Page 12 of Hunted By the Headless Horseman
Careful and cautious, I take a few of her thick, auburn curlsbetween my fingers before retrieving my blade and snipping off a few locks. My first keepsake of Belladonna Holloway.
Turning to the doorway, I take the steps to the first level, intending to memorize the layout of her bookshop. A small kitchen is tucked into the back corner, and I admire how tidy the kitchen is, bereft of dirty dishes. I discover a plate of scones next to the refrigerator and can almost smell the aroma.
If the scent is not directly bound to Belladonna, it is more difficult to inhale.
My fingers freeze at the sudden touch of a furry creature nudging against my arm from the nearby counter. Tension tightens my chest, and I prepare for the cat to unleash a series of spitting hisses and perhaps its claws, but it doesn’t attack.
With a warmth spreading through me, I scratch its ears and its cheeks as cats love. The little bell upon its collar jingles. A strange emotion washes over me, one I haven’t felt in a long time. Gratitude wells up in me at the cat, who is every bit as sweet as its owner. It’s a sense of acceptance, of belonging, of something so innocent. It does not see me as a monster. Belle is the same way.
After I retreat from the kitchen, I hear the subtle little jingle trailing my steps while I explore the bookshop. Twinkle lights adorn many of the shelves, casting a warm glow all around me. Incense sticks rest in holders upon shelves. Sandalwood, perhaps? Or cinnamon. Although the candles scattered throughout the shop are unlit, their waxy silhouettes stand ready, adding to the intimate, almost magical ambiance.
The books are meticulously organized on the shelves, their spines undoubtedly creating a tapestry of colors and textures. Some are worn and weathered, with frayed edges and faded titles, while others are crisp with the newness of untouched covers. The seating areas are welcoming—leather armchairs draped with soft, knitted blankets, beckoning visitors to sit and lose themselves in a story. The small, vintage-style tables nearby are perfect for resting a cup of tea.
It’s clear Belle takes great care with her shop. Cozy, inviting, and lovely in its vintage aesthetics, this bookshop must be a popular locale. A place where time slows and theworries of the world melt away. I felt much the same with a glass of brandy in my hand as I sat before a crackling fireplace, reading a thick novel while my wife would grumble about her latest needlework attempt, her fingers too chaotic and impatient for such tasks.
But oh, how my Catherine could dance and sing and entertain our guests while I preferred the company in the nearby cigar lounges. She could also out-drink me any night and had the annoying luck of winning at whist, quadrille, chess, backgammon, and any other popular game.
Much coveted before our courtship, it took weeks of persuasion over the competition to secure a visit. And many stolen moments at parties.
It has me wondering what sort of stolen moments I will share with Belle, though I am beyond thankful she lives in an era where escorts and courtships are unnecessary. Oh, I will court her in a way, but I have every intention of acting more of a cad for this sassy, sweet girl, who requires the strength and domination of a man like me.
While she is capable and strong, she has too much heart and romantic sensibilities. They rule her in the scales of life, outweighing any sense of strong-willed power. If this bookish coquette of a Belle has the capability of anger, I imagine it would be a fearsome thing to behold. A cauldron bubbling over. Fitting, for she has beguiled me, entrancing me with her spirit.
I return to her bedroom.
In another hour or so, midnight will pass into the next day. Until the sun rises, I will remain here, protecting her and reaping the honor of doing so. As dictated by the curse, I must remain hidden during the daylight hours.
But at dusk…I will return to tempt her, to possess her, and to make her mine. Yes, Belladonna Holloway will be mine to hunt in every sense of the word.
7
What, I wonder, is a headless, horny man to do?
BELLE
Inotice a visible lightness in my steps as I go about my normal day at the bookshop. More energy. And several regulars remark on how I’m smiling even more than usual.
It’s not just a result of getting a mind-blowing orgasm last night. It’s the suspense of Jack’s hunt, and my thoughts are whirling with what will happen next. And as exhilarating as the image of me running through town in a Victorian bridal dress with a headless horseman galloping after me, we don’t need to frighten the elderly to a quick heart attack.
Or worse! Start a fan club of monster romance lovers chasing after my Jack. Did I just saymyJack?
What will he do tonight? Where will I meet him? Can I find his manor without him?
I do my best to tame the wandering thoughts as I go about a normal, busy day in Belladonna’s Bookshop—my grandmother’s choice of name. Proud warmth spreads through me at the memory of her telling the tale of how she named me while my mother was still asleep, and my father hadn’t arrived yet.
Apparently, they were vexed, but she pulled the “honor your elders” card, and they reluctantly agreed while sticking to Bella for most of my life and hiding the rest.
To Mimi, I was always Belladonna or Belle. BecauseBeauty and the Beastwas my favorite fairytale, like so many other cliche bookworms with a monster romance complex.
My Blackmore’s Night Autumnal Playlist echoes faintly from the overhead speakers, and I do a little twirl on my leather ankle boots to their “Locked Within the Crystal Ball”. Because these moments are mine. My burnt orange and black plaid dress swishes as I gleefully bring out a tray of fresh, frosted pumpkin cookies.
Reading books and selling them is my profession. But baking is my favorite hobby, and too many local folks know me and have no qualms about partaking. I’d never sell my treats. They deserve to be enjoyed by all, especially in October.
Evening customers quickly snatch a cookie. ‘Only two a piece, please’, my frame sign reads—so there is enough for everyone.
I swing my thick braid onto my back, though a few recalcitrantcurls frame my face. Pumpkin spice Rice Krispies treats will be tomorrow.
“I love your belt,” a ten-year-old girl gushes while holding a Dr. Who, Time Lord Fairy Tale book.
