Summoned to the Wilds (Villains & Virtues, #2)

by A.K. Caggiano

“No, you’re wrong,” she said, shaking her head vigorously, and then she snickered. “Come on, Damien, show me if you have a tail or not.”

“Amma, the only thing that is clear is that I prefer your company, even when you are infuriating, to an entire cave full of vampires. I’d like nothing more than to be with you, but not when you’ve had to coerce yourself into it by way of magic. I do want you, but not like this.”

She thrashed against the bindings around her wrists in a useless effort to escape them and cried out, “Gods, Damien, for goodness’s sake, that’s so stupid and noble! Please just take advantage of me!”

“I am not,” he barked, waving his hand into the air. “I would just gladly be swallowed by endless darkness upon endless darkness if it meant not hurting you because I have never cared so deeply for another being. I cannot explain or understand how you have broken me in this way, but you have made me feel…things that are maddening.”

Damien grimaced, and in the low candlelight she could see how red he had gone. He cleared his throat and sat back again, reopening the book. “Also,” he said with a hitch, “engaging in such intimate activities would be unwise when

the horses likely will not be waiting for us when we emerge from the karsts.”

“Only your gods would know,” said Damien, then he cleared his throat, “I mean, yes, I’m sure.” He waved awkwardly to the animals.

“You made a tree,” he said plainly. She hummed, heading toward a cluster of blue mushrooms that were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world to her. “Well, you know, I had an acorn on me.”

Damien was quick to get to his feet too, but the witch swung her staff and connected with his chest. “No touching.” He grunted, and Amma held her breath, but he only glared at the woman he’d called a witch. Readjusting Amma’s crossbow over his own shoulder, he straightened and rubbed the spot she struck. “No touching,” he mocked under his breath.

Damien’s stomach knotted. “What kinds of things to keep warm?” “Making hemlock tea, having actual fire, boiling big pots of stew, you know.” She gestured to the hearth and its many pots then dropped her voice even lower. “They seemed fairly obvious to me, but sort of extraordinary to him, so I thought, at first, he had gone a little mad with no other fae around since all he does is sit around playing with himself.” The copper mug in Damien’s hand almost gave way under his grip. “He told you that?”

No, the fae hadn’t touched Amma, Kaz confirmed, but, yes, Amma seemed to like him. “Explain,” Damien had demanded. “I do not know, Master,”—the imp clacked his talons together nervously—“but she smiles and is nice to him.” Well, that certainly described how she was with nearly everyone.

Feelings, being inherently frustrating and messy, are also often vindictive. It is one of their worst traits, which is really something that shouldn’t be thought on for too long—feelings having feelings—but just quietly accepted as the truth of things. After being denied and bottled up and misconstrued, feelings too have a limit, and if they find they cannot be expressed in their natural, honest states, they will resort to putting on the cloaks of other feelings, adopting new accents and a little makeup, and when they are finally convincing enough, roar out into the

world disguised as something completely different.

“You came for me,” she whispered up against his mouth. His fingertips grazed her temple, smoothing away hair that had fallen in her face, and he pressed another kiss to her lips. “You called. How could I not?” “I thought…” The words fell away as she stared into a face streaked with blood, exhaustion pooling in the hollows of his eyes. “You thought what?” He rested his forehead on hers, a husk to his voice as a crooked smile grew over his mouth. “That I wouldn’t? That I could possibly bare to lose you? That I am not utterly and unconditionally—”