Page 45 of Adversary to the Villain

He could not afford to lose any more workers.

Nor did hewantto.

The scales had already tipped wildly in Benedict’s direction, and with the newwantedflyers of Sage, the rest of the kingdom was likely to rally against them more than they already had. His only allies—outside of those he’d hired or coerced—were reprobates in their own right, and the thought of any of them coming within five feet of Evangelina or Lyssa, or any of those he’d come to care for…

“I wasn’t referring to my sleeping habits,” he stated churlishly. “I was referring to yours, and by my count, you have not slept a full night in the last week, if not the last month. Go to bed.” He knew he was far too erratic for this conversation, but he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth.

She pressed a finger into his chest, a spearing poke, with a look that made her eyes sparkle and her skin glow. Her chest heaved with her anger, the tops of her breasts rising and falling. It robbed him of breath, as it did rational thought. If he hadn’t just recovered his last semblance of humanity, he would have had her pinned to the pillar beside them, tearing through her dress until her breasts were exposed to the chilled air; how he could warm them with his mouth—

“I’m sorry, is my conversation getting in the way of you ogling my chest?”

“A bit,” he admitted, growling when her foot landed on his shin. “Why do you ask me questions you do not wish me to answer? You realize that is nonsensical.”

“Don’t call her nonsensical,” Winnifred said lightly, causing Trystan to jump. He’d forgotten she was there, still enchanting the locks with an amateur’s hand. “She’s contemplating how easiest to kill you.”

His face heated as he homed in on Sage’s narrowed eyes, which met his with an unapologetic shrug. “I think it would be poison,” she said blandly, “but you’re the expert. Would it be slicing an artery? Maybe suffocation?”

“Suffocation and poison are cleaner if you’reafraidof getting your hands dirty.” He emphasized the word to get a rise out of her, and she took the bait.

“That’s big talk from a man who couldn’t admit he even had feelings, let alone romantic ones, until two seconds ago.” Her exaggeration only served to enflame him, but he was better at control than she was.

“Very well. You’re right. I did suppress emotion when it didn’t serve me.” He waited for her guard to lower, her eyes to soften before he struck. “At least I never feigned happiness when I felt none; I should think that’s worse.”

Her nostrils flared, eyes darkening with an anger that manifested in smoking mist hovering all around her body, waiting for instruction to strike. He was prepared to walk right into that magic. Right toward her. But then the anger faded as he took a step closer, her guarded gaze lowering for something more trusting.

This woman never stopped trying. Even when she claimed to give up, her life force never did, her vibrancy only brighter with the dark power swirling about her wrists.

When that same magic used to rise in him, he’d learned to live with the sting of fear at something that was out of his control, something as a part of him as the dark sweep of his hair or the angle of his nose. A thing that was natural to him was dissatisfactory to the world, was ostracized, rejected. It hurt more than he’d ever admit, and he’d lie down and take strike after strike of that same magic before he let her feel a hint of hesitancy.

He had none.

It had burned away.

He’d let that magic mark and steal his soul before he’d turn his back on her. He’d grovel on bended knee, would scale the highest towers of an enchanted keep. “I’m not afraid of you, Sage.”

“I am!” Winnifred called, casually moving on to the next group of locks.

“Thank you, Winnifred!” Trystan answered with a toothy smile that he knew was more predator than ally.

“So much for not faking happiness,” Sage teased, shoving at him until he caught her hands and tugged them to his chest. There was a tender pinching feeling where they touched, so overwhelming he exhaled a harsh breath. Still, the contact inspired thoughts of her undoing his belt and dropping to her knees—

“Trystan Maverine is aroused,” Winnifred stated from behind Evie. Clamping her lips shut when she realized what she’d said, she added with round eyes, “I’m sorry.”

Though the apology was immediately followed by a very unapologetic correction. “You’rebotharoused. May I go?” Her tone indicated her observations were as genuinely innocent as they were charming.

And embarrassing.

Sage’s cheeks went scarlet red, but then the sound of approaching conversation indicated a second unwanted audience. “Ms. Erring. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Trystan asked. “What is this?”

Becky had come from behind a pillar, and now Tatianna and Clare joined her. The group had seen better days. They looked tired, world-weary, all in dire need of a full eight hours of sleep. All likely not to get it. “We brought outdoor breakfast,” she offered, dangling a basket from her fingers.

“Outdoor…” Trystan trailed off, scowling at Sage, who was sheepishly smiling and taking careful steps backward. “You told them, you urchin!”

Sage threw her hands up. “Your aversion to the word ‘picnic’ is hardly a revelation.”

“It’s not anaversion,” he grumbled. “It’s a preference for— No, put the blanket away. As soon as Winnifred is finished with the locks, we are all going to our respective corners to recuperate. We must catch the guvres today and begin working on stealing the book—” A scone was shoved in his mouth, the tips of Sage’s fingers brushing his lips. When she realized how his eyes held hers, her cheeks turned pink, and she shoved her hands back to her sides.

He would not grab them.