Beauty and the Beast (Not Quite the Fairy Tale #3) (2 page)

Furthermore, the Beast would call Ben, begging to send Sibelle back within a week.

There was zero chance of anyone managing to tie her up to a wooden post. Ben could be considered a badass, compared to some, but
please
. He was an amuse-bouche.

Belle had signed up for self-defense classes as soon as she’d been at leisure to do so, and she’d never stopped. Hell, in the recent months, she practically lived and breathed martial art; she taught it, practiced it, and then, used it. She could kick major ass.

It hadn’t been a hobby, but a necessity. She was pretty. Some called her beautiful. In Jereena, that meant that someone tried to rape her about once a week, minimum. 

They rarely came out of the experience physically able to use their dicks on anyone else.
After scheduling an appointment with an estate agent first thing the next morning, they finished their drinks and parted ways, heading in different directions.
Belle embraced them both and while it was perhaps out of character, they weren’t complaining. Nor were they aware of her hand as it skillfully withdrew from Ben’s pocket.
His contract clasped in her fist, she took the time to look at both of their figures while they retreated, and smiled.

There was nothing she wouldn’t do for them. Nothing.

Chapter Two

the Agreement

T
here was something incredibly wrong with the smell of the building. Or rather, incredibly right.

Regardless of how much scrubbing the night janitors did, Aiden could always detect that distinct sex, alcohol and sweat blend underneath it all. Today, he failed to notice it. All he smelt was honey and cinnamon.
“Shh,” he murmured, soothing the hound barking at his feet.

Aiden knew the feeling, though: this scent was alluring, enticing. He generally didn’t emerge out of his room until ten or so, given his work schedule, but he had to get up and investigate.

Adler on his heels, he pulled some PJ pants on and made his way downstairs, eager.

Had Cook randomly decided to bake some sort of cake? Aiden didn’t officially have a sweet tooth, which meant that he couldn’t request treats, but if cookies, pies or muffins were on the menu, he was
not
missing out.

He met Clocks in the corridors and the man seemed shaken. Whatever the issue was, it wasn’t good: Jerome Clocks hadn’t even blinked when Aiden had woken up looking like
that
one morning.

“The sister is here,” he told him in one labored breath.
Ah.

The thief had surprised him again. He hadn’t expected that.

In one hand, Aiden was glad for it: getting someone’s sister, rather than a mere pile of cash, was going to say a lot about his character.

On the other hand, she would be a pain in the backside. What the hell was he going to do with
a girl
here?

The obvious wasn’t an option. Aiden didn’t take women without their consent. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to do so either. Making her work for him as some sort of underling was an option, but he was already overstaffed.

He sighed and turned towards their waiting room, but Jerome Clocks unexpectedly caught his arm.
Another strange thing. No one voluntarily touched him, these days.
“Be careful,” his oldest servant warned him gravely. “Something isn’t right. She...”

While his face remained hard to read, his scent was clear: there was a healthy dose of fear there.
“What?”
“There must be fay in her. Or something. At least, some sort of Gift.”

Aiden’s entire body became absolutely rigid.

There had been a time when he might not have taken that particular advice seriously, but he knew better now.

He’d pissed off a fay descendent once, and he had the face to prove it.

“Why would you think that?”

Those with fay blood generally belonged to prestigious lines and what he’d recalled of his research had indicated that the Thorntons had been farmers and merchants for generations.

“Because she’s… pretty.”

He said the word tentatively, as though he was trying it for size. Then, satisfied with it, Clocks nodded, adding: “Very much so.”

Aiden was lost for words. He distinctly recalled the solemn guard shrugging and admitting that Silvia Undine was “nice,” when they’d met the Alenian bombshell; the Eastlean beauties were deemed “alright.” But the farmer girl was
very pretty?
 

Great.

Aiden really didn’t need the agro.

They walked down to the lobby, and then towards one of the private offices where he received business partners.

That’s where he met her.

By everything holy on this land, he was in deep shit.
The warning had been fortunate. Considering the fact that she came as a powerful punch in the guts regardless, it was quite possible that being prepared for her might have saved him from a heart attack.

There was a woman who could kill with one look; he hadn’t believed they’d existed before this day, but the proof was in front of him. There was a Gorgon. He wondered how many had died at her feet.
Dear goddess, he was growing quite poetic about it.
The woman was standing next to a sleek grand piano when he made it in; her hand rested on the lid, as though she was considering opening it. She was turned towards the window, away from him, but a general aura around her somewhat prepared him for what was to come.

Her silhouette was picturesque, her hands, delicate. She wasn’t tall, but she appeared to be, because her figure was, in one word, perfect. She proved how cruel she was by wearing skinny jeans; they showcased those lean legs and the curve of that perfect heart-shaped ass.

Aiden didn’t see much more at first: she wore a jacket and its hood was up, despite the fact that there hadn’t been a drop of rain since April; not to mention that they were
inside
.

But then, feeling his presence, she turned towards him.

In this instant, he knew just how strong a man he was, because he didn’t fall to his knees.
He also realized just how powerful she was: she took him in, appraising the lithe, long and muscular body he hadn’t really covered, before settling on his inhumane face – the skeleton wrapped in blue-white flesh he knew to be.

And nothing. Just nothing. Her eyes weren’t wide, her breathing didn’t change, she didn’t shiver. She looked at him without disgust or fear; it wasn’t a façade, because he couldn’t smell either emanating from her.

No, he could just smell honey. And freaking cinnamon.

“Do you play?” he heard himself ask, because by that point, something had to be said, and it wouldn’t be relevant, clever or coherent if he pushed himself to formulate anything beyond three words.
She snorted before speaking. Her voice, thank all heavens, didn’t match the face. Rather than the sweet, high, musical pitch he’d imagined, it was broken, low, harsh and hoarse. While these qualities made some parts of him react to it in an entirely inappropriate fashion, it also served to remind him that she was flesh; not some sort of angelic illusion.

“For you? I don’t think so. Let’s not pretend that I popped by for a visit of courtesy.”

She crossed the room, her hips discretely swaying from side to side with each step, and bent down to drop a worn piece of paper on the low table.

Holy freaking hell. Eyes up, asshole.

She was a DD, easy. Of course she was.

Aiden wondered what she’d paid for it. Not the breast – they were natural, damn her! – but the whole package.

Clocks was right: there was magic involved. She wasn’t the sort of thing that nature came up with. Her eyes were proof of it: they were those of a freaking tiger. He wasn’t talking about the stone, but the actual living feline. Red-brown at the rim, yellow inside, and gold with sparkles of green near her irises. That just wasn’t normal. The hair wasn’t much better: most of it was hidden under her hood, but a few strands fell in soft dark waves, reflecting red in the morning light.

Aiden swallowed, hard.

Then, unquestionably proving his point, Adler left his flank without being bidden to do so, for the very first time since the completion of his training over twelve years ago.

He sniffed the woman and carefully approached her hand, propping it with his head, demanding a scratch.

What. The. Fuck.

Adler was a royal hound; a
very
well trained one. He didn’t take food, cuddles, even
water
without permission. Never had, in any case.

Aiden shook his head, wondering if it would wake him up. No such luck.

“So, your brother sent you.”

The guy deserved to be killed for it. Actually, Aiden was all for volunteering his services.

If he’d had
that
for a sister, he would have locked her up under key to protect her until his dying breath.

The woman, fay, witch or
thing,
just laughed.

“You don’t know a thing about a family like ours, if you can believe that. No, I’m here of my own volition. I believe clause two of your little contract did specify that Ben’s debt could be erased if one of his sisters showed up, correct?”

“So, that’s what you’re here for? Repay his debt?”

He didn’t mean to take the next four steps, but he did. She didn’t back off, not even when he was completely invading her space.

Fuck. Aiden didn’t force himself on women, but if she was offering? A hundred thousand was a steep fee, but he’d pay twice that for her.

Inhaling his next breath, he took in the spices that had tormented him from the instant he’d woken up. Scratch that. Ten times. She would be a million mark screw if there was ever one.

“Just to let you know, touch me and my knee is going to collide with your balls,” she informed him and he frowned at the unexpected wave of recognizable pain.

It had been a while since he’d felt it – that shame.

The truth of the matter is: physical appearance is something people grow used to, regardless of how pleasing or repulsive it is.

It had taken a while, but he had accepted his reflection. Acceptance had liberated him: he’d been able to live relatively normally after realizing that there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about his face, his height or the color of his skin.

He’d hidden in his home the first year; then, while he’d ventured out, he’d constantly worn a cape and a mask. It had only been two years ago that he’d come out of the proverbial closet, after meeting Stella.

Stella had been desperate for a job and when Aiden had interviewed her for a shitty position at the bar, she’d offered to suck him to guarantee to be chosen. Crass, but the fact that someone had actually wanted to offer some sort of intercourse despite what he looked like had completely blown his mind – as well as other things.

Human interactions were about give and take. Some gave beauty; he couldn’t, so he offered money or favors instead. Most women were happy to take it.

Apparently, not that one. As she hadn’t even attempted to negotiate a price, he knew better than to push it. Why had he even tried? She was a perfect beauty and he, an actual beast.
But he couldn’t help himself, he needed to know.
“So, you won’t work on your back, or you won’t work on your back with me?”

“Actually,” she replied without breaking the eye contact, “I don’t believe your little contract specified anything about sexual favors. I’m smarter than I look: I know what you’re after.”

She had no idea what he was after, or she would have run the other way, screaming.

“You want to save your face to make sure other hackers don’t try their luck with you. Well, that’s fine: I’m here as requested, until you release me and declare my brother’s foolishness accounted for.”
So that was her angle. He should have been disappointed but found that, in fact, he wasn’t. He hadn’t liked the idea of her selling that body of hers.
That didn’t make a blink of sense. Hell, if she’d wanted to make a commodity out of those legs and that mouth, he would have advertised them and drawn thousands of fuckers to his door.

Or locked her up in his room and showered her body under millions of golden marks to keep her there.
“Fair enough. Well, how much do you make at your job?”

She bit her lip, visibly annoyed at that question.

Not very much, then.

Aiden wondered why she bothered. With her face, her body, her smell, her presence, she could have become a rich man’s wife without much effort. Sure, he’d heard of women who believed about earning their own keeps, but those were mentioned in books – generally historical or fictitious ones. In real life, nowadays, no female said no to security. None of those he knew, in any case.

“Well, any fee for the inconvenience caused put aside, now you’re here, your brother still owes me one hundred thousand marks. Does he have it?”

Of course he didn’t; Aiden could feel his lips curl up when she shook her head. He wasn’t sure why, but he loved the leverage.

“If you don’t want to repay his debts the easy way, you’ll have to work for it otherwise. Your presence is likely to aid my reputation, which is why you will be by my side every evening, from ten to midnight. Then we will retire. Together. You’ll need to make very convincing sounds at some point, to keep the illusion alive.”

Her expression said that she got what he meant: he might not take advantage of her, but people would assume he did.

With a bit of luck, it would be enough to repair whatever damage Ben Thornton had carved in his reputation.

•

“You’re a pig,” she told him, blushing despite her best efforts.

He only laughed, and she felt the vibration of his chest, close as he was.

“I’ve been called worse.”

That, she could believe.

She’d heard a lot about him, too; however, she now saw that it had all been a big, huge pile of bullshit.

From the talk, she’d expected something akin to a wild animal, completely devoid of the slightest human emotion. That sort of threat, she would have acted differently towards, but what she found instead was the opposite: a regular guy. Not even an ugly one. The pile of defined muscles, that V leading down his fleece PJs, and the chiseled, deeply marked features were exactly the kind of stuff romance novels were on about, and she understood why. Preventing herself from gawking took some effort.