“I don’t feel pity. Ever,” he said, trying to sound authoritative, but he knew how juvenile it came out.
The male guvre curled closer to the female, and they sighed quietly together.
“I just—” Trystan paused.
Last night, he had heard the male give off a low-pitched cry and watched as he raised his clawed foot and lightly scratched it against the wall separating him from his mate. As if he knew any attempt to get to her would be futile but he couldn’t find it in himself not to try.
The Villain was still in denial that he possessed a heart, but if he did…it might have cracked. Just a little.
“How is Ms. Erring?” Trystan asked, changing the subject and walking toward the stairs that ascended back into the office space.
“She’s fine. Back to breathing fire with the best of them.”
“That was a joke?” Trystan was doing his best to appreciate humor in others rather than rail against it.
“Yes, sir.” Blade smirked, walking up the stairs beside him.
“Very good.”
“Thank you?” Blade asked hesitantly.
Trystan walked into the office, which had been completely cleared. Sage’s desk was empty, her cloak and bag gone.
The sun had set beyond the trees, and the last rays of light shone through the window, painting the room with a warm glow. It didn’t feel quite right when she wasn’t sitting there.
Tatianna appeared around the corner, his sister following closely behind her, and suddenly, it all flooded back.
Him outside the door, hearing Sage scream. It was the sound of nightmares, of all his fears coming together to brutalize him.
And therein lay the problem. He was The Villain. He couldn’t afford to fear anything. Least of all be afraid for someone. His feelings for Evie would surely fade with time, as most things did. His heart began to quicken, as if telling him what a lie that was.
“She went home,” Tatianna said. “She needed to rest.”
Yet again, his fear flared like a fast boil. “Was she all right? What did—”
“She was fine. Little progress was made, but she didn’t seem discouraged. I sent her home with the dagger.”
“What?” he roared.
“In its box!” Clare added, rolling her eyes. “You are worse than when we were children, with this mother-hen thing.”
“I am not…a mother hen,” he gritted out.
Blade’s ears looked perked, but he became very distracted when Ms. Erring appeared, moving across the floor to her desk, her severe bun yanking her features tight.
“Evie was fine.” Clare put a hand on Trystan’s arm. The warmth from their childhood came through in the gesture, right past his skin and bones and shooting straight for his soul.
Tarnished as it was.
Gods, he was turning into a sap.
“You should tell her what the gold mark is, Trystan,” Clare murmured quietly.
Tarnished indeed.
“It’s not right to have her agree to something like that without understanding what it is.”
“It doesn’t affect her at all,” he argued, fearing that the first good thing he’d done in years was an atrocious overstep.
He’d sincerely intended to give her the employment bargain, which, if she broke the bonds of his trust, would seep into her body like a poison. He’d only known her a day at the time, so there was no reason to veer down any other path…but then there were her eyes.
They were so honest, so open. They made him feel…afraid. So many things could happen to her, so many people she could trust who could turn around and destroy her. He’d hated at the time that it mattered, couldn’t figure out why this woman with a loud voice and a plethora of energy could evoke such strong protectiveness.
So instead of the green ink used in employment bargains, he’d used the gold, because unbeknownst to the public, its main purpose was protection. It warded against the strongest of evils, and when she’d face them, he’d know. He’d had the same gold ring placed around the circumference of his biceps, so that when she faced any true threat of death, it would tell him one way or another. Gold ink was a fickle sort of magic; it catered to its own rhythm, letting him know in different ways when she needed him. The unpredictability was inconvenient, but it was better than nothing.
His gold ring had burned him both times she was exposed to the dagger, when they were menaced by the guvre, and when she was on the parapet with the bomb ticking away, though the effect there was delayed—the magic in the ward was more unreliable after he’d just used so much of his own. Protection magic wasn’t very fond of his. A popular opinion. Each instance of Evie’s peril caused a burning sensation in his arm so great that he felt her pain with her.