Page 22 of Accomplice to the Villain

She sprinted back down the hall, and as she ran through the kitchen door, her heart sank.

The strange man was at her favorite stained glass window, a tool in hand to chip out a piece.

“Stop!” she ordered, her dagger finding its way out of her thigh strap and into her hand. “Back away from that window.”

The man laughed, his eyes crinkling, giving Evie a look that she was certain every woman had seen at least once in her life. A look that said,I could hurt you if I wanted to.

“Come to have that cup of cauldron brew now?” He chuckled. Then unsheathed a two-sided blade from the holster hidden behind his back.

She nodded, masking the sick feeling in her stomach with feigned innocence. “Yes, actually.”

The blond man’s eyes narrowed as she walked toward him with her mug…and splashed the hot liquid right in his face. With a gruff cry, he lunged for her. He would have nearly missed her if not for catching hold of her braid and tugging her backward, then releasing her, the momentum forcing her to slam into the wall.

Her ears rang at the impact, and in that moment, she knew with certainty that this man not onlycouldhurt her, but he very much wanted to. The blood in her veins was no longer ice; it wasfire.

The next thing she knew, he was charging at her, blade swinging.

She screamed.

Chapter 11

The Villain

“I don’t care how you recreate the bloody stained glass! Just make it look like murder, torture, or death.” Trystan bit out the words in a frustrated growl. Hostility surrounded him like a storm cloud, but he had to place his focus where it belonged.

He’d done far too much good as of late. Taking in stray relatives, tea parties with children. No wonder his dark magic was treating him like a pariah. It was more than any villain could bear. The time for growing into a different man had long passed. He was a monster, always had been, and he would reclaim that role no matter what it took—his life’s work depended on it. And so did the storybook prophecy.

After all, there was no storybook without a villain.

Rennedawn’s magic was falling into a state of imbalance, and fulfilling the prophecy was the only way to regain control, forTrystanto regain control. There was no time for wallowing in what couldn’t be, and there certainly wasn’t time to give a damn about how his magical maintenance workers repaired a bloody window.

Broken solely because his magic was becoming foreign to him, something he didn’t understand. Just when he’d begun to think his control had been regained, Sage merelylookedat him and his body reacted so violently, it scared Nura Sage into nearly creating another tragedy.

It’s far too early in the day for this degree of self-loathing.

“Very well, sir! We’ll do our best! Do you want the inscriptions facing outward or inward?”

Trystan pinched the bridge of his nose, resisting every impulse to shove the worker through the window. There was no point.

It’s no fun throwing people off things if Sage isn’t here to scold me after.

That left Trystan only one option: answering every annoying and asinine question that was flung his way. He no longer had an assistant. He had an apprentice. A furious, maddeningly frustrating, and disgustingly beautiful apprentice.

“Sir?” the maintenance worker asked.

Trystan coughed, hardening his face and folding his arms defensively. “Leonard, it’s a picture. There are no inscriptions.”

Leonard frowned at Trystan.

Trystan raised a brow. “Something to say?”

Leonard gulped as if afraid to proceed. It annoyed him.

Youdidjust contemplate throwing him from the window.

But that was hardly the point.

“What is it, Leonard?”