Page 55 of Adversary to the Villain

Trystan didn’t seem to mind this, just nodded, eyes roving her face like a caress. “There was never a question of that, Sage. I’ve heard you laugh about tongue removal.”

“Forgive me for trying to make paperwork more enjoyable.” She rolled her eyes, biting back a smile. “Are you angry with me? For before?” she added tentatively.

“I was for a solid ten minutes. A personal best.” He’d drifted closer without her noticing, his eyes flickering down to watch her lips.

It made forming coherent words exceptionally more difficult. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. You didn’t deserve it, I was just…”

“Hurt.”

Hurt.

Nail on the head. “Take that mind-reading act on the road, and you got yourself a fortune.” She tried to laugh, but it sounded strangled when he leaned in closer, the cinnamon on his skin a heady scent in her nose.

“Are you ready, Evangelina?”

She’d stayed ready since the last time in the forest, replaying the feel of him towering over her like a dizzying playact that made her palms sweat and her heart race.

Respond normally, Evie!

“For?” she asked, licking her lips, his eyes following the motion like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“To turn you into a villain.” He moved toward the old table in the corner, dragging it in front of her with a smile that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

“What was the personal-space invasion for? A bad attempt to get me into bed?”

“I’d take you right here, actually,” he murmured low, the sound a mere scrape against the back of his throat.

And Evie would take a good thirty seconds to unfreeze her face.

“Sage? You requested lessons. Would you like to begin in the near future?” He gestured toward the table. “Use your magic to surround it, then try and find places it can be injured.”

“Has my need to apologize when I bump into inanimate objects given you the illusion that I believe they can be a threat?”

“It’s just to practice the technique.” He sighed, exasperated. “I never would have survived as a teacher. The patience they must possess.”

“What would you have taught?” She scoffed, standing before the table. “How to hang a head 101?”

“Sage,” he stated in a way that made her flush, clearing her throat, and she held up her hands and asked the magic very politely to wrap around the table. It didn’t budge. “Command it. It’s yours to control.”

“But it’s part of me.” She frowned. “And I hate being controlled.”

A tingle spread through her fingers, the cool feeling a balm to her heart, soothing her soul. The darkness spilled out slowly, circling the floor until it surrounded the table.

“Ha!” She squealed, jumping up and spinning toward Trystan so quickly, her braid flopped against her shoulder. “Did you see?”

He was watching her with a strange expression, slowly rolling up his shirtsleeves until they were at his elbows, displaying muscular forearms covered with a sprinkle of hair.

“All right, now do me.”

She scrunched her nose, ogling his forearms like a character fromThe Cunning Corset Society. “In what respect?”

“Sage.”

“Fine,” she grumbled, closing her eyes, breathing deep.

“The goal is to use it to stop me in place, then the mist will find places you can strike. I learned over time that red means a light injury, yellow a past weakness to utilize. Blue incapacitates, but do not confuse it with black.”

“Why, what does black do?” she asked, suddenly less confident as the mist crept toward him.