other. Each was limping and worn, covered in blood.
“Oh, yuck.” Evie scrunched her nose, angling her head away from the blood on her dress. “I wasn’t aware you could kill so…efficiently.” She tapped her chin. “I thought you’d prefer more of a dramatic flair…like your little head collection in the manor’s foyer.”
Grinning and shaking his head, The Villain turned toward her, a devilish glint in his eyes. “Evil is an art form.”
The Villain then turned and strode back toward the edge of the party clearing, grabbed one of the twinkling magical lights, and affixed it to the end of a fallen branch, creating a makeshift torch. “Shall we?” he asked.
Evie pushed her arm through his and gripped it. “Yes. We have to find your father.” His biceps flexed under her touch, and he halted his steps for a moment before collecting himself and walking forward.
Evie had always been very physical with the way she communicated. Hugs were her very favorite thing in the world, or hand-holding, or even a kind pat on the shoulder. Evie had always felt very different from people in the twists and turns of her mind, but touching she could never get wrong. Hugs meant you cared about someone, hand-holding meant you wanted them close, and—
She’d done practically all of those with her boss…including kissing.
The Villain must have been horrified to have to go along with such an embarrassing ruse. The guilt she felt for throwing herself at him, the discomfort she must have caused him, made her stomach twist.
But Evie had to admit, despite the horror, just allowing herself for a moment to remember…The Villain was very good at pretending. If she turned away from the awkwardness for a second and just focused on the kiss itself, her toes began to curl in her shoes.
He was a good kisser, but of course he was. Attractive murderers were always good kissers; she was pretty sure she’d heard that expression before. Or maybe she made it up in one of the many daydreams in which she’d imagined that happening.
Don’t daydream about kissing your boss, Evie!
She also promised not to reflect on the fact that she had nearly swooned like a storybook damsel when she watched him annihilate those disgusting knights, had even enjoyed it a little.
Evie had worked for Trystan for nearly six months now, but she’d only had small glimpses of the violence he was capable of, that he contained so well.
But even after having it quite literally spray at her, disgusting pun intended, she didn’t feel differently toward him.
Perhaps she should, but she didn’t. And it was ridiculous to do anything just because you thought you were supposed to. So, she held tight to his arm, waiting for him to shake her off, searching desperately for wherever the other knights had taken Arnold.
They continued through the trees, but he never pulled his arm away.
“We’re lost.”
“We are not lost.”
Evie deepened her voice and pushed her shoulders back to make herself look taller. “I’m a man. I can’t ask for directions.”
The Villain quirked a brow, looking like he was on the verge of something unscrewing inside his head. “You’re right, little tornado. I should simply find the nearest individual in Hickory Forest, in the dead of night, and say, ‘Greetings! My assistant and I are looking for my estranged father because he was taken into custody by the Valiant Guards. You see, they think he’s The Villain. When The Villain is, in fact…me.’”