Villain (3 page)

“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?

He could not want this woman!

But the alluring scent of her arousal had filled his nostrils, tantalizing in its sweetness, its promise of fulfillment. Her face was plain and homely, her eyes wide, a light shade of honey with little specks of green. Her lips were sexy, sensual, the lower lip plusher than the top one. Although she’d held her hair secured behind her face, he could make out the shine on those lovely brown tresses, and he’d ached to bury his nose in it. There was something so achingly sensual about her, so familiar even, in the way she’d looked at him.

All he’d been able to think of as his tongue plundered her mouth was sinking into her warmth. Would her wet little cunt grip his cock, massage it until he’d spilled every last drop of cum inside her? How would her nipples taste inside his mouth, and would she moan as he suckled them?

Groaning, he flipped the top button of his pants open and lowered the zipper, pulling the fabric down to his hips until he’d freed himself. His cock jerked as it popped out. He stared down at himself, at the bright pink color of his balls, the corded veins rushing with blood along his shaft. The swollen, plum-shaped head of his member glistened with cum, and as he curled his fingers around himself, he groaned and closed his eyes.

“Stella,” he told the dark, his grip closing hard as he pulled and jerked his dick in earnest. “I want to fuck…Christ, I need to fuck your pretty little cunt.”

He rolled his hips in circles as he touched himself, using his free hand to cup his balls. His testicles were full and heavy in his hand, balled tightly with need as he played with them. Drops of cream spurted on the head of his rod only to dribble down toward the folds. He wished he could put his mouth around himself so he could suck his own dick and pretend it was her warm, sweet mouth on him. He wished he could have Stella’s mouth locked around his cock while Faith did what she used to, buried her little fingers inside his ass.

In his mind, that’s what they did. He stood with Stella on all fours before him, desperately eating his dick; his hips humped wildly as he drove himself deeper and deeper into her mouth. Faith’s tongue was licking the swell of his buttocks, two of her fingers pummeling into his ass, parting the tight tunnel with fast, hard stabs.

Gabriel groaned, wondering what it would feel like to sink deep into Stella McKenna’s tight, wet cunt, wanting to know the feel of her pussy gripping around his dick, and to spill his milk inside her. He spat on his palm, then fisted his hand around his cock again, telling himself it was her cunt around him; taut, hot, wet. The smell of her arousal still clung to his nostrils, and he held on to it as he fucked his hand. No, not his hand.

He was fucking Stella McKenna. Fucking her like he wanted, like he needed. Her pussy was slick and syrupy, tightly clamped around him.

“Stella,” he groaned, envisioning her naked body under his, her cunt clenching his cock as he pounded inside her. He cried out as a third finger entered his ass, fucking him with equal vigor.

“Ah, Faith.” The words rumbled from his chest. “Oh, baby, I miss you. Yes, baby, fuck those fingers in, screw ‘em in, fast and hard.” He, too, screwed the luscious Stella McKenna fast and hard.

His hand squeezed around himself, mimicking the spasms he’d feel inside her cunt. Air hissed from between his teeth at the sudden pleasure exploding through him.

A deep, loud cry echoed in his ears, his body rocking out of control as he spilled himself in his hand…all over Stella McKenna’s hot, sweet pussy while three sure fingers continued to pound into his burning ass.

For an eternity, he lay panting on the ground, his pants slung low around his hips, his cock still rigid against his belly.

By all saints, he wanted to fuck again, and again, and again. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t remember ever having felt so hot, so desperate to screw someone, except with Faith. His body was a living hell, his nerves quivering in desperation, his body shaking with stark, hot need for this strange woman who’d barged into his life and complicated everything.

Gabriel didn’t want to even think of what would happen if she dared to come back again. He’d have to hold his ground, keep his desire in check. He couldn’t yield to it, or the spell might be broken, and Faith would be gone to him forever.

“Come to me, Faith. Please come to me now,” he whispered hoarsely. Before he broke his vows to her, before the magic waned, and before he lost her.

I swear by everything I am, I will not age a minute until you come back to me
.

His words, spoken in a last goodbye as he lost Faith’s body to the flames, were like a slap in the face now. Every day he told himself he was a day closer to being with her again. And to think of risking losing her forever because of some foolish, sick lust!

Reaching toward the pile of filthy clothes beside him, he lifted his scepter and stared into the glass ball at the top of it. A diamond sparkled inside the glass cocoon; the smooth wood handle of his staff was thick and heavy in his hand, as long as his forearm.

If only he’d found that diamond sooner, he’d have paid that lowly gangster, bought Faith’s problems away from her, and she would have never—ever—done this to herself. To both of them.

Yes, it was Gabriel’s fault. He should’ve found this stone long before. He should’ve stopped the wedding. Should’ve killed the man who had stepped between them. Then, at least Faith would be alive, even if he’d be rotting in a prison somewhere.

Prison was far better than the sheer agony of this infernal wait. Better than the torment of having to be in his own company forever. Better than this wretched solitude.

“Do you at least remember me, Faith?” he asked hoarsely. “Do you remember me at all?”

* * *

No moment during the following weeks passed without Gabriel tormenting Stella’s mind. No thought at all without him being there. Stella swore she could hear him, hear him whispering inside her head, his deep baritone voice so easily distinguishable.

Come to me. Come to me now
.

Was she making up these words? Did a fanciful part of her long to think these words real and true and meant for her?

Stella even wondered if this was how people became crazy: imagining things, imagining being haunted by dead people, imagining being put under a spell. Stella thought that at this rate, she’d go mad come winter, and be sent to the asylum like some of the older folks. The doctors there were reported to summon preachers to treat their clients, determined to rid their possessed souls of the dark spirits.

She wondered if Faith Harrison’s spirit was dark. Was it inside her, and accountable for her tortures?

Stella took great care not to let the townsfolk see her turmoil. They’d seen enough during other occasions, and she was loath to be subjected to their merciless tongues. All they saw was Stella McKenna, always keeping to herself. Hardly anyone noticed when she started to shake, or when her eyes looked red and bloated. No one came close enough to feel the heat emanating from her body; and they gratefully didn’t notice the fevers this time. Maybe they were used to them. Or maybe they were used to ignoring her altogether. Stella went about her day as usual, but there was nothing ordinary in her thoughts, in the way her sex would throb, contract and loosen, eager for a touch. For his touch.

Sometimes she couldn’t take it, it felt so acute. When the desire came too harsh, she would stumble to an alcove or a narrow alley and hide under the shadows so she could touch herself. She’d let her sensitized breasts spill out of her dress, let the air brush her nipples, let her fingers slip inside her underwear and let herself remember the memories. Those memories she had stolen from someone else, and which she sometimes wished were her own.

Sometimes…
most
times…her body welcomed this torment. The haunting.

Unlike the town, where the hate kept growing, along with the stories.

Mr. Fenton’s dog was apparently poisoned one evening. His neighbor had threatened to do so if he didn’t get it to cease its infernal barking, but no one remembered that. They were all in accord, the Villain was responsible. The weather had been gloomy, with rain and thunder marring the skies constantly throughout the week. That was the Villain’s fault as well. Mrs. Trinity’s grandchild had been stillborn, and her daughter’s health was in peril from so much loss of blood. That, too, seemed to be the Villain’s fault.