Judas Bane

by Hera August

  Belle flinches at the intensity of his sharp words. “I didn’t mean that—”

  He hits the edge of the table on the way to the door. She flinches, feeling the vibration course through her body.

  “Just be happy you’re not being forced to sleep in the cell,” he rasps. He turns his back on her, continuing in a bittersweet tone, “Some of us rich people weren’t so lucky.”

  “My God...” Belle gasps, and feels her chest begin to swell and close in.

  “What?” he spits. He slides her a sideway glance. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

  Ignoring the spark of anger she sees flashing in his cold blue eyes, she decides to try her odds. “Judas... were you... were you locked up in there as a child?”

  "Shut. Up,” he says through gritted teeth. “This isn’t why I brought you here. You’re here to obey me. That’s it.” He turns his face away. He doesn’t say anything for a minute. “Finish eating,” he finally speaks up, with no emotion. “Then go to bed. I want you up early and in my room first thing so I know you haven’t tried to escape. You start cleaning first thing.”

  Belle looks down at her plate. She can’t bring herself to watch him leave. There can be no happy ending. Not for her.

  A thousand thoughts swirl in her head, and she’s barely aware of her surroundings as she makes it back to her room. She doesn’t trust Judas, but he’d revealed so much of himself tonight; a side Belle wants to understand. If he was abused as a child, it may explain why he became a killer, and why he is the way he is, with her...

  This could be a key to the mystery of why he’s doing this to me... It’s somewhere to start, at least…

  Changing into her chemise, she gets into bed, switching off the lamp on her nightstand. As she thinks of her family, and the fact that her only company for the next ninety-nine days will be a cold manipulative bastard, loneliness overcomes her, and she quietly weeps into the darkness.

  IT’S OPEN…

  Belle paces back and forth in front of the door. She had drawn out her morning bath as long as possible, dreading this moment. With her heart nearly in her throat, she pads into the Devil’s lair.

  Belle blinks a few times. The light from the sunrise coming from the window illuminates the room just enough so that she can see. The balcony is hard to miss with its heavy dark velvet curtains slightly rustling in the morning breeze, exposing the countryside that extends out for miles.

  His bedroom alone is bigger than her house. There’s a gaping black marble fireplace, and on the other side, through a wide glass wall, is an en-suite twice the size as hers. She notices a large mirror that extends from the floor to the ceiling, positioned across from his bed.

  Of course you’d be that vain, considering the giant ego you tote around with you.

  Her eyes settle on the king-size four-poster bed with carvings depicting gargoyles on the rich dark-wood headboard. The bed is a virtual sea of black and wine-colored satin linens and throw pillows.

  And there he is.

  Sleeping.

  Belle treads lightly across the dark marble flooring, looking at Judas’ sleeping form. As she nears the side of the bed, she can see the crimson and black bedspread is thrown back slightly, only covering him from the waist down.

  Her heart kicks fiercely in her ribcage. He’s naked from the waist up, at least. In his quiet state of repose, he’s an exquisite sight. His dark hair is wild and unruly, and his face is serene and peaceful as he sleeps. Her eyes trail over his golden chest, his chiseled marble-like torso and across to his lean abdomen, where the rest of his body disappears under the twisted sheets. They dart back up to his face as her cheeks begin to feel warm and her heartbeat seems to thrum in her ears. She holds her breath, fearing the subtle noise of her breathing will wake him. His face is so beautiful, that she is almost tempted to let her fingers drift across his jawline...

  Belle catches herself at that point. He’s the one making her life hell, after all. She needs to wake him and get this nightmare over with.

  Belle softly clears her throat, which suddenly feels dry and scratchy, and whispers, "Judas..." Nothing. She tries again, "Judas... wake up."

  This time he stirs slightly before he rolls onto his side, facing her. He’s still sleeping. Belle sighs. This isn’t going to be easy. But nothing ever is with Judas. Reaching out, she nudges his shoulder. The feeling of his taut skin under the palm of her hand, sends a jolt of excitement through her, and she feels her heart begin to hammer as he stirs underneath her touch. Quickly, she withdraws her hand, her palms tingling.

  Suddenly, his piercing blue eyes are blazing into hers, and she feels her breath catch in her throat. "You...” she barely breathes out, “…you told me to come to your room. Remember?"

  He inhales deeply before glancing past her, his eyes read the digital clock on his nightstand. "Yeah... and I see you took your time,” he croaks. “And from the state of you—not sure why." Belle opens her mouth to argue, but he cuts her off, "Don’t be late next time."

  He turns toward the other side of the bed before she can defend herself, and flings the covers off, rising out of bed. Belle gasps.

  Judas is naked.

  Butt naked.

  With his back still facing her, he stretches. Watching his muscles contract and tense underneath his tight skin, her body shivers with heat.

  Lacerations, both superficial and very deep, mar his back between his shoulder blades, and a few run down his lower back… She remembers her father mentioning that Judas was an underground fighter.

  Are they fight scars…? But… some are the size of a man's thumb and appear as if pieces of flesh had been gouged out… They look more like whipping scars rather than—

  Judas turns, and she averts her eyes, whirling around to face the opposite direction. Her cheeks feel so hot, that her face feels like it’s on fire. She hears him open the glass doors, then hears running water. She keeps her eyes fixed on the door. "I-I... I'll just go... wait in my room."

  He did this on purpose. Being naked. Of course he did.

  As she starts for the door, his booming voice stops her, "Wait. I want you here." Belle flinches and stands chilled-to-bone as a heavy dread creeps over her. Judas’ voice cuts through the room, only adding to her distress. “Does me being naked bother you? I mean, if you can’t handle it because you like what you see—”

  “No! No I don’t. I don’t care,” she rambles, her eyes rooted ahead. She makes a sudden dash for the door handle. "Look I'll just wait in my—"

  "You’re staying, Belle." Exhaling through gritted teeth, her body seems to sag with the tension. She hears him pulling on some article of clothing just before he demands, "Come here."

  Her throat itches and her chest tightens. The very air feels warm and suffocating as she slowly turns to face certain doom. She’s careful to keep her eyes cast downwards, and crosses her arms to conceal her trembling body. Staring at his feet, she’s relieved to find his lower half covered in his jeans.

  "Boots," he orders. Belle fetches his boots by the door and sets them next to his feet. When she straightens, he’s buttoning up a fitted navy shirt.

  Belle tries to avoid glancing at the tanned flesh of his chest, but she catches herself too late; when she looks up, his eyes settle knowingly on her. She takes a step back, unable to look away. He is every bit the imposing man that he’s always been. Judas doesn’t miss her appraisal. "So... do I look good enough?" he smirks.

  He’s loving every minute of this torture. Mustering her bravado, she straightens and asks, "Are we done here?"

  "You so eager to start cleaning? Or, is it that you’re afraid of being alone with me?"

  Belle begins to retreat. "Please,” she scoffs, “you don't frighten me."

  Without warning, he advances. Her heart kicks fiercely into her ribcage at the sight of his predatory eyes set on her, and he lowers his mouth to her ear. "I beg to differ," he purrs. He brushes her hair behind her shoulder and breathes against her skin, his
lips hovering dangerously close to the side of her mouth, "I think you’re petrified."

  Nervous excitement courses through her, but she resists from buckling underneath him. "Whatever, Judas,” she mutters, jerking her face away. “Just tell me how I’m supposed to spend my day?"

  He smiles as he draws back. “Just a bit of manual labor."

  "Let me guess. You want me to polish all your boots or—no wait—you want me to clean all your toilets?"

  "No,” Judas laughs. “As tempting as that is."

  "Why don't you enlighten me then."

  "Clean the main living-room. The last party I had... Well, the women weren’t exactly ladies. You know how it is."

  “No. And I never want to.”

  Judas gestures for her to follow, and soon she finds herself standing in the entrance to a grand living-room. It isn’t a pig-sty. It is much, much worse.

  "What the hell happened in here?" she asks.

  "I won a fight and things got a little carried away."

  “A fight?”

  “Yeah. I fight. Something to pass the time with—like cleaning.” Judas opens up a broom closet near the door. "I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy."

  Belle sighs as she reaches for the vacuum. It could have been a lot worse. A whole lot worse.

  A few hours later, Belle dumps the mop into the bucket, and as she stands, fire courses through her back and arms. She rolls her shoulders as she tosses the cleaning supplies back into the closet. She turns, wincing when she stretches out her sore limbs.

  That’s when she notices Judas. He’s watching her from the doorway. Belle remains silent as he approaches, taking in her handiwork. "Yeah... you’ve done all right." She’d half-expected him to saunter in and point out places she'd missed. But he didn’t. It should relieve her tension, but it makes her uneasy. "You’re probably hungry. Join me for lunch." It isn’t a question, nor does it seem like an order. A genuine invitation. Belle suddenly feels she’s on another planet.

  Why are you being so… nice?

  Unsure of his intentions, she trails behind with caution. They remain silent until Judas walks past the dining room. "Um, Judas, where are we going?"

  Without so much as glancing in her direction, he answers, "Outside. Thought you might want some fresh air."

  Fresh air is exactly what the doctor ordered. Still, she can’t shake the suspicion that Judas is up to something. It’s almost as if he’s going out of his way to impress her. Her tummy sinks as her mind churns. He’s yet to make a smug comment.

  They head out into the grounds, through the back doors, until they reach what appears to be a picnic lunch; a spread of sandwiches, fruit, cakes, and coffee.

  Twenty-minutes later, finished with her meal, Belle leans back on her elbows and closes her eyes, reveling in the feeling of the warm Sun on her aching body. "So, what's the big occasion?"

  "Occasion?” Judas grins. “What’d you mean?"

  Belle doesn’t move from her reclining position as she gestures to the picnic lunch. "Why all this? Why are you suddenly being so nice?"

  "Just thought you might like to have lunch outdoors. Appreciate some friendly conversation."

  She holds her hand up to shield them from the glare of the Sun. "Friendly is hardly the word that comes to mind when I think of any past conversation we've ever had."

  Judas shakes his head, and laughs. "True. But there's no reason we can’t enjoy this time."

  "You aren't actually proposing that we can be friends?"

  Leaning against the tree behind him, Judas crosses his arms. "Stranger things have happened."

  Belle looks away. "I don’t want or need friends I can’t trust." Moving to sit up straight, her shoulders flare, and she grimaces.

  "You're in pain." She shakes her head. "Belle, you’re favoring your right shoulder."

  She rubs her hand over her back. "It's just a little sore... I probably strained it when I was mopping your floor."

  Judas gets up, and before she can argue further, he seats himself on the grass directly behind her. Her body stiffens as his hands close over her shoulders. The intimate touch makes her head swim. Heat floods to her cheeks. And then comes the caress of his voice at the back of her neck, "Relax... This won't hurt."

  It isn’t pain that Belle fears; it’s the possibility that she may become a slave to his touch. Belle tenses even further, locking her shoulders. "You don't have to do this... really."

  Judas' mouth is dangerously close to her ear as he soothes in a whisper, "Shssh... just relax, will you."

  Belle nearly melts just at having his mouth so close to her skin. As his hands start to knead her shoulders, she feels the tension run off her, like water off the curve of her back. The sensation of his hands massaging her shoulders is nothing short of erotic, and Belle feels wicked for allowing herself to yield to the pleasure of it. His hands hotly explore her back as her blood hums in her veins. She feels her senses slipping; she’s going to die from the exquisite feeling. This is no ordinary massage. A touch to feel so good, is not natural. His fingers seem to reach deep inside her… she wants to scream from it.

  And then it happens.

  She leans against him.

  Her head falls back. Her eyes close. And her flesh tingles on every inch of her body. Belle is putty in his sinful hands as his thumbs knead the flesh around her shoulder blades. Then his hands fall to her sides, and she bites her lower lip; his fingers are so close to the sides of her breasts, further tormenting her. The thought, and the desire for his bare hands to rub against her exposed skin, causes a soft moan to escape her lips. Her body tenses, but it seems to encourage him to play more forcefully.

  Belle is completely helpless to the euphoria he is causing her. Her body clings to him, his scent, his fingers, and she starts to see stars as her head lolls back farther, her breath burning in her lungs. Just another moment, just another inch… It seems as though he knows—knows what she needs, what it will take…

  “Belle...” he says, whisper soft, in her ear.

  “Hmm...?” she groans, lost in the deep tone of his voice.

  He brushes his hand down her arm and her pulse skitters. “I can make you feel good in other places too... Stop pretending you don’t want this.” His fingers play with the strap of her top. “Let me show you... just how good I am.” When he brushes her strap over her shoulder, cold realization shakes her. She opens her eyes, fire burning in them. Her hands reach back, shoving his hands off her shoulders. "That's enough," she hisses, breathless. Struggling to regain her composure, she gets up. “What do you think you’re doing?” she rasps.

  “What?” She watches the corners of his lips tug slightly as he speaks. “I’m just being that nice guy you keep telling me I am. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

  “You’re acting.”

  “I can never win with you,” he grunts, standing up.

  Why is it that no-one can push her buttons the way he can?

  Belle decides, there and then, that she’s had enough of baiting Judas. She gathers all the strength she can and reciprocates his unfeeling demeanor. "So what's my next cleaning task, your Highness?"

  “Take the rest of the day off,” he replies, fixing the collar of his shirt. “I won’t be in tonight, so help yourself to anything in the kitchen. But you report to me tomorrow morning. Is that clear?"

  Her eyes vacantly stare at a point of air past his shoulder—anything to not look at him. She suppresses the urge to tell him what a jerk he is. Instead, she thinks of her family.

  "Crystal."

  She’s certain now. Her inkling had been right. Judas is trying to seduce her. But why?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  BELLE IS SUFFOCATING.

  This place is beginning to drive her mad. She can see the Moon through the window she left open, but the scant amount of breeze does little to alleviate the stifling atmosphere.

  She had gone to bed over two hours ago, but here she is, still wide awake. She shifts under her covers, tossi
ng and turning, but it’s no use. And the turbulent thoughts that plague her mind, keep her from getting any peace that sleep will bring.

  Over the past fortnight, she’s been grateful that aside from waking Judas up in the morning, he’s left her alone. But she can’t deny that she’s starting to feel lonely…

  As much as she hates him—and other than thinking of her family—her thoughts keep straying to the way Judas makes her feel when she’s around him. No matter how much she tries to write off all the nervous excitement as cold hard fear—deep down, she knows better. He makes her blood boil, but at the same time…

  God, that massage… His kisses…

  …he awakens her. She’s come to both dread and crave the moment that she will see him next.

  Belle wrestles with her blankets, finally throwing them aside. She isn’t going to get to sleep anytime soon, so she may as well get up and study. She switches the lamp on, but stops as something occurs to her. She thinks back to earlier that day. Judas had been out all day, again, and she had spent most of the time with her head in her textbook; in this private little cozy room she found deep in the recesses of the mansion. Belle had decided to make good use of the deal by studying. If Stanford is no longer an option, then she’ll go somewhere else. She won’t give up on her dream.

  But surveying her room, she can’t seem to find it. Come to think of it, she doesn’t recall having it in her hand when she came back to her bedroom after dinner.

  Damn it. I must have left it on the table.

  She glances at the door to her bedroom. Then, as if by instinct, her eyes drift to the door to Judas’ bedroom. It’s the middle of the night, and he’s more likely asleep. Maybe she can take this opportunity to snoop around a bit.

  She pads over to her window, and standing on tiptoes, she cranes her neck to peer out. She can just barely see Judas’ balcony, and to her relief, not the slightest hint of light is coming from his room.

  Good. He’s most definitely asleep then.

  Seeing that she’s already feeling stuffy, she forgoes putting on her robe, and sneaks out into the dark hallway. She wanders the halls aimlessly for a little while, knowing her way around quite well now, and has no trouble navigating her way through the labyrinthine corridors.