Page 6 of The Heart of a Villain

Yet everyone stays oblivious to it and my mother’s suffering, even Rafael.

Maybe that’s why I’m called a villain.

Although, deep down, I hope not.

I hope one day to become a prince and not a creature who disturbs the peace of others in order to do what he wants.

Because the prince would do what is right.

Yet a prince would never go against a king.

I will, though.

If it means saving my mother from pain.

Aileen

Piercing pain assaults my senses, ricocheting through my entire system, while my eyelids desperately try to open, only to close again when the hurt intensifies by a thousand notches.

My head is about to explode, and I’m yet to find who holds the detonator.

My groan echoes in the space, the sound disturbing my ears and adding to the discomfort. I shift a little and hold my breath when my nape starts to ache, and no position seems helpful.

Since when does my bed feel so uncomfortable, bringing with it hurt rather than relaxation and peace?

“Come on, darling. Wake up and look alive.” Something splashes on my face, the cold droplets hitting my skin and tapping on my nerve endings, breaking goose bumps on my flesh as uneasiness rushes through me. “We are on a tight schedule here. You can get your beauty sleep later.” More frigid liquid splashes on me, and I finally peel my eyes open, gasping in shock at the face inches away from mine.

He dips his fingers in the glass once again, ready to flick more water on me, when I shake my head. I instantly regret it, breathing hard through my nose, and my fists clench.

“Rush,” I whisper, happiness filling me to the brim while relief washes over me at the thought that all the horrible images playing in my head had been nothing but a nightmare.

He must have found me in the storm and brought me back home, which means I didn’t hurt him too bad, and the knife never touched any important organs.

Not that it excuses the crime I’ve committed in his eyes, but right in this moment, him being okay is all that matters to me. Because deep down, I never wanted to bring him pain or deceive him, despite him kidnapping me on this island.

Which is such foolishness on my part, as the heart of a villain always stays cold and soaked in darkness that no amount of love can ever cure.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him close to me, the water spilling between us, but I don’t care and just tighten my hold on him.

Pressing my lips to his, welcoming the warmth emitting from him in spades, I sigh in relief, wishing to wash away any thoughts about the possibility of ever meeting his twin, who hates me so much and would sacrifice me if he so wished.

A gasp escapes me, his mouth opening a little above mine as we share a breath, and my heartbeat speeds up. Memories about our single encounter pop into my head as my nails dig into his skin.

And freeze… because the masculine scent teasing my nostrils reminds me nothing of the earthy and stormy smell attached to my villain, and my body recoils at the contact instead of welcoming it.

A chuckle rumbles the stranger’s chest, the vibration tickling my skin, and he says, his husky voice sending fear through every cell in my body, “Ah, darling. I have to say I didn’t expect you to have such fond feelings for your captor, aka my twin.” He waits a beat and adds, “Stockholm Syndrome is a thing after all. Live and learn.” His hot palm settles on my back as he glides it up and down my form, burning my flesh and creating uncomfortable sensations that scream at me to leave the trap this monster set up for me.

Oh my God.

My nightmare is my reality after all, and he exists!

I push him away, scooting back until my spine connects with a soft cushion, and my nails dig into the leather so hard a scraping sound echoes in the space. My gaze stays trained on the stranger, who exhales in boredom and gets up. His low-hanging jeans on his hips and open white satin shirt showcase the V of his chest and carved body, which might as well be a sculpture for how detailed and beautiful it is.

But then, that’s not surprising, right? The monsters need to wear mesmerizing masks in order to catch all unsuspecting creatures in their clutches.

“Who are you?” I ask and then cough because my throat is so dry it’s a wonder I can speak at all.

It feels as if thousands of ants are biting on my skin from inside out, sending annoyance and discomfort to all my nerve endings.

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