Villain

by Red Garnier

  “You tell me,” he said, his lips stretching into a full smile.

  Stella gripped and pushed at the rope. “Let go of me!”

  A spark of anger lit his eyes before he narrowed them to slits. “State your business here.”

  Her heart began pounding so fast she even feared it would jump out of her throat. The rope wasn’t squeezing her, but it felt alive around her, like a boa constrictor, and she inwardly panicked, wondering what else he could do to her with that slight flick of his wrists. “Let me go,” she said through the little breath she had in her.

  “What do you want?” The harsh tone in his voice scraped over Stella’s skin like sandpaper.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice quivered as hard as the rest of her.

  Without the slightest move on his part, not even the flicker of one eye, the rope suddenly loosened around her, falling heavily at her feet.

  “I’m not a monster,” he told her. Stella thought there was a trace of sadness there, in his tone, his eyes.

  Striving to catch her breath from the scare, she smoothed her hands over her waist, checking her ribs for bruises, making sure everything was working properly—she suspected something wasn’t, otherwise she couldn’t possibly be feeling so dizzy—and then said, “This woman…Faith Harrison…”

  “Don’t.”

  His tone was stern, yet not completely discouraging. She drew in a steadying breath. “They speak about you in town,” she began, slowly starting to circle him like he’d done to her only moments ago. He remained utterly still, letting her walk around him at leisure, letting her eyes wander over his body, down his broad back, past his lean waist, across his narrow hips.

  Perhaps he’d find feeling like a fish up for sale wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

  Then she realized she was foolish to even think he’d feel intimidated. A man of his size! His height and breadth alone were enough to make anyone concerned for safety.

  Stella had expected someone older, a disfigured troll maybe, but not this man. The Villain shouldn’t be so handsome. Or so young! It was as if he hadn’t aged at all during these years. To even think of what Mrs. Grimwald would give to know the recipe!

  “You’re not as old as I thought you’d be.” Stella moved quietly around him now, taking her turn.

  He grunted, and although she didn’t know what that primitive sound was supposed to mean, she smiled nonetheless. At least he was communicating. “They say she broke your heart.” She paused a few feet away from him.

  He kept his eyes averted, almost giving her the impression he was ashamed. “I have no heart.”

  Oh, but he did. A pulse throbbed at the base of his neck, steady and fast. “They say you’re responsible for the fires. They say—”

  His head whipped up, his gaze sparking up dangerously. “That I killed the woman I loved, is that what they say?” One second he stood ominously still, and the next he was gripping her jaw so tightly her teeth almost fractured. “Get out of here,” he hissed.

  The Villain released Stella in an instant, leaving her completely winded, making her think that it would be marvelous to let the likes of him alone, if only Faith Harrison left her alone, too.

  “If you know people don’t want you here,” she said tightly, “why don’t you leave?”

  Is it because of Faith? she thought, but dare not ask him.

  “Why don’t you?” he countered.

  Her shoulders stiffened almost automatically. Was it that obvious, her dissatisfaction with the state of her life? “I can’t leave my mother alone,” she found herself saying, though why she should confess herself to him was just another of what was becoming a long list of unsolved mysteries. “My dad left us years ago. It would break her heart if I left her, too.”

  “A classic little martyr,” he said, the contempt in his voice telling her exactly what he thought of those. “I knew one in my days.” He crossed his arms, his face distorting into a sneer. “So tell me, wandering young miss. Has your morbid curiosity been satisfied yet?”

  “My name is Stella,” she said. “Stella McKenna.”

  And for some reason, he only stared at her with those fathomless eyes, refusing to tell her his. “Answer me,” he said sharply. “Have you seen enough to go back and gossip to your friends and live your boring little life?”

  Stella had never cared much for gossip. Ms. Windham’s mysterious affair with the barber didn’t interest her, nor did Doc Hill’s toupee, or Mr. Farmer’s sudden weight loss. But she couldn’t help but be enthralled by the tales about him, tales about the Villain. “Oh I don’t care all that much for the local gossip,” she said, then shrugged. “They gossip about me, too.”

  He looked doubtful, his brows slightly rising. “Who did you kill?”

  There was the barest hint of a smile on his face, a trace of the man he must have once been, and strange little things fluttered inside Stella’s stomach.

  He looked very attractive when he smiled.

  “Look, um, er…Villain. I would like to help you if I can.” And maybe you could help me find some answers. She finished off her words with a sincere smile, thinking how he should very much appreciate that someone cared enough to do something instead of only gossip. Thinking what a relief it must be for him to realize there was someone willing to do something to help!

  Yet he looked affronted not only by her smile, but by her offer, and the way his face reddened left no doubt as to the direction of his temper.

  “Would you, Stella?” he asked with unnerving gentleness. He gripped her upper arms, squeezing her flesh with rough, calloused hands. The feel of his filthy flesh against her own shouldn’t have excited even Ginger Thomas—the biggest slut in town—and yet it excited Stella McKenna. A lot.

  It sent her heart racing to what would surely result in a coronary, her breath nearly expiring from the experience. His eyes looked even darker up close, turning blacker still when they settled on her breasts, which were so very near his chest she could almost feel her wanton nipples extend out to him. She felt a clenching pain in her belly, her legs, her chest. Something she’d never felt before. Her thighs felt loose and liquid, barely doing their duty of holding her upright.

  Jerking his jarring gaze back up to hers, he spoke in a low hiss. “You want to help, and what do you expect from me in return? My heart was given long before your day, my soul has been bartered to the devil, and my body has suffered for so long I’m sure it’s anything but gentle.” He pulled her against him to prove it, letting her feel him, all of him, his strength mocking the way her softer, smaller body molded to his. “Tell me. Do you have fantasies of being seduced by the Villain, of being fucked until your heart stops, of being robbed completely of your innocence?”

  Had he not been mocking her, she would have admitted that at this very instant, she did. Images swam inside her mind. Images of his lips, plush and surely warm, gently moving over hers. Of the rough hands on her arms spreading her shirt apart and smoothing over her naked flesh. A wanton shudder coursed through her.

  Instead of skimming across her skin, his hands tightened around her arms, squeezing out a reply from her hesitant lips. “Don’t hurt me.”

  “I told you to leave. What is there to stop me? Tell me. You?” His seductive whisper spread over her womb like liquid satin while one of his fingers slowly ambled down her shirt. “I don’t live by your laws. Your God forsake me long ago, and I have nothing to live for. Why should I stop, tell me?”

  A needy sound quivered up her throat, her eyes heavy as she gazed up at him through a thick fringe of lashes.

  He squeezed her arms until she yelped, and then he shook her, almost snapping her neck. “I am not seducing you, you fool! My words are true and meant to scare the breath out of you. If you had any sense at all, you’d leave now!”

  Stella didn’t move, and like him wondered why she hadn’t taken herself and her sorry old brown skirt out of here some time ago. Common sense said she should be frightened. She had no doubt some of the
stories about him were true, and the man certainly didn’t look like one with much compassion. But rather than someone cruel, she suspected he was merely troubled. Otherwise why would his hands feel tremulous on her? Why would his voice suddenly turn hoarse? And why would her body yearn for his like it had never yearned before?

  Hadn’t she determined she was frigid long ago?

  Yet not even the merest fraction of her body felt anything even resembling cold. Not even partly cold. She was more than a little warm and…

  She was filled with a deep, acute longing. The feeling was too sharp to be altogether pleasant, but it made her feel deliciously alive.

  His grip slackened on her arm, his gaze falling to her lips as she nervously licked them.

  She felt the brush of his knuckles across her jaw, a touch as gentle as the sigh it produced in her. “Should I be afraid of you?” she asked.

  He ran both his hands brazenly down her ribcage, scraping past the sides of her breasts. “Yes,” he said, hauling her against him only to seize her lips with his. Desire raged inside Stella, coursing through her blood and clenching around her womb as hot, forceful lips parted over her own.

  Her knees buckled, and she moaned when his mouth slanted over hers, his tongue thrusting wet and sure inside her. His steady arm kept her from falling, one hand over the back of her head, the other shifting to cradle her buttocks and hold her against him.

  She yielded to him, responding to the thorough, scorching strokes of his tongue with a fierceness with which she had never been acquainted. Her mouth was ravenous on his, taking everything it could. She felt suddenly so starved, overwhelmed at her first taste of lust. She was sure she could eat him whole and still yearn for more.

  He sucked on her tongue, greedily, his lips latching onto it as he drew it into the heated moisture of his mouth. Hot pulses of hunger shot through her; wanton sounds tore from her chest only to die on his mouth.

  His grip clenched around her rump, holding her body firmly against his while she gripped his arms and rubbed her body against his with desperation. “Please,” she sobbed against his lips, scraping her nipples against his chest.

  He turned rigid, then ripped his mouth away from hers. “Leave.” A hand clamped around her elbow. “Leave now.”

  She felt weightless, dazed as he hauled her toward the entrance of the cave, his strides long and determined. “I have nothing to interest a woman of your kind. I never have.” He pushed her out onto the sand, his face both dark and poignant under the moonlight. “Don’t ever come back, ever, or I won’t be held responsible.” He turned to leave, but her quiet words made him turn back to face her.

  “Wait, please. I didn’t mean to…I mean, I didn’t…oh, crap.” Stella bit her lower lip and put her arms around herself, shivering as a burst of cool wind surrounded her. She had no way of explaining what had happened, and yet she knew she wanted more, wanted to stay here with him. Sensations swam inside her, fast and wild and exhilarating. Now, out in the moonlight, away from the fires of his kiss and the dark cocoon of the cave, she felt cold and lonely and abandoned.

  “Trust me. There’s nothing here for you,” he said, his voice gentler now, and though she saw him reach out to her, his touch never came. His hand dropped before she could feel it, and then he stormed back into the cave.

  Of all the…!

  Yet insults failed to formulate, for all she could feel and think and know was that she ached for this man, for the solitary, mysterious Villain.

  It was a long, long way home.

  * * *

  “Where were you, Stella? I was worried sick! Kevin was here, and I had to reassure him you were already in bed, or else he’d think you’re completely lacking morals!”

  “Not now, Mother,” she said tiredly, closing the front door behind her.

  Her mother stood at the base of the stairs. Her eyes were wild, her gray-streaked hair tucked into a nightcap, a few loose tendrils escaping confinement. “Stella, this town is not safe to wander alone at this hour.”

  Stella slowly walked past her to the stairs, her hand sliding up the balustrade. “Please, not now.”

  Chapter Two

  It was a spell. It had to be because it wasn’t a dream. Her eyes were wide open, and every part of her body ached. Little pricks of wanting stung between her legs, and her nipples felt so sensitive even the stroke of air made them throb.

  The Villain stood at the foot of the bed, like a vision or a dream or a big, breathing chunk of magic. He should have been a stranger, and maybe he was, but she felt as though she’d been waiting for him, for this, forever.

  He was watching her with dark, lustful eyes as she lay there, over a tumble of sheets, naked and needy and waiting for him. And oh, how she wanted him. Enough to beg him. Enough to call him to her. Enough to know he wanted her too.

  She knew his name somehow, knew it as she knew her own heartbeat, moaning it out to the dark.

  Gabriel.

  She must have heard the name before. Her tongue hugged the word as if familiar and dear to her.

  Come here and kiss me, Gabriel Hunter.

  A pleased, guttural sound vibrated in him as he slowly advanced and lowered himself above her, stretching the full length of his naked body on top of hers. Her thighs parted for him, already weak and limp with desire. The engorged tip of his staff grazed her inner thigh, teasing the curls between her legs, and just that fleeting touch had her bucking up and spreading her legs wider.

  He groaned low and deep, palming her buttocks with his hands, squeezing the firm, supple flesh. Then he was shoving up inside her, driving into her with a long, hard thrust.

  She bucked under him, taking him in completely. Sweat coated their bodies. Moans and groans tore from their chests while the slick, swollen muscles in her cunt locked around his shaft, and he began to pump her.

  He dragged his burning mouth along her neck, his teeth sinking into her flesh, making her cry out and then beg, “Please, please.”

  He gripped her ass hard as he rammed inside her. Again. And again. Harder. Faster.

  Then her world shook, tremors rocking across her body, and they were so real Stella felt herself convulse over the bed. When she opened her eyes a brief moment later, she could still see his face lingering above hers.

  Then she heard him, his voice soft as the flutter of wings, his hands firm on her face. “Don’t marry him, Faith.”

  A few shallow breaths later, Stella heard the quivering reply. “I have no choice.”

  Stella felt her heart clench, suddenly realizing this was no dream. No spell. No vision.

  They were memories.

  Not her own, but Faith Harrison’s.

  * * *

  His hands couldn’t stop trembling as he stared into the fire. He raked them through his hair and swore. For the past two hours, he’d been sitting next to the flames with his knees up, elbows on top, and now he tiredly rubbed his face with his hands. So many years had passed, and she still hadn’t come to him. Almost thirty years, holding his breath…and still nothing.

  He stared into the flickering flames. “Where are you?”

  He’d done everything she’d asked him to, even though now he knew he shouldn’t have. She’d asked him to stay out of it, let her do what she must do, and he’d listened. He should’ve done what he’d wanted to. He should’ve killed that son-of-a-bitch gangster who was threatening her family. He should’ve stopped the wedding and taken Faith and everything she held dear away from this sorry little town. He should’ve made her his wife despite what the townsfolk said and what her parents thought. And he should’ve used his magic, learned to control it before it was too late.

  Yes, he’d killed her. If he hadn’t been so weak, if he hadn’t listened, if he hadn’t…

  It was too late now.

  All that was left for him to do was wait, and cling to the meager remains of hope he had left until she came.

  The stranger who’d come to him tonight, so beautiful in her simplicity, in
the way she’d stared at him with such candor, had been stealing into his thoughts for the past two hours. He was the witch, yet he felt as if she were the one who’d put him under a spell. Something had thumped inside him fast and steady, while his loins had stirred like a burning torch at the sight of her.

  A long time had passed since he’d been so close to another human being. So long since he smelled something other than his own stench. So very long since he felt the warmth of a body. Her kiss, her taste…dear God; it had been so much like Faith’s.

  His body—that traitorous, mortal thing—had trembled with the need to sink inside her, to rip off her clothes and taste every inch of her with his tongue. This unexpected rush of desire angered him. Frightened him.

  He’d had so little to give Faith so many years ago. A poor mine worker, with powers over which he had yet to learn control. He’d had no money, no education. All he’d been able to offer was his love, and his word.

  He’d promised her, at her insistence, her fears. “I swear, I’ll never be with anyone else, or love anyone else, but you, baby.”

  “Swear it! Swear it by your magic!”

  “I do. I swear it by all that I am, including my magic.”

  “And I,” she had said with a wide, pleased smile, “will never love another man, want another man, but you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “No,” he’d said with mock seriousness, smiling when she gasped. “So you’d better show me.”

  “Villain,” she’d said with a playful scowl, and he’d twirled her around while she shrieked and clasped her hands behind his neck.

  Gabriel couldn’t even bear to remember. He couldn’t bear to think of her without feeling so completely, unbearably sick.

  For over thirty years, his magic had seen to it that he kept his vow. He’d never wanted anyone or anything else. Yet now…he wanted someone else. So much that every bone in his body ached. His muscles felt tense, his member throbbing to the point of pain. Should his magic cease to work its spell now…how would Faith ever come back to him?