His tornado, his— He sucked in a sharp breath when she raised her arms up and around his neck, straining slightly because of their height difference. He’d always thought being tall and large was a point in his favor, but he’d never thought of the distance it would keep him from her embrace.
He felt her fingers brush against his hair, and he leaned into it, feeling no better than a house cat desperate for attention. But the worst had yet to come. Because when he felt her body press against his, he thought he finally understood true torture. Not the kind he inflicted on the men in his chambers, but real, to the core of a person, life-altering torture. He’d never felt anything as sharply or acutely as feeling every curve nestled into his body, which was quickly responding.
As broken and black as his soul likely was, Trystan had never once felt like there was anything missing from himself. Not until now.
His body, his power, settled in her presence. There and still deadly, but it welcomed her. In fact, he was certain it would rear and flare when they inevitably separated. The thought gave him the courage to lift his arms and wrap them carefully around the small of her back.
His chin tucked on her shoulder, and he fully let himself settle against her. His body let out such a deep, contented sigh, it was almost a growl. Like it had been waiting for her, and now that she was here, it would only live half as what it had been before, forever waiting to be whole again.
Fuck.
Well, he knew how the guvres felt now.
She spoke against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “You’re a good hugger.” He felt wetness against his skin and realized she was crying, and he tightened his arms around her, thinking if anyone dared come near her in this moment, there was nothing and nobody that could stop him from slitting them in half.
“I’ll admit, I’m out of practice, so that’s good to hear.” Did he sound normal? He didn’t want to frighten her with the yearning that was pulsing through him. No need to burden her with his lack of self-control.
“You’re telling me you haven’t been giving the interns hugs after Scatter Day?” Did she realize the effect of her fingers playing with the locks of hair at the nape of his neck? No, she couldn’t, or she’d shove away from him and slap him. He was inches away from slapping himself.
“I cut it back to once a month.”
“The hugging?” She smiled against him; he couldn’t see it, but he knew.
“Scatter Day,” he said flatly.
She snickered, and he couldn’t resist burying his head farther into her neck, scrunching his eyes like it was almost painful, and in a way it was. But for now, he’d enjoy it, and try to hold this memory in his heart until the day of his inevitable horrific death, which wouldn’t matter because he’d gotten to hold her.
“Can we do this a little bit longer?” Evie asked, her lips nearly brushing against his neck again.
Forever, he thought. But instead, he coughed uncomfortably and said, “If that’s what you want. I’m sure I can endure it for a little longer.”
Kingsley appeared over Sage’s shoulder, looking so small against the doorway, but the little shake of his crowned head might as well have been screaming at Trystan.
As they pulled away slowly, Trystan was knocked breathless by how close his face was to hers. Evie seemed to be as well, by the way her light eyes widened. But she didn’t move back farther, and neither did he. After the harrowing night she’d had, she still was so achingly beautiful, with the smell of vanilla candies on her breath.
He took a sharp inhale as her face drifted closer, like she couldn’t help it, like they were drawn together. He angled his head down, gripping the back of her dress, lightly urging her near. Their lips hovered so close, he could almost taste her.
A crash broke them apart, both breathless as they looked toward the source of the noise. It was Kingsley, who’d crashed into the kitchen table, knocking a plate to the ground.
I’m going to kill that frog.
But his anger was replaced by gratefulness, for if he kissed Sage again, there would be no coming back from it.
He looked at her sheepishly, as she did at him, before she mumbled, “I’m going to…go grab some of my and Lyssa’s things.” She turned quickly and started up the stairs, leaving Trystan and Kingsley alone.
The Villain looked upon the frog with a different lens, and for the first time in ten years he found himself relieved that Kingsley remained a frog…and not the kind and noble human prince he’d been once upon a time. For if Kingsley was a prince once more, The Villain knew how stark his inadequacies would feel against his old friend’s benevolent chivalry.