Page 76 of Barbi and the Villain

The corner of his mouth pulls up.

“That is the least of Damien’s sins. I have been trying to create a resistance against him, which worked for some time while I searched for clues about the artifact’s location.” He purses his lips. “Someone in my camp must have betrayed me because not only did he know I found new clues about the artifact, but he also knew when I would be at my weakest. I hadn’t fed in months when he ambushed me and locked me in his dungeon, hoping to pry the clues from my mind,” he explains.

I frown.

“Why hadn’t you fed in so long? You said you need to feed daily to operate at optimal strength.”

A rueful smile tips at his lips.

“I used to only feed out of necessity and never from a live donor. You could say you were the exception.” He laughs. “And look where it got me,” he mutters in a low, barely audible voice.

“Why? If you’re such a baddie, why would you not feed from people? You’re the Dark One! Surely you could get away with killing a few people—not that I’m instigating murder.” I quickly put my hands up. “I would never do that,” I whisper. “But what do villains care about murder, no? You killed those guards at the palace with ease.”

“Killing and feeding are two different things,” he muses as he leans back, closing his eyes and tipping his head toward the sky. “I vowed to someone I would never personally feed from another. Although now I have broken that vow…”

“Out of necessity,” I point out.

Why do I feel the need to comfort him? Especially when it reinforces the fact that I’m nothing but a tool to him.

But there’s something about his body language that tugs at my heartstrings. The wind blows his dark locks into his face, but he makes no effort to move them aside. He simply stays like that, face oriented to the sky, eyes closed, and lips parted. It’s almost as if he’s not here anymore—as if his mind has traveled to another location.

I stare at him for moments on end as silence descends between us. All I hear is his breath, complemented by the whoosh of the wind and the sound of the wild animals roaming through the woods.

There’s a tinge of sadness emanating from him, and I have the sudden urge to move to his side and give him a hug—wrap him in my arms and murmur that it’s okay.

But I don’t. I just look at him while he looks at his past.

I draw my knees to my chest and place my head on top of them.

We might not be talking in this moment, but we share something.

Loneliness.

We might be together, but we are each lonely in our own way.

I know my demons well. But what about his?

What haunts him when he closes his eyes?

Bringing the back of my hand to my eyes, I wipe away the moisture coating my lashes.

“I’m going to sleep,” I speak as I get up.

He doesn’t hear me. He remains in his trance.

I take my place in the tent next to the dogs, and I bring their little bodies closer to me, borrowing their warmth.

Nykander doesn’t move.

My lids become heavier and heavier, but until the moment I fall asleep, my eyes are on him.

A deep rumble wakes me up from my sleep. The sound is insistent, preventing me from going back to sleep. My babies stretch around me, whimpering but not waking up. I lay a kiss on top of their heads as I groggily get up to investigate the source of the noise.

It’s pitch-black out.

The fire has almost burned out. Only a few pieces of wood retain a spark, enough to illuminate the outline of a sleeping Nykander caught under the weight of his nightmares.

“Nykander?” I whisper as I tread carefully toward him.

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