Page 113 of Always A Villain

I smile, tears and laughter tangled together as I curl intothe monster who burned the world for me.

And I don’t regret a single thing.

He’ll always be a villain, and I’ll always be his.

6 YEARS LATER

“Axe, I’m fine,” I say for the third time, swatting at his hand as he presses gently against my bump. “I’m not due for another month.”

He doesn’t answer. Just narrows his eyes.

“Gear’s packed,” Griffen announces as he strolls into the kitchen, dropping four duffel bags onto the floor. “Got the med kits, the sat phone, bear spray—though Axe said he’s the only predator on this trip, so I don’t know why we bothered.”

“We had a deal,” I warn, pointing a spatula at them. “No Sovereign-style training until Lucas is eight.” I know he’s hiding more than camping gear in those bags.

“It’s not training. It’s survival,” Griffen says simply with a shrug. “We’re going camping, doll. There are wolvesout there.”

“You two are the wolves out there.” I glare between them. “He’s four. Not fourteen. No tactical suits. No knives in his lunchbox. And no, Griffen, I’m still not letting you microchip him.”

“That was a joke—” Griffen starts.

“It wasn’t,” Axe deadpans.

“I stand by it,” Griffen adds.

“Uncle Griffen!” Lucas’s voice pierces through the back-and-forth as he barrels into the room, Rosa trailing behind him with a juice box and the expression of a woman one fruit snack away from losing it. “Daddy, are we leaving yet?!”

Axe scoops him up mid-run. “Just saying bye to Mommy.”

Lucas giggles, kicking his little boots. “I got my flashlight and my throwing stars!”

“You’re not bringing the throwing stars,” I say, reaching out for him. “Give Mommy a kiss before you go become a wildling.”

Lucas plants a sticky kiss on my cheek and throws his arms around my neck.

I pull back and whisper, “If Uncle Griffen gives you any problems, tell Kane.”

From his spot in the corner, Kane’s ears perk up at his name. He still doesn’t like Griffen—probably never will—but he tolerates him enough not to bite him anymore. Usually.

“Don’t listen to your mother,” Griffen calls out, ignoring the low growl that follows. “She’s hormonal.”

I give him a slow blink. “You want to get kicked in the balls before your camping trip, or…?”

Axe presses a kiss to my temple. “Call me the minuteanything feels off. I mean it, Rory.”

“I will. I promise. Go. Enjoy yourself. Try to relax. Just…don’t teach him how to hotwire a car this time.”

“He needs to know these things,” Griffen mutters.

“He’sfour,” I remind them. “And I still haven’t forgiven you for blowing up the shed.”

“That was an educational moment,” Griffen says.

“You taught him how to make a pipe bomb.”

“He’s a very advanced four-year-old,” he says with pride.

“I swear to god?—”