Page 14 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Joan didn’t know how the guys felt, but she was somehow exhausted and adrenalized at the same time. Her whole body ached.

They’d been running themselves into the ground for days and days now. And yet she still felt desperate to do something . She kept thinking of Gran’s words: You’re running out of time.

She squeezed her eyes shut and felt a wave of tiredness—almost nausea—roll over her. They weren’t going to achieve anything

in this state, she knew.

She half fell into an overstuffed chair. Nick stood beside her, and Aaron made a triangle, slumping onto the corner of the

huge bed, wrists crossed between his knees. They were so close that Joan could hear their soft breaths over the crackle of

the fire.

“I think we should base ourselves here,” Aaron said.

“Here?” Joan said. “In the Oliver house?” It wasn’t safe here. A human had just been murdered without trial a few minutes

ago. And there were likely dozens of people in this house who might figure out that Aaron wasn’t Aaron .

“We’ll have resources here,” Aaron said. “Money, cars, anything we need. And... I’ll have power.”

“Your household thinks that Joan and I are...” Nick stumbled over the words.

Aaron finished the sentence for him. “A couple of playthings that I’m slumming with. That I found on the street.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way,” Nick said.

“I think we should maintain that fiction,” Aaron said.

Joan stared at him. At the same time, her whole body seemed to warm all at once. The hearth felt too close suddenly. “You—You

want us to keep pretending that—”

“That I’m bedding you both.” Sometimes, Aaron’s gray eyes had an almost translucent quality, like sea glass. “Yes.”

Joan opened her mouth. She didn’t know how she felt about that, and neither did her body. Her chest fluttered like she was

looking ahead at a roller coaster about to drop.

“You can’t be serious!” Nick hissed at Aaron. There was a chair between Aaron and Joan, but he’d avoided it—he was still on

his feet.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?” Aaron asked him, more goading than curious.

Nick looked incredulous. “Does feigning that I was plucked from the street bya rich prick who cares more about clothes than

human lifemake me uncomfortable ? How would you feel—” He stopped the rant mid-track and waved a dismissive hand, as if that wasn’t even relevant.

“If you don’t think your acting skills are up to it... ,” Aaron said.

“It’s your acting skills that’ll matter!”

“Honestly...” Joan was feeling it too. The threat all around them. “It doesn’t feel safe here.”

Aaron blinked at her, and the goading expression vanished. “I’m a head of family here,” he said to her, the nasty tone giving way to earnestness. “That gives me power. I can protect you both—I know I can. No one would dare touch you as long as you were with me.”

“But we’d have to—” Nick started.

Aaron interrupted. “I can protect her here.”

Nick had been poised to argue, but he went quiet at that.

“ I don’t need any special protection,” Joan said, annoyed. Nick was the one who was fully human.

“We just saw a wanted poster with your face on it,” Aaron said flatly.

Joan wanted to argue, but that stupid poster was hanging over her like a blade. She ground her teeth.

Beside them, the fire crackled and popped; the scent of wood smoke was heavy in the air. Joan was aware again of the size

of this room. They were in a mansion on vast grounds, all owned by Aaron now. They would have resources here—beyond anything they could access in a stolen room at an inn.

“Can you actually pull this off?” Nick said to Aaron. It was a genuine question this time, not one intended to irritate him.

“If anyone realizes that you’re not him , it’s all over. Eleanor will find out we’re here, and we’ll all be dead.”

Could Aaron do this? Joan wondered. He’d only had to feign being like his father for a few minutes tonight, and it had clearly

depleted him.

“ I can do it,” Aaron said, just as seriously. “Can you ? Because when we’re in public, you’ll have to do as I say. Pretend you’re—”

A sharp rap at the door made Joan jump.

Nick snatched up a heavy candlestick from the mantelpiece— so fast that Joan barely registered the movement. Sometimes, his reflexes were superhuman.

“It’ll be the maid,” Joan reminded him.

“Right.” Nick’s grip flexed on the candlestick and then relaxed. He put the candlestick back, but he didn’t take his eyes

off the door. “Are we really doing this?” he said to them. “Are we really going to pretend that... well...”

“Geoffrey came up with the story himself,” Joan said. “That surely means that other people will buy it too.”

“I can’t think of any other reasonable explanation for having two humans here with me,” Aaron said.

A muscle jumped in Nick’s jaw. “In that case, we can’t allow the maid to see us like this.” At their confused expressions,

he said: “We need to stage the room. Right now, all of this will look wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong ?” Aaron said.

“Well, we’re all fully dressed for one thing.”

Aaron’s face reddened, and Joan could feel her own cheeks getting hot too.

Nick was already moving, dragging up the duvet on the bed and rumpling the sheets. He tossed the pillows to the floor. “Or

would you be neater than this?” he asked Aaron.

“Uh... ” Aaron took off his jacket and folded it, and then just stood there with it draped over his arm, looking a little

wide-eyed.

Nick looked meaningfully at the door.

“I—” Aaron glanced at the door too, and made a clear and forced effort to gather himself. “No,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t be neat.” He took another breath, and his eyes finally focused. He looked at Joan assessingly. “Can you—” He touched his own mouth. “Can you pinch your lips for me?”

Why? Joan wondered, but she did what he’d asked. Aaron’s eyes tracked her fingers on her mouth. In the low light, his pupils were

dilated. Joan caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror by the door, and her chest fluttered again out of nowhere. She looked

like she’d been kissed.

“And—” Aaron ran his hands through his blond hair, ruffling it.

Joan copied him until wisps of her own hair curled around her face. In the mirror, it didn’t seem quite enough, though. She

reached for the zip on her dress but couldn’t catch the slider. “Can you—?” she asked Aaron.

She watched in the mirror as he stepped closer to her. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then he drew the zip down carefully—just

a few inches. Just enough to loosen it at the shoulders without compromising her.

In the reflection behind him, Nick’s eyes darkened. He was staring, mouth parted, and Joan swallowed. Aaron’s eyes were on

her too, focused now and intent. Butterflies ran through Joan. She was nervous, she told herself. She hadn’t expected to have

to do this.

“I can’t be the only one who looks like I’ve been...” Joan stumbled over how to say it.

Aaron saved her. “No, you’re right.” He tossed his folded jacket carelessly, and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing pale skin and a glimpse of black lines where his hip started. His mermaid tattoo. Joan’s mouth felt dry suddenly.

Aaron met Nick’s eyes in the mirror. “Unbutton yours too,” he told him.

Nick’s eyebrows went up. He sat on the edge of the bed—where Aaron had been sitting earlier. Then he opened the buttons one-handed

until his shirt draped open. Naked, his chest seemed even more like a classical statue.

Joan dragged her eyes away. “Good,” she managed. In the mirror, her face was flushed, pink spreading all the way down her

bare neck.

“Good,” Aaron echoed. He cleared his throat. “All right...” He took a deep breath and turned back to Joan. For a second

his gaze seemed to stop on her.

“The door,” Joan whispered.

“Right.” Aaron shook his head slightly. “Right. The door.” He cleared his throat again and raised his voice. “Come!”

A maid entered. She wore a neat trouser-and-shirt uniform, her hair in a French bun. She wrinkled her nose as she took them

all in. She had a thin, muscled frame and disapproving air that made Joan think of strict ballet instructors. She placed the

tray on a small table near the hearth and dropped some shopping bags nearby. “Supper, my lord,” she said to Aaron.

“Thank you,” Aaron said. All his warmth was gone. His eyes were icy and dangerous again.

“And these are for the humans.” There was a slight emphasis on the word humans ; she couldn’t keep her contempt from her voice.

She drew from her pocket two metal pendants with rotatable numbers.

“A Nightingale can confirm the amount of life left, but we’ll need their identity cards to determine how much servitude remains. ”

The maid wasn’t human herself, Joan realized, surprised; she wasn’t wearing a pendant. It hit Joan that none of the Oliver staff in

the garden had worn pendants either. But then... the Olivers had always hated humans; perhaps they preferred monster servants.

The maid put the pendants onto a tray. Joan flinched at the hard metallic clatter. She didn’t want to wear that pendant, and

she really didn’t want a Nightingale to calibrate it. She’d stolen a lot of life from herself over the last few months, and she had

no desire to know how much remained.

As the maid turned to leave, Joan realized they still needed something. “Wait—” she said. “Can you have two people fetched

from the Serpentine Inn? They’ll need a ride.”

The maid’s mouth pursed—she was clearly irritated about receiving an instruction from a human. But at Aaron’s nod, she just

said, “Room number?”

“Two.” Joan found a notepad and pen on a desk and wrote quickly: Come to Oliver House. She added her initials and the Hunt mark: the V and upside-down U with a strike running through them to make a fox. Then she folded the letter and folded it again, tearing and twisting until

the paper was crudely locked. If anyone but Ruth opened the letter, Ruth would know.

Joan offered the letter to the maid, who snatched it from her.