Assistant to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain, #1)

by Hannah Nicole Maehrer

“You know who I am, don’t you?” he asked without a hint of arrogance in his tone. And yet, the casualness with which he just knew his reputation had preceded him made Evie’s stomach do backflips.

She’d been called many disparaging things in her life. Alarmingly all beginning with the letter F. Flighty, foolish, forgetful, and, by a strange turn of events, she was finally able

“Um, yes— The blood’s not great…but I was referring to the fact that you look like you were carved out of marble, and I just think that as a rule of thumb, inherently evil people should be grotesque-looking.”

“You just can’t kill people and be pretty. It’s confusing.” Evie began unwrapping the wool scarf her little sister, Lyssa, had given her on her last birthday, stepping closer to The Villain and holding it up like a signal of peace. “For the blood, Your Evilness.”

“Normal” was for those who didn’t have the ability to stretch their minds past the unreachable end.

“I’ll remind you that, at your bequest, I haven’t actually killed an intern in several months.” Evie shook her head hopelessly. “Sir, I hate to belittle your successes, but there are people who go their entire lives without killing anyone.” His face remained serious. “How dull.”

He was a puddle on the floor, and every speck of dust in that room was his enemy.

“No. I have a condition where my tear ducts produce an excess of warm, salty water when I’m tired or in distress.”

“Fluffy? You looked at me and thought to yourself, He looks like a Fluffy?”

His former assistant looked the same, still short, still dark-haired. Still with eyes that seemed to know too much and lips that were constantly pulling up at the corners.

She continued, her light eyes finding his dark ones, and Trystan flexed his hands nervously at his sides to alleviate the almost ticklish feeling spreading through his limbs.

Mr Darcy

“It hurt me. You didn’t even give me the chance to explain.” It hurt me. He wondered if it would scar her for life if he threw himself from the window.

The giggle she let out was loud and at a pitch that should call the birds to the window, looking for their brethren, but it was adorable, and he hoped she would do it again. Fuck.

want to know you. Trystan felt unfettered fear as he sat there, because for the first time in a decade, the idea of that didn’t sound so very bad. And yet, he somehow knew in his bones she was going to be the death of him eventually.

“Sleep is hardly a concern,” The Villain said, eventually grabbing her hand and pushing it back to her side. She might’ve imagined his fingers lingered on hers a second longer than necessary.

HELLO???

yellow flower among the undergrowth left in the forest caught his eye, and his mind conjured an image of Sage. Ruined. He didn’t feel ruined with Evie, though. He felt reborn.

Only because it looked nicer that way; it had nothing to do with the sun hitting it at just the right angle, causing sparks of light to glint in Sage’s long black hair. He just liked the chair there.

He resisted a deep sigh as his assistant sat down and the sun fell over her cheeks. It was just a good spot for the chair.

between them. They both had someone to protect—the creature understood that. Or he was slowly losing his mind, and the dark clouds that swept in from distant skies, dimming the light around Sage’s face, were a metaphor for how he blackened everything he touched.

A small yelp left her mouth as two large hands wrapped around her middle, yanking her backward. “I would prefer you not lose a hand, Sage.” The gravelly voice was in her ear, sending a series of pleasant chills down her spine. “He may be cute, as you so eloquently put it, but he has a temper.” “Hmm…I think I know someone like that.” Evie gazed up at him pointedly, and her boss rolled his eyes.

The Villain’s shocked voice carried to her. “Sage…did you just call me cute?” She opened the door, a grin on her face.

The Villain’s black shirt clung to every curve of muscle on his torso. Evie gulped as he walked toward her, a thick intensity cloying the air.

lips. Evie’s laughter finally died down to something more manageable when she looked toward her boss, who was watching them all, watching her, with a strange look in his eyes. He was at ease, peaceful. That eternal lock on his jaw seemed to have come loose, and there was a relaxed feeling to him as he said, “I am not obsessed with my hair.”

When it comes to the thing one loves most, Trystan thought before running out in the open toward the grate, the sounds of Sage’s screaming protests behind him, it is always better to be trapped together than free and apart.

“No, I wouldn’t expect you to.” He laughed, the sound warm and soft like liquid sugar. He held out his hand again, calloused and blistered. “My name is Arthur Maverine. I believe you work for my son, Trystan. I am the core healer.”

WHAT

“Would you like to dance?” Her eyes widened even more, but a small smile graced the red bow of her lips. “With whom?” She looked around theatrically. Trystan smirked, because in all truth, she was very funny. “With me.”

When he bent his neck to take her in, he was knocked breathless by her joy aimed at him full force. It was so foreign to have someone so happy in his presence, or even because of his presence, that he almost missed a step.

“So destruction is his solution?” Evie rolled her eyes, pushing her loosened hair out of her face. “Men,” she scoffed. “Yes, we can discuss the obvious weaknesses of my sex later.” The Villain’s eyes glittered. His black shirt was ripped at the shoulder, giving him a roguish dishevelment that made Evie’s stomach flutter.

Sage. “I have to—” But then a sharp pain sliced through his head. He saw dark spots as he fell to his knees, and his last image was of Sage waiting for him to come save her, but he’d never reach her in time.

Trystan was dreaming. Which surprised him, because he thought he’d lost the ability to dream ten short years ago. But here he was, having a dream, and it was a pleasant one.

thought himself a man with a particularly good imagination, but the way she was holding on to him, sweet but fierce, and the passion behind her kisses… It ruined him. How could the reality of kissing her possibly surpass the euphoria that was pumping through his veins at what his own imagination had conjured?

back to him. “What were you going to say, love?” he whispered, smiling crookedly as he ran a hand down her soft cheek. Her eyes widened with something like…hope?

And she was smiling at him. The Villain came to an unbidden realization then, so completely tragic that his mind tried to reject the words. But they were there, so plainly it was almost comical. He was in love with her. Of all the foolish, horrific things he’d ever accomplished, falling in love with a woman he so completely didn’t deserve made the top of his list. But he did love her.

Evangelina Celia Sage was woven into his being; in the blink of his eyes, in the crinkle of his smile, in his rusty unused laughter, she was there. From the moment he’d met her, he thought of her like the sun. Bright and vibrant, untouchable. But he was wrong. She wasn’t light; she was color. Every single one, dancing otherworldly and bright over his unworthy eyes. She was the explosion of the vivid gleams and glows of the world around him, like a constant rainbow, shining not after the rain but during. She was everything he never deserved but longed for anyway.

He was ruined. But he loved her anyway.

Her eyes were closed now, her delicate hands pressed tightly to the ground, and her whole body was alight in colorful agony. Trystan didn’t hesitate. He raced toward her, sliding onto his knees and cradling her head in his arms. Her fists came up, gripping his shirt, tears falling from her eyes.

“Little tornado?” he asked, desperately trying to keep the worry from his voice. “Present,” she mumbled into his chest, making it constrict. She was okay. Hoisting her up gently in his arms, he carried her over to the examination table before turning toward the guilty-looking women on the other side of the room.

“But you did it so well before.” The little tornado’s eyes scrunched in confusion, and he resisted the gratified feeling that she enjoyed their hug so much that she thought another was well-advised. “All right. Fine. A hug.” He lifted a brow, seeing no other possible recourse. He smoothed the still-damp front of his cloak. “Like this?”

His chin tucked on her shoulder, and he fully let himself settle against her. His body let out such a deep, contented sigh, it was almost a growl. Like it had been waiting for her, and now that she was here, it would only live half as what it had been before, forever waiting to be whole again. Fuck. Well, he knew how the guvres felt now.

He felt wetness against his skin and realized she was crying, and he tightened his arms around her, thinking if anyone dared come near her in this moment, there was nothing and nobody that could stop him from slitting them in half.

Trystan had just wanted to enjoy that moment with her, where he could pretend that he was good, that he was hers. He could still feel her warmth around him, and he savored it, the memory of it, knowing it was all he was allowed to have. Because women like Evie Sage didn’t end up with The Villain.

The Villain’s hands gripping her hips as he hoisted her down. It was bad enough being pressed against him for the entire ride there, but now she was eye to eye with him as she slid down his body. She should’ve kissed him. She’d wanted to.

“Why would one need a party for tea? Don’t you just drink it? What on earth is the party for?” His confusion caused a bubble of laughter to leave her lips. “I’m sorry. That’s not funny.” She snorted, and his mouth cracked wide open, his dimple making its graceful appearance.

“Step away from her!” he roared, the clinking of metal following his every movement as he pulled against his cuffs. Evie rolled to her side, looking at him, feeling a tear slide down her cheek.

“No, Benedict, no! Please.” The Villain’s voice cracked, pained, shattering his composure. Evie felt tears burn before flowing down her face. “Please, I beg you. I will do anything you ask, anything you want. Anything, if you’ll spare her. Just please—I beg you to spare her.” When Trystan, The Villain, dropped to his knees, Evie cried. “I. Beg. You.” Stop, she wanted to scream at him, don’t lower yourself for me. Don’t bend your will. I’m not worth it.

Oh my god