Page 45 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

They didn’t say much after that.

Except that later... when they were both moving together and gasping... there was a moment when Aaron gazed down at

Joan, pupils blown. “I love you,” he breathed. It was so soft that Joan wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say it. If he even knew

he’d said it.

Night had fallen by the time they drifted back to themselves.

The view outside was black. At some point, Aaron had gotten them both under the sheets, and they were still pressed against each other, his skin warm against hers.

She turned in the cradle of his arms, and he tucked her closer, stroking her hair.

“Where are the others?” Joan whispered.

“I don’t know. At the Chimera Inn, I assume.” That had been their rendezvous. “I couldn’t get through the crowds, so I came

here.” He sighed. “I wasn’t thinking. I shouldn’t have brought you back here—it isn’t safe.”

Oh. Joan swallowed. She hadn’t been thinking either, but he was right. At the arena, Eleanor had realized Nick was from another

timeline. Now she’d watch Aaron with even more suspicion. She’d search harder for the rest of them.

Then again... “If the Court hasn’t come for us yet, maybe they won’t,” she said. “Maybe Eleanor’s best revenge will be

forcing us to live in this world.”

Aaron ran his hand down Joan’s side, as if reassuring himself that she was still here. Still whole. “I suppose if she wants

us, she’ll have us. There’ll be nowhere to run. Nick’s not here to protect us anymore.”

That hadn’t occurred to Joan. She’d explained her theory to Aaron and the others—that the timeline fluctuated strangely around

Nick, making him difficult for time travelers to capture. While they’d been with him, Joan and anyone in his proximity might

have been protected. But they wouldn’t be anymore.

Could the timeline even fluctuate anymore, now that it was locked?

Whatever the case, Aaron was right. If Eleanor wanted them, she’d have them.

Joan reached up thoughtlessly and pushed Aaron’s hair from his eyes.

It was so strange to be able to do that; Aaron had always seemed so untouchable.

He didn’t right now, though. There was a line on his cheek from the edge of the pillow, and his hair and shirt were rumpled.

They’d unbuttoned his shirt, Joan realized, but hadn’t taken it off.

She frowned. A smear of red marred the white cotton of his collar. “Are you bleeding?” She sat up. “Aaron, is that blood ?” Panic rushed through her, an echo of how she’d felt watching Nick fall. “Are you hurt ?”

“What?” He looked down at himself, surprised. He hadn’t seen the marks. “No... I think it’s clay,” he said. He touched

her forearm.

Joan stared down at herself, bewildered. There were faint red streaks on her arms. It was from earlier in the day, she realized.

From when she’d tried to unmake the brick wall. She’d washed her hands since, but had missed some of the marks on her arms.

“Hey,” Aaron whispered. He sat up and guided Joan out of bed—leaning over to sweep a silk robe with a mermaid motif from the

armchair. He settled it around Joan’s shoulders, and they went into the fancy bathroom en suite.

He turned on the water in the sink, warming it, and ran his hands over her arms with soap. “See?” he said as the water ran

red and then clear. “No one’s bleeding. Not you or me.”

Joan felt a strange wave of déjà vu. She’d washed Gran’s blood from her hands like this after the massacre at Holland House.

Aaron had been in the bedroom—that was the night she’d met him.

His gray eyes met hers in the mirror. She seemed pale in the cold bathroom light, and her own eyes were red-rimmed. “I keep losing people,” she heard herself say. Her family in the massacre. Nick. Aaron, when she’d changed the timeline last time.

“You haven’t lost me. I’m here,” he murmured.

“Aaron—”

“I love you,” he said.

Joan heard her breath catch. He’d said that when he’d been inside her, but so softly she’d thought he hadn’t intended to.

This time, there was a hint of misery in his expression that made her chest clench painfully. He didn’t think she felt the

same about him.

She did , though. The events of the day had torn open her heart; had shown her the truth of what had been inside her for so long.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His gaze was steady on hers, but Joan could tell he didn’t believe her. It’ll always be him for you , he’d told her the night that she and Nick had almost kissed. Even standing here with her, Aaron believed he’d always come

second in her heart.

Joan’s chest spasmed again, and she closed her eyes. She felt Aaron’s hand cover hers. He pressed their hands firmly against

her breastbone, and something eased slightly inside her. “You do this sometimes,” he whispered. “When you’re feeling anxious.

You press here.”

Joan blinked up at him. How had he noticed? She’d barely known that about herself.

Aaron dropped a kiss to her temple. “The Court Guards still aren’t here.”

“Maybe you were right,” Joan said. “Maybe they’re not coming at all.” Maybe Eleanor really was going to make them live here.

For the first time, Joan tried to picture a future in this world. Would she live here in this house, with Aaron? Would she

ever be able to safely walk the streets without a monster chaperone?

And what about Aaron? His counterpart had had a reputation as the cruel ruler of Oliver territory. Would Aaron try to maintain

his counterpart’s pretense so that they could survive here? Joan shivered. She knew him; that would break him. Exactly the

kind of psychological punishment that Eleanor liked to dole out....

“It’s getting colder,” Aaron said. “I’ll warm the room.”

Joan didn’t feel the chill, though, until he left. She tried to counter it with a quick hot shower, scrubbing off the last

of the clay, the last of this horrendous day.

When she came back out, wrapped in a towel, Aaron had drawn the curtains. He’d hung up his suit and Joan’s dress, and he was

straightening up the room.

Aaron looked a little sheepish when he saw Joan watching. “Just habit,” he said. “I’m not used to having a cleaning service.”

He seemed to realize that that might sound strange in a house like this. “It’s hard to explain.”

There was nothing to explain. “I saw your room in the last timeline,” Joan admitted. “Near the kitchen. Where he put you.”

Aaron went still. Joan saw it cross his mind to say she’d gotten it wrong; to say something cutting. That would have been his usual reaction. Instead, he said, “I suppose in one way, this timeline is better than the last. He isn’t here.”

He went over to stoke the fire, his back to her. Joan swayed toward him, wanting to touch him. She didn’t have to push away

that feeling, she remembered. She went over to him and put her arms around him. He tucked her close, turning her slightly

so that the fire wouldn’t be too hot on her bare skin.

He said haltingly, “I know this timeline has its advantages for me. Monsters reign over humans. And I rule over Oliver territory,

with my father exiled. But... I’d never want you in a place like this. I don’t want to be in a place like this.”

“I know,” Joan said. “You’re not the guy your counterpart was pretending to be. Your counterpart wasn’t either.”

Joan could see the edge of his face. She’d seen that expression before, when she’d defended him in front of other people.

It was closer to confusion than anything—like he had no reference for it. His arms tightened around her, and he lifted her

chin to kiss her. His eyes were as honest suddenly as she’d ever seen them. “This thing between us,” he whispered. “Between

you and me. I’ve never felt like this before. I didn’t know I could feel like this.”

Later, Joan was curled up in Aaron’s bed again. He’d gone down to the kitchen to fetch some food. As she shifted, one of the

pillows fell to the floor. She pushed aside the canopy curtain to grab it, and something caught her eye. A book. The Riverside Chaucer. It had been pushed between the mattress and the canopy’s frame.

Joan reached for it curiously. At her touch, the room seemed to ripple around her. The timeline had stirred—for the first time since Eleanor had locked it. The feeling reminded Joan of when she’d touched Nick’s signet ring. As if the timeline was interested in what Joan was doing.

She opened the book on her lap, searching through the table of contents—mostly out of habit. She knew the cipher numbers from

Nick’s ring by heart now.

9 1894 1, 9 1671 6, 7 161 7, 12 108 6, 2 2229 4, 14 56 6, 11 2141 5, 3 3199 6

She found the ninth chapter: “The Summoner’s Tale.” Each line was numbered, and she flipped pages until she reached: 1894.

The first word hit her with a jolt. Aaron.

She sat up straighter in the bed. His name couldn’t be here by coincidence. This was the book they’d been looking for—she

was suddenly sure of it.

It was too late to be any use now, she knew. They’d already fought Eleanor and lost. And yet, she turned more pages, looking

for the next word....