Page 53 of Once a Villain (Only a Monster #3)

Joan worked vainly to unmake the golden tattoo on her wrist: a lion, snarling, its mouth open in a roar.

“Hands behind your back!” the guard snapped at her, and Joan swore as the cuff forced her wrists to the small of her back.

Nick and Aaron were fighting the puppet-on-strings manipulation too, but not even Nick could break it. All three of them were

forced to stumble onto the street as gawkers looked on.

“They’re saying she tore a hole in the timeline! That girl!”

“Is that Lord Oliver with her?”

“Can’t be!”

They didn’t seem to recognize Nick at all. With Aaron’s jacket buttoned over his tunic, he didn’t look much like a gladiator.

Outside the pub, a van waited, hearse-black with a coat of arms on the door in gold. Joan glimpsed the seal of the Monster

Court: Eleanor’s rose, the fanned feathers of a peacock, and the winged lion. And then she and the others were thrown into

the back, the doors slamming shut behind them.

Nick scrambled up, hands still stuck at his tailbone. He kicked at the closed doors—hard enough that daylight showed through

the crack, then kicked again as the van started.

“Stop that!” There was just one guard in the van—a woman in the driver’s seat, with dark hair scraped back into a bun, shiny as lacquer. She fumbled open an object that looked like an arcane pocket watch: the controller for the cuffs.

Nick turned. He judged the weight of the clear screen between them and the guard, but before he could kick at that , the guard ordered, “ Sit! Stay! ” as if they were dogs, and they were flung onto the van’s benches, forced to sit.

Joan couldn’t shift in the seat. Her hands were still stuck behind her back, and her shoulders seemed glued to the wall. She’d

ended up next to Aaron—close enough that their upper arms brushed as the van moved.

Nick had been tossed onto the bench opposite them, and he gritted his teeth now, fighting to free his hands.

Joan strained to get a finger on the tattoo, but her wrists were crossed. She tried to reach Aaron’s, but the angle was wrong.

“Do you have your controller?” she murmured to Aaron under her breath. He’d brought one with him from the previous timeline.

Was it on him now?

He shook his head, clearly annoyed with himself. “Back at the house,” he gritted out.

“Where are you taking us?” Nick demanded to the guard.

The woman glanced at him in the rearview mirror. She was younger than Joan had first thought—in her early twenties at most.

Her slash of red lipstick reminded Joan of Ruth. “London Bridge,” she said shortly.

Joan exchanged a look with Nick, a shot of horror running through her.

They’d passed the London Bridge guardhouse when they’d first arrived in this timeline—it had been the building crowned with spiked heads on turrets.

If they were being taken there, they’d likely be interrogated and then executed.

Now that Joan had been arrested, Eleanor would know they’d all replaced their counterparts. She’d figure out that Nick was

alive, and then she’d go after Jamie, Tom, Ruth.... She’d kill them all.

The guard flicked a knob on the dashboard, and a violin-heavy classical piece started.

Aaron scowled. “Vivaldi.” His voice was strained, though; the reference to the London Bridge guardhouse had scared him too.

“Are you disparaging my taste in music?” the guard called through the screen.

“I’m disparaging your judgment .” Aaron forced a note of arrogance into his words. “Do you know who you just arrested? I’m the head of the Oliver family—I

could have you dismissed for this! I could have you thrown into the arena!”

“Dismissed and thrown to the lions?” the guard said mildly. “Perish the thought.” She had an odd, arch way of talking; everything came out

mildly sarcastic. Joan had no idea if she believed Aaron or not. “Well, if I were you, Lord Oliver , I’d keep your mouth shut. You were found in the company of a dangerous fugitive—this girl just tore a hole in the Queen’s

timeline, and her wanted poster is plastered all over the city.” She flicked a look at Joan. “The warrant says you’re wanted

for high treason against Queen and Court. What exactly did you do?”

Joan shrugged—as much as she could with her shoulders pinned. Was there some way to get Aaron and Nick out of this? “Don’t know anything about that,” she said. “Don’t know these two guys either. They just got caught up with me when I was arrested....”

The guard rolled her eyes. “If you say so.” She pressed a button, and a second screen came down. This one was opaque, and

must have been soundproof, because the music abruptly stopped.

And that meant Joan, Aaron, and Nick were effectively alone again, in a silence that suddenly felt far too thick.

In the chaos of the tear, and then the arrest, Joan had almost forgotten the conversation between them all. Now it all came

flooding back—every terrible word.

Last night shouldn’t have happened , Aaron had said.

And Nick had looked at Joan like she’d torn his heart out. Like he’d never imagined she’d hurt him like that.

Outside, the van windows showed the buildings of Westminster, pale as gravestones. The withered tree of the Argents rippled

on flagpoles.

“So who wants to go first?” Aaron said dryly.

Nick ducked his head, his dark hair falling over his eyes. “Do you really want to spend our last hours talking about this?”

Joan swallowed. It occurred to her belatedly that Nick didn’t even know all of it. She and Aaron had slept together last night—just

hours after Nick’s supposed death. “I’m sorry,” she said. It came out hoarse. She’d never wanted to hurt anyone—let alone

Nick.

Nick lifted his eyes to hers, and Joan’s throat tightened at the pain in them.

Aaron growled deep in his throat. “For God’s sake,” he said to Nick. “She loves you . It’s always been you! If you’d seen her last night—the state of her... She thought you were dead?? !”

“The state of her?” Nick said to him slowly, something dark entering his voice. “What are you saying? You took advantage of her?”

Aaron paled. Some part of him did think that—he’d suggested it himself. Nick’s expression turned dangerous.

“ No ,” Joan said. “He didn’t take advantage.” That wasn’t what had happened. She thought again of Aaron’s expression in the mirror

last night, and she swallowed. She’d told him she loved him, and he hadn’t believed her. He still didn’t.

Nick gave Joan a long look and seemed to see the truth in her face. His shoulders loosened slightly and the danger left his

eyes. It was replaced by new hurt as the implication of last night clicked for him. He’d figured it out himself. He’d realized they’d slept together.

Behind her back, Joan clenched her fists and opened them. She didn’t know what to say. Everything that came to mind would

only make things worse. Just like back at the pub, the world felt half-unreal. Her chest spasmed. Yesterday, she’d thought

she’d lost Nick. Today, she was sure she was losing him and Aaron. Maybe she’d lost them already—Aaron had been pulling away from her since they’d found Nick alive. And Nick... Her

throat felt tight.

“ Joan! ” Aaron said urgently.

Joan turned and saw a spark in the air—the beginning of a tear. She gasped as it vanished—left behind by the van.

Nick looked shaken. He’d seen it too.

Joan swore. At least the tear had been tiny this time. Barely noticeable.

“There’s an emotional trigger,” Aaron said, realizing. He’d always been sharp.

Joan had had the same suspicion—she’d been deep in her feelings when she’d torn a hole at the colosseum, and again at the

pub. And now here. “I—I think so. I don’t know how to control it.”

“An emotional trigger?” Nick tilted his head, frowning.

“She tore a hole in the timeline when you died,” Aaron said tightly. “At the colosseum.”

Nick’s mouth opened slightly; he hadn’t expected Aaron to say that. He turned to Joan, searching her face. There was something

buried in his expression that she couldn’t read.

For a long moment, only the grinding engine of the van filled the silence.

Aaron spoke first. “Listen,” he said heavily. “We need to figure out how to get out of here. If we don’t, we’re all going

to die today.”

Nick’s shoulders dropped. “At least we wouldn’t have to finish this conversation,” he said wryly, and Aaron acknowledged that

with a soft huff of breath.

Joan thought again of their counterparts—they’d been together, despite the horrors of this world; they’d been in love. What

would they think if they could see themselves like this?

She took a deep breath, trying to push away her stiff misery enough to think . Aaron was right. If they didn’t escape, they wouldn’t survive the night. “We need to get these cuffs off,” she said.

“Can you unmake them?” Nick asked her.

“I tried. It didn’t work.”

“It wouldn’t,” Aaron said. “Court tools are resistant to family powers.”

“How do the cuffs work, then?” Nick asked him. Like Joan, he’d forced himself into a thinking headspace—he’d always been practical.

She knew him, though. All his feelings were still roiling underneath.

“There’s a mental component—the controller responds to the wielder’s thoughts. It’s not easy, and the farther away the captive,

the more difficult it is to maintain contact.”

“So if we can get far enough away, we can run?” Nick said.

“ If we can get far enough away. There’s no particular proximity limit, though. It depends on the wielder’s strength of will.

And that guard driving us has to be very strong-willed to control all three of us at once.”

“So it requires focus?” Joan said.

“A lot of focus. I honestly didn’t think it was possible to control more than one person at a time.”

“What if we break that focus, then?” Joan said. “What if we divide her attention? Would she lose control of us?”

“Perhaps . ”

“We need to make a distraction,” Nick said.