He reached their table quickly, a jovial smile on his face as he said, “Good evening, my lady!” But it slipped when he caught sight of The Villain’s face. “Oh, for the love of the gods.” Malcolm’s eyes widened. “What the fuck are you doing here, brother?”
Chapter 13
The Villain
His brother stared at him with a disdainful expression, which was to be expected. Considering the last time he had seen him, Trystan had attempted to stab him with a spear.
Which was, in most circumstances, how their interactions usually went.
Even now, that urge overwhelmed him when he remembered his brother was responsible for the explosives in his office that nearly blew all he’d worked for to pieces. That he’d nearly killed—
No, Trystan wouldn’t think of it.
She was still there, breathing in front of him, with wide, confused eyes and in a dress that he refused to look at another moment or the table in front of them would find itself snapped in half.
Trystan stood to his full height, towering slightly taller than his brother, and narrowed his eyes. “I thought we were due for a chat,” he said sardonically.
Malcolm’s brown eyes shot wide, peering around each of Trystan’s shoulders. “What? No spear this time?”
“You know very well I don’t need such things to inflict harm.”
Malcolm’s eyes darkened. “Oh, believe me, brother, I know.”
The pointed sting toward the destructive nature of The Villain’s magic no longer hurt him as it used to. Anger lived in its place. Sage’s eyes were darting between them as she clearly attempted to do her best to catch up.
“Do you know why we are here?” Trystan asked darkly.
He realized his mistake the moment the word left his lips. We.
Malcolm’s attention shot to Evie, who, to her credit, remained calm under his scrutiny. “I can’t say I know why you’re here, but I’d love to know about this lovely creature you’ve brought with you.” His brother raised Evie’s delicate hand, pressing his lips to the back of it.
She laughed nervously, and Trystan wondered how his brother would continue to sling drinks once he severed that hand from his wrist and lobbed it across the room.
“I’m Evie.” Her eyes shot to Trystan, a question there, but he couldn’t make it out. “I’m his—your brother’s assistant,” she finished finally, cautiously, like she wasn’t certain that was the right thing to say.
By the intrigue growing in Malcolm’s eyes, it wasn’t.
“His assistant?” Malcolm turned his attention back to Trystan, who was fisting his hands at his sides in an effort not to strike him. “Business that good, then?”
Trystan’s gaze scanned the busy tavern. “For you, too, it would seem.”
Malcolm took a step back, spreading his hands wide. “Can’t complain—all the ale, women, and cards I could ever hope for. It’s as good as it will get for someone like me.”
Trystan found it in himself to smile, though he was certain Malcolm could sense the malevolence through the turn of his lips. “Don’t sell yourself short; your clock making is something to be marveled at, indeed.”
Malcolm’s nostrils flared, and an undecipherable emotion flashed across his face—guilt, or the shame at being found?
He burned to throw his brother against the wall and watch the life drain from his eyes, but he knew there was a strategy to traitors, especially when it was one’s own family. He wanted his brother to struggle like a filthy rodent caught in a trap. He’d marvel in it, enjoy it to indescribable degrees.
Malcolm must have caught the bloodlust in his eyes, as he took a cautious step back. “Now, now, Trystan. I don’t know what you think you know, but I can assure you, you’re mistaken.”
Trystan could feel the dark power pulsating in him, homing in on every weak point of his brother’s body. The invisible gray mist surrounded his brother, leaving small, colorful lights behind all of the places he could inflict pain. After it curled away, he saw the blue light surrounding his knee. An injury from their childhood that, if struck in just the right way, would cause him immense, permanent pain. As always, the spot around his brother’s jugular glowed black, the kill spot. He’d be dead in moments.
He shouldn’t have brought Sage.
Trystan wanted to kill Malcolm, but it was unfortunate that his assistant would have to witness it if he did. He wasn’t sure why he’d extended the invitation for her to come in the first place; he could have easily found a way to blend into the background of the disgusting tavern on his own. But he seemed to make better decisions when she was near, less impulsive, more strategic. She steadied him like an anchor to a wayward ship, and he couldn’t resist bringing her near so that he would not drift too far into his hatred.