Villain

He was doing the same to her, taking in her cl

othes, her face. He appeared to be weighing her, measuring how much of a threat she posed, trying to determine the reasons behind her visit.

“Say something,” she said, unnerved by both his gaze and the silence. There was something odd about him, a power, an ancientness, like the town’s, as if he’d been stuck in time for ages.

He took a while in doing so, his voice velvety soft when he spoke. “You’re in the wrong place to be looking for a chat.”

She swallowed, wondering what in the world he was staring at so intently. There was only so much of her to look at, after all. Yet he was doing it again and again, studying her, over and over, his roaming gaze heating her body better than a bonfire would.

What could he possibly find so enthralling? she reflected. She’d never been looked at in this particular way.

She suddenly wondered if her ankle-length brown skirt had turned sheer. Or did the short-sleeved ivory cotton shirt display too much of her bosom? Or, dear God, did she miss hearing a story, perhaps one about him having X-ray vision?

“Have you spoken to no one all this time?” she finally asked, hoping to draw his attention away from her body.

His laugh came fast and filled with cynicism, the sound so craggy it was surely much more alien to him than his voice. “More than your years,” he said after he recovered.

He resumed his study of her, only this time, he slowly circled her. Things—she prayed they weren’t alive—crunched beneath his boots at each of his steps while his ruthless eyes explored her.

Stella felt like the ugliest fish in the market.

She even had to rein back the impulse to squirm, licking her lips instead, unconsciously fiddling with her fingers in front of her.

“They say you’re a witch. Is that true?” she asked.

Halting before her, he flicked his wrists upward, and with shocking speed, a rope curled up to wind itself around her waist, wrenching a startled gasp out of her.

“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.