Page 18 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Aaron’s counterpart pulled it carefully over his elegant fingers, covering the rings. Then he swung hard, catching Nick’s

counterpart painfully in the gut, and making him retch and try to curl away. The bindings didn’t allow him to move much, but

his twisting revealed a small black tattoo on his side. A wolf.

“That glove is weighted,” Ruth whispered, sounding sick. “Powdered lead, I think.”

“You have a way to get to her.” Aaron’s counterpart sounded totally composed—as if he hadn’t exercised himself at all. He examined the glove. “ How? ”

A spark of life—of anger—in Nick’s eyes; Joan was glad to see it. “Shouldn’t you know if there’s going to be an attack? You’re

a time traveler. You’re supposed to know everything that happens, in all of history. Shouldn’t the Queen know? Or is her power

more limited than it seems?”

Aaron struck him again, aiming for his broken ribs. Joan flinched away, but she heard the sound of it—the weighted glove against

flesh. Then Nick’s choking breaths.

“If you genuinely thought I could tell you more,” Nick gasped, “you’d bring in the Griffiths again.”

“My own methods have some efficacy too.”

Nick huffed a pained laugh. “Oh please —we both know why you dragged me in here, Aaron. You enjoy inflicting pain. You’re sicker than your father ever was.”

Aaron’s beautiful face chilled into cold cruelty. He turned to the guard. “Give me the other glove.”

The interrogation—the torture—continued for what felt like hours, but probably wasn’t anywhere near as long.

More than once, Joan closed her eyes, unable to bear what was happening. But she forced herself to open them again; she felt

like she owed it to Nick’s counterpart to bear witness.

At the end of it, Nick said: “ Please. I told your Griffith friends everything. There’s nothing more to tell.”

“You know what? I believe you,” Aaron said almost gently.

He looked down at Nick, mouth downturned with disgust. “The humans see you as a savior. But I know the truth. You’re just a piece of meat, like all your kind.

” He bent down. Nick had enough warning to look relieved; and then Aaron touched his bare neck and Nick slumped, the light in his eyes spent. He was dead.

Joan pressed her forehead to the top of Frankie’s warm back; she smelled comfortingly familiar. Joan took a deep breath; her

stomach was rolling. She couldn’t get a grasp on her emotions. She’d just seen Aaron kill Nick. Different versions of them,

maybe, but she’d seen it—and she’d never unsee it.

Nick’s counterpart must have been very much like the Nick she’d first known. A monster slayer, a hero. Only... Joan saw him again, his neck under Aaron’s hand. In this timeline, he’d

died.

Nick broke the silence first. “Well... that wasn’t a screwball comedy.” His voice was dry, but he’d balled his hands into

fists. He wasn’t nearly as composed as he sounded.

“It happened in the basement downstairs,” Aaron said, subdued. “I know those stone walls.”

Nick’s breath stuttered. Joan wanted to reach for him—to pull him close—but she wasn’t sure she was allowed to do that anymore.

She put Frankie into his lap, and Nick stroked his thumb over Frankie’s ear. “Thanks,” he said softly.

“I wonder if the rest of us have evil twins here,” Ruth said.

Joan thought that Aaron might protest the word evil , but his head was down. That wasn’t you , Joan wanted to tell him. You aren’t like that.

“I think you have a counterpart here,” Ruth said to Joan. “Those wanted posters...”

Joan nodded slowly. “Not Jamie, though.” Jamie had flickered in and out of existence when Eleanor had begun to change the timeline.

Joan had protected him by throwing a shield around him.

It seemed likely now that Jamie had never been born here.

.. and that made sense. His father had been married to a member of the Grave family in the original timeline.

With the Graves back, maybe Ying had married her again.

“No,” Jamie said. His gaze had turned distant. Joan had a feeling he was thinking of Tom. But surely Tom would still be himself.

Surely he hadn’t been twisted by this world like Aaron’s counterpart had been.

Except that an hour ago, Joan would have said she knew Aaron to the core. She’d have sworn that there were no circumstances

where any version of him would have tortured and killed someone. If she hadn’t seen it, she’d never have believed it.

“You said you spoke to Gran?” Ruth said.

“She told us that we should look for the wolves,” Joan said. “The human resistance movement here, I guess. She said we’d need

their help to stop Eleanor.” Aaron’s counterpart had implied that Nick had figured out a way to get to Eleanor. If he was

right, then the rest of the wolves had to know something. “We have to find them.”

“ How? ” Jamie said. “Ronan found you , but he’s dead.”

Joan bit her lip. The head of the wolves was dead too. But they still had one more lead. “We know where at least some of them

will be tomorrow.” I understand you captured another cell of the wolves this week , Eleanor had said to Aaron.

“Are you talking about the executions tomorrow?” Ruth said. “The ones Aaron is supposed to conduct?”

Aaron looked sick at the prospect. Joan had the feeling he’d been trying not to think about that. “It’s supposed to be my

hand on the ax,” he said.

“Again,” Nick said. There was an edge to his voice.

“I didn’t—” Aaron glared at him. “My counterpart killed yours. Not me .”

“Your counterpart is you,” Nick said tightly.”You as you would have been if you’d been born into this world.”

“But he’s not ,” Joan blurted. “ This Aaron would never have done that.” Never.

She could feel them all looking at her now, Aaron’s expression unreadable, a flash of hurt on Nick’s face. “Nick... ,”

she said. Did Nick think she was choosing sides? She hadn’t intended that . Then she saw Jamie behind him, looking stricken. He was thinking about Tom again. “He will still be himself,” she said to Jamie.

“We’ll know when we find him,” Jamie said, and Joan hated how stoic he sounded.

Joan nodded. Her chest was agonizingly tight—everything felt so complicated.

“Okay... ,” Ruth said, drawing out the word in acknowledgment of the tension in the room. “So Aaron can get us close to

these wolves. But...” She turned to him. “Are you sure you can do this? You’ll have to go there as an executioner, pretending

to be him —that sociopath we just saw. You’d have to stay in character the whole time. And it won’t be like it is here, at the mansion,

where you can hide in your bedchambers and bark orders. You’ll have to interact with people.”

Aaron dipped his head, revealing the pale nape above his shirt collar. A fine tremor ran through him. “Even if I wanted to get out of it, I don’t think I could. Eleanor knows I’m supposed to be conducting those executions. If I’m not there tomorrow, she’ll suspect something’s up.”

Joan swallowed. Aaron wouldn’t be the only one playing a role tomorrow, she remembered. She and Nick would too. They’d have

to act as if they’d been born into this world. They’d have to wear those pendants.

That night, they set up Aaron’s room as if camping in a field surrounded by enemies. Joan hooked a chair under the doorknob

to keep anyone from opening it while they slept.

That wasn’t enough for Nick, though—he took a blanket and lay on the floor by the door. Or maybe he just wanted to put some

distance between himself and the rest of them after seeing that recording. Joan watched him bed down and thought again, painfully,

of his flash of hurt when she’d defended Aaron.

The rest of them slept behind the bed, rather than on it, on layered blankets. They didn’t need to talk about it—they all

seemed to feel the same primal urge for shelter, even in this mansion, even in this closed room.

After a while, everyone’s breathing evened out except Aaron’s. Joan couldn’t see much of him in the dark: just his pale hair.

He seemed surprisingly comfortable on the floor—but then his real bed had been a cardboard-thin mattress in the coldest part

of this house. The luxury of this room was as alien to him as it was to any of them.

“Can’t sleep?” Joan whispered to him finally, and his breath quickened as if he hadn’t expected her to speak. Around them, the only sounds were the creaks of the house and soft, sleeping breaths.

A rustling as he turned to face her. “Can’t you sleep?” A hesitation. “Are you all right? Still feeling grounded in this time?”

Joan nodded even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m fine.”

“You need to tell me if any of your senses fade. The first sign of it.”

“I really am fine.” Was he okay? “What about you? I know this has been hard....”

“Are you worried?” Aaron asked. Joan could feel more than see his searching gaze. “I’ll protect you when we’re out on the

streets,” he whispered, very serious. “No one will dare hurt you. No one will—” His voice roughened. “No one will touch you.”

“I’m not scared,” Joan whispered. She wasn’t sure if that was quite true, though.

Aaron seemed to sense it. “All will be well,” he promised. “You’ll be safe, and I won’t break character. I know how to play

my counterpart.”

Break character ... It took a second for Joan to figure out what he meant. “You think you’ll have to execute those people—to stay in character?”

In the silence that followed, Joan heard his breath catch. He turned away again, facing the ceiling. “Do you know how much

human time I’ve stolen?”

Joan swallowed. “No.” It must have been a lot. He’d once told her that he’d been a tourist at the Temple of Venus on Velian Hill—in AD 100. That trip alone would have cost two thousand years of human life. The full lifespans of maybe twenty-five people.

“Honestly, I never gave it a second thought before you—” He stopped.

Joan waited for him to continue, but he didn’t. He was staring up at the ceiling, a hand on his chest as if a heavy weight

were pressing down on him. She wished she could make out his expression.

“You’re not him,” Joan whispered. “You’re nothing like him. And we’ll find a way to stop those executions tomorrow.” She was

sure they could. “You won’t have to kill those humans—we’ll figure out a way to rescue them.” Then they’d connect with the

wolves like Gran had told them to.

Aaron didn’t answer for a long, long moment. “We should try to sleep,” he murmured finally. “You’ll be able to ground yourself

more firmly if you’re well rested. And tomorrow, we won’t be hiding anymore. We’ll be out in Eleanor’s world for real. We’ll

need to blend in. Flawlessly.”