Beauty and the Beast (Not Quite the Fairy Tale #3)

by May Sage

  That had done a number on him. There was something intimate about the position; he could have just moved his palm and stroked her silky mane.

  She fell asleep like that; two hours later, he was still looking down, trying to understand the strange woman.

  He finally carried her to her room, smiling as he took in the decoration. The dozens of cushions he’d bought for her had been thrown aside in a corner, along with the bedding and curtains. She’d gone for the generic beige stuff they used downstairs instead. The room was bare and it had bothered him, because she obviously didn’t feel at home.

  He wanted her to be comfortable here, which meant that he wouldn’t screw things up by harming her brother.

  Well, not fatally in any case. He doubted she’d mind the little wound here and there, for the sake of teaching him a lesson or two.

  “You will release Sibelle right now.”

  Aiden just laughed, gesturing towards the stairs as an open invitation to follow him.

  He made a point of stopping to greet each member of his staff, before asking Vera, one of the maids, if Sibelle had awoken.

  “She hasn’t been down yet, sir.”

  “She’s had a long night,” he confided to the thief, probably pushing his luck, but he couldn’t help it; while killing him wouldn’t have been a great idea, he was just itching for a little fight.

  Come on, just a punch or two. The guy had taken five days to come and enquire about his sister. He deserved it.

  Besides, it had been a while since he’d sparred with someone new; Clocks and Lightwoods still gave it a go every morning, but they were getting too predictable.

  Most of his acquaintances were too smart to take on the Beast; however, Ben Thornton had stolen from him, he couldn’t be that clever.

  The thief was pissed, but he refrained himself from anymore foolishness, behaving now he was on his way to see his sister.

  He knocked at her door and called out:

  “Sibelle, you’re up?”

  A sleepy, sultry voice grunted something unintelligible, working to his advantage.

  “Love, your brother is here. He would like to take you home.”

  After a long pause, she asked: “Has he got what he owes you?”

  “I don’t believe so; he had a gun, though. I believe the plan was threatening me.”

  Stupid-ass plan.

  They heard another grunt, clearer this time, followed by a few steps; she was opening the door, a sheet wrapped around her assumingly naked frame – she had nothing on her shoulders, in any case.

  Aiden swallowed. Fuck. A naked Sibelle. He hadn’t signed up for that shit-storm.

  “You mess up and your solution is to kill your way out of it? Really, dipshit?”

  Aiden lifted an eyebrow, surprised to hear his little petname for the thief on her lips.

  “And what happens to Lucia when you go to jail for attempted murder?”

  “You’re right. I messed up. Nothing to do with you.”

  “Everything to do with me,” she yelled back. “Every fucking time, up until the day I stop caring about you. Well, I’m quite obviously paying for it now – in a rather pleasing fashion, I must admit.”

  This, in a flirty undertone, was directed towards him, and Aiden’s mind went blank.

  Women didn’t openly flirt with him like that – not anymore. That little smile was cruel, because he had to remind himself that it wasn’t real.

  “If that’s what it takes to make you realize that you’re ruining our life along with yours, so be it,” Belle told her brother, before grabbing Aiden by the elastic band of his pants and pulling him inside her room. “I owe you, what was it, eighty nine fucks, Handsome?”

  She was talking against his ear, just loud enough for her brother to get every word, blowing hot air on his skin.

  Hell. He’d landed in one of the circles of hell. The growl escaping his throat wasn’t even a little bit faked.

  “Let yourself out, Ben. We’re going to be busy.”

  She closed the door on that note, before drawing Aiden closer and whispering softly:

  “Remember what we’ve said about noises?”

  Fuck. He wasn’t ready for that. How was he supposed to…

  She jumped, clasping her legs around his waist and every thought flew out of the window.

  Sibelle whimpered, and it was all he could do to stop himself from laughing.

  Ok, she wasn’t going to win actress of the year anytime soon; her lack of conviction seemed to be an unexpected grace, until he realized that convincing the brother was up to him.

  Aiden closed his eyes and prayed he was strong enough for this, before turning around, imprisoning her between his arms and the doors.

  She attempted another “oh yes,” so pathetic he actually chuckled. It was all good, though; she wasn’t supposed to really enjoy this.

  But then, he dipped his head on her neck and dropped his lips just there, enticing a long, low moan from her. That one wasn’t faked.

  Aiden felt himself smile against her skin.

  Fuck it. There was no chance that they’d end up like that again; might as well enjoy it.

  His hand ran from her waist to her throat, slowly, sensually, earning various gasps every time it grazed a sensitive spot.

  “You’re terrible at faking it, Sibelle Thornton,” he murmured against her ear. “So, I’m going to make you sound convincing.”

  He swallowed her reply, his lips taking hers, and making her forget her own name.

  He was good at that; but he hadn’t been certain he was good enough for her to forget what he looked like, or why she was here, until her sweet, soft, electrifying lips returned his kiss with fervor.

  Aiden was hard as a metal rod and there was no way she didn’t feel that, as her legs were wrapped around his waist, but he hadn’t expected her reaction to it. Instead of running for the hills, she grinded against him.

  Fuck. It took everything he had, but Aiden managed to regain hold of his senses.

  “Enough,” he breathed. “Your bother left.”

  He’d been gone for a good five minutes, but never mind.

  Sibelle’s gaze was hooded, and her eyes didn’t leave his lips for a while. He almost felt the wheels turning underneath the dark curls and it killed him.

  Because he knew what was happening. She was aroused; he’d done a good job of working her up. And right now, she was wondering if she wanted him to finish what he’d started.

  Then, she looked down, blushing so beautifully watching her almost hurt.

  “Right. Well, thanks for your… help.”

  Aiden managed to maintain his expression while pushing his frame away from hers; his face didn’t betray anything before he’d left her room and closed the door behind him.

  Only then did he break into a humongous grin.

  Fuck.

  Where had that come from? He had not expected it. Not at all.

  Aiden had spent years of his life perfecting the art of seduction and by nineteen, he’d been a master at it, so if there was one thing he knew, it was women.

  Until today, he hadn’t even bothered reading her amber eyes, because he’d expected to see nothing in there.

  Today, he had though. Her eyes, her lips, the hands she hadn’t hesitated throwing around his shoulders.

  That was a woman who wanted him.

  Him.

  He had no idea how that was possible, but he was not questioning it.

  The most beautiful woman in Gaia fancied herself a Beast.

  A novice would have taken her then and there, against the door, but Aiden knew she was confused, probably wondering at her own sanity right about now.

  If he’d taken her, she would have bolted – and when a creature like him unexpectedly had a shot at a woman like Sibelle Thornton, he was in for keeps.

  Which meant playing his cards right.

  Chapter Seven

  Guards

  She was stunned, lost for words, numb to it a
ll.

  It had been something between five minutes and five days since the Beast had released her from his hold – she was completely incapable of effectively measuring time.

  She recalled the way his hard frame had fit between her legs, thought of the prominent bulge grinding between her thighs, and shivered.

  Eventually, she gave herself one hell of a pep-talk and managed to get on her feet.

  She needed to occupy her mind and spirit with something; anything.

  It was her day off – the library opened seven days a week, and as most people liked to fight for weekends, she’d claimed Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Normally, she’d spend the day reading, but for once in her life, the idea held no appeal: she needed activity to stop her mind from going back to the Beast. Losing herself in romances featuring beefy, tall, cocky alpha-males was not going to help.

  She texted Lucia, who came back to her announcing she’d be free around three in the afternoon; she needed to see her, anyway – it wouldn’t be long until Ben got hold of her and tried to rope her into staging an intervention or something. Lucia needed the whole story beforehand.

  So, that left a little over five hours to fill in. She was considering a run or a stop at her dojo when her stomach groaned, redefining her priorities.

  First, breakfast.

  The one thing her apartment didn’t have was food; she’d already got Clocks to direct her towards the kitchen downstairs, so she made her way there, weary.

  The fridges were the domain of Cook. She didn’t know his name, but he’d been introduced as such. He was a small but compact man, barely her height, at least twice her weight in muscles; he might have been attractive, if it hadn’t been for the multiple facial piercings – through the bridge of his nose, all around his lips and his eyebrows. As it stood, he was pretty fucking scary.

  If her short sojourn in the Nest had taught her one thing, it was the fact that she was extremely sheltered; things outside of what she considered as the norm frightened her.

  But she wasn’t going to let it define her, so she did her best to smile, and said hello, swearing she’d never again make a stranger feel insulted by her ignorance, if she could help it.

  Cook smiled back. She shuddered – but discreetly.

  There hadn’t been a buffet or any readymade sandwiches on her first day, so she’d assumed she was expected to fend for herself if she didn’t arrive on time for the communal meals.

  Wrong.

  Cook almost roared when she approached the fridges. Roared.

  “I cook,” he told her in a rough, unpracticed tongue, pointing towards his chest.

  Then, he’d stood there, and for a beat, she wondered what he wanted from her. Tentatively, she hazarded:

  “Could I have some food?”

  “What food?” he replied, hands held out to indicate his own confusion.

  Oh. He’d wanted her to tell him what she would like to eat.

  It wasn’t the kind of stuff a girl like her was used to; she’d taken care of herself her entire life. Sure, Lucia and Ben had helped, but it was different – that man wasn’t sharing the load.

  He was serving her. What a mindfuck.

  “Mh… Mushrooms? If you have any.”

  “If I have?” the strange servant exclaimed, sounding insulted. “You sit. I make good mushroom.”

  Actually, he’d made the very best fucking mushroom she’d ever eaten, with lemon, chives and butter, by the looks of it. But that didn’t negate the fact that she was dumfounded by him. It wasn’t only his intimidating appearance; that, she could get. There was something else about him. His voice was confusing her, for one. Every single kingdom around the entire planet had agreed to use Common Tongue as their principal language over a century ago, yet he didn’t seem fluent.

  “Has Cook learnt another language, first?” she’d asked Clocks.

  The man had just laughed, with a mysterious “you could say that.”

  There was a story there, and Belle wanted in.

  Considering every mystery around this place, there was a good chance she’d never want to leave.

  Today Cook knocked her socks off with a bacon and egg sandwich she’d had to lick from her fingers once she finished.

  She’d been on her way out, trainers on her feet, running bra and lycra pants on, when a loud thud distracted her. Then, there was a scream – someone had fallen down.

  Following the noise, she walked past the grand staircase, to a door she hadn’t spotted underneath.

  She pushed it, looked inside, and then, tried to pick up her jaw from the floor.

  When the shock passed, she walked in, took a seat, and watched the show.

  There were an infinite number of different martial art styles and techniques; hers was a who-cares-as-long-as-I-win mixture between stuff she’d picked up over the years; she’d taken classes in everything taught by the local youth club, and researched the rest, so she had no problem recognizing most traditional styles.

  This was the Guards’ Dance.

  The men were armed with a long cane, holding a sword, and they used both like an extension of their arms – the cane was there to protect them as well as to surprise and confuse their enemies.

  It didn’t work – from either end – because the three men were that fucking good.

  Clocks and Lightwoods had teamed up, against the Beast and Adler. Well, Adler wasn’t actually taking part, but he was definitely on the Beast’s side: every time either guy managed to get close to his back, Adler gave him a warning bark.

  She’d never seen the dance before – she’d read about it and seen some picture of the canes, but no one practiced it nowadays. Only Jereenan Royal Guards were trained in that art – and they were pretty damn useless now.

  That’s when Belle realized whose house she lived in.

  Ten years ago, the cowardly son of King Armand had run from his responsibilities, completely changing the fate of his kingdom – for the worst. Jereena had been prosperous until then.

  The Prince’s desertion had affected everyone in one way; he was to blame for so much pain and sorrow.

  Amongst those whose life changed after his departure, were his Guards.

  The Guards’ entire existence revolved around protecting the royal family; the three King’s Guards were still faithfully surrounding him, which was the only reason why his detractors hadn’t found a way to get rid of him, yet.

  Everyone had wondered what had happened to the Prince’s.

  Obviously, they were in front of her, running a seedy club fifteen minutes away from the palace, probably bidding their time until they were needed.

  Belle, like most Jereenans, hated them for protecting the archaic regime that should be overrun, for the good of the entire kingdom.

  However, she couldn’t deny that they seriously rocked.

  There was a reason why their sparring technique was called a dance, they were so light on their feet, so damn unpredictable, yet graceful – she wanted to take notes.

  The things the Beast did – like dropping and kicking his cane towards his adversary at the perfect level for it to bounce right back into his hands – were insane. And he also did it half naked, exposing the eight-pack under a layer of sweat. Seriously, eight. What the hell was wrong with six, dammit!

  Clocks managed to land a blow on the back of Beast’s neck after twenty minutes of trying and the Beast just laughed it off and gave him a thumb up.

  He’d beaten the shit out of them and thrown them all over the place, but apparently, they won by just touching him.

  The match was finished after that; the guys shook hands and separated; Lightwoods left, after ruffling Belle’s hair on his way out – Clocks gave her a little wink before stepping on a treadmill on the other side of the gym.

  Beast strolled her way in his damn low sweatpants showing off that V of his, carved on his slim waist. She was all but drooling; that body should be immortalized in a bronze sculpture.

  Then, as men tended to, from
time to time, unfortunately, he opened his mouth.

  “You shouldn’t have come in here – it’s not safe for a lady.”

  ♦

  One minute, Sibelle was smiling up at him, absentmindedly stroking the dog begging for her attention, and the next, pissed off didn’t even begin to describe what her face was conveying.

  He thought back on his own words and smiled; she didn’t want to be seen as a hopeless damsel in distress.

  That was hilarious. She didn’t even reach his nipples – there was no way he’d ever see her as someone who should take care of herself. Oh, sure, she might very well be able to, but that wasn’t what his instincts were screaming at him while he looked down.

  He wanted to protect her, lock her up in an ivory tower to ensure no harm would ever come to her. Oh, and while he was at it, he wouldn’t have minded tying her up to a bedpost and screw her into next year.

  He shifted to ensure she wouldn’t see the physical manifestation of that scheme – although she would have had to be completely blind to miss his boner; sweat pants weren’t known for their restrictive attributes.

  “You can watch anytime,” he clarified, holding his hands up in surrender. “Just make your presence obvious, first. We’ve thrown each other into walls before.”

  When he’d noticed her, about fifteen minutes ago, she’d already been sitting down, and he didn’t know how long she’d been there.

  A fucking accomplishment – he and the guys were generally aware of their surroundings. She was silent as a huntsman, but that particular skill could be dangerous here.

  “So,” she said, an edge to her voice; he could already tell they were going to tread on thin ice. “You guys are the Prince’s Guards, right?”

  Aiden stared, completely taken aback.

  Shit. What was he supposed to say to that? From her expression, he could already tell she wasn’t a royalist.

  “I take it you’re not a fan.”

  “That’s one way of putting it,” she snorted.