Page 105 of Apprentice to the Villain

She sighed a shaky breath—but he was right, of course. Raphael knew the magical creature far better than she. But she had one powerful and far more ridiculous tool in her arsenal.

Spite.

She flung herself over the edge of the platform, falling ungracefully to the dirt. She looked up and smirked at the outraged oldest Fortis brother, who was leaning over the edge. She approached the light and the ancient magic froze, turning its sickly shimmer on her. It didn’t have eyes or a face…or a head. But she could feel it watching her, could feel it sense her awareness around the shocked ray of light gleaming off it. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think it a silvered sun—impossibly large and impossibly dangerous. This had been a miscalculation.

“The destiny creature is searching for any ounce of goodness worth saving,” Raphael called down to her. “It will test his resolve, his soul—and judging by his screams, he will not be saved. The creature will consume himandhis soul. What can you possibly do?”

She shrugged against the panic trying to consume her and reached Trystan in three long strides, hovering her hand overhis. She closed her fingers around destiny and its overwhelming light as she said with a sureness that was absolutely faked:

“I’ll give him mine.”

Chapter 64

The Villain

If this was a dream, he’d like a refund. Or a drill to his skull to pry the thought from his head.

The man who’d stolen his future stood before him. The one who had set him on a course he had never planned to pursue.You were crafted to be evil, Benedict had told him, his magic made for pain, for hurt. There would be no other path for Trystan.

Except there had been. One that led him to the stream at the edge of Hickory Forest, where tall trees hid the greatest of misdeeds. There had been no path other than the one that led him to Evie.

“Release her,” he said with enough anger that it felt as though it shook the walls.

Benedict grinned as he tightened the knife against Sage’s throat. “Icould. Or I could save you the inevitable and end her life right here, right now.”

Sage whimpered, which was a bit odd, but all his mind could focus on was her pain—especially when she whispered, “Trystan, help me.”

He could feel his gaze soften. He wanted to reach for her, to comfort her despite knowing he was terrible at it. She had him so torn apart that he wouldn’t mind the fumbling awkwardness of it, of trying to warm someone despite his coldness. She made itimpossible not to try at things, even when he knew he would fail. He liked to try, liked trying withhereven more.

Loved.

Not that word again,he thought, mentally swatting at himself.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he said solemnly, resigned.

Benedict’s eyebrows shot up, his interest piqued. “I think I want to hurt her. She can see your magic, Trystan—she’s making you weak. I’d be doing you a favor.”

The knife was drawn tighter against her skin, and a single drop of blood eased down her throat.

“Stop!” It was agony. “Whatever your price, I will pay it. I do not care who I need to kill, what I need to destroy; if you release her unharmed, I am at your disposal.”

The king smiled, and Sage did, too, as Benedict released her. She flew across the empty office and into his arms. But it felt…wrong. Something in him flinched at her touch, but she trembled, and he couldn’t resist holding her tightly against him, breathing in the smell of her hair.

Wrong!his body screamed.

But Sage angled herself up, pressing every inch of herself into him. He may be The Villain, but in this moment, he was only a man—one with plenty of weaknesses. One of which being that he’d need to be six feet belowground to not respond to the heat of her body, to the feeling of her hips, her breasts, the beating of her heart. He counted the beats:one, two, three, four.

Bumps rose along his skin as she pressed up farther against him and whispered in his ear, “Destroy the Fortis family, free the hands of destiny from its cage, and you can have me.”

Wrong,his brain argued as Sage arched up on her toes, her sweet breath brushing against his lips.

Shut it,he argued back as her lips dusted over his, and he bit back a groan until her mouth was fully upon his and he was lost. There had been a threat in the room before—a part of himknew this—but whoever that was, they were gone now. His only thoughts were of her, her voice, her lips, her body beneath his hands, which slid tentatively over her waist.

Wrong.

Wrong.

Wrong.