Judas Bane

by Hera August

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose control?”

  "I can’t—"

  "Can't or won't?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

  Belle weighs the stakes in her head. Can she risk one night with Judas—knowing there’s more to this than he’s letting on—for her chance to get some escape…?

  She needs to run, feel the cool breeze caress her face as she gulps in greedy amounts of fresh air. She needs the space to think, to feel, to get a grip on what’s happening without being under the microscope of her watcher—or she’ll go mad.

  She needs to run and never stop.

  Her head rises. “Doesn’t matter, since you aren't going to win anyway."

  "Does that mean you'll finally shut up and play me?" he grins.

  She sits down and sighs, "Let's play."

  He smiles, the points of his teeth barely visible behind his lips as he indicates her side of the board. "I believe white goes first."

  Before long, they’re both engrossed in the game. Belle surveys the board contemplating the position of each of her white pieces in correlation with Judas’ black pieces. So far, they’ve each only lost a pawn, and as far as she can tell, neither has an advantage over the other. She takes her time considering her next move. It’s important to develop her defense strategy before Judas begins to go on the offensive. Belle has to be sure her next few moves are flawless.

  "You prefer to take your time before you go on the offensive," he says.

  "Mmm-hmm." She’s hardly listening, trying to decide where to place her knight.

  Judas gestures to her careful maneuvering. "Why aren’t you following your instincts?"

  The last thing she needs is him trying to give her advice. Her eyes dart up to meet his. "Judas, I'm trying to think."

  "I can see that,” he smirks. “You look pretty when you think. You know that, Belle?" He’s trying to distract her with his charms.

  Shameless.

  Belle finally moves her knight with certainty and admits, "I know what you’re trying to do, Judas. I think I can gather what kind of women you’re used to, but—it won’t work on me.” His throaty chuckle belittles her, and her stomach falls slightly. “Anyway…” she mumbles, feeling her cheeks burn, “…following my instincts usually gets me into trouble. That’s why.”

  "Oh really? You’re constantly arguing and going against me. That’s impulsive, knowing I’ve got your family’s life in the palm of my hands." He doesn’t hesitate making his next move.

  After a deep breath, she explains, "Exactly. Around you I get impulsive. Last time I went on instinct...” She looks at the board to decide her next move, finding it easier to think when she isn’t looking into that penetrating gaze, before she continues, “...it got my family nearly killed and me held against my will.” Chancing a glance at him, his eyes darken, but he keeps his concentration on the game at hand.

  If you want to play that game, then so will I.

  “And now I’m stuck here. With a man I hate. Despise, actually.” His eyes flinch, but then he makes an aggressive move with his rook. "Why do you care so much about what I do, anyway?"

  “Why did you help me that night?" he murmurs. His head rises, but doesn’t meet hers. The question comes so unexpectedly, it shocks her system, and sends a shiver up her spine. She’s never heard him sound so... needy.

  She glances down at the board, unable to look at him when she answers, "I-I don’t know why... I guess... because you saved me once before... no other reason..."

  “Don’t believe you,” he mutters. “No-one does something without wanting something in return."

  His tone is laced with anger. What right does he have to be mad with her? He’s the one that lied… He’s the one that used her. "What could I possibly have wanted from you? Other than blood on my hands,” she scoffs, feeling her chest tighten. “Because that’s all I got."

  He glances at her, his brow hooded. "Your move," he grunts.

  Belle doesn’t miss the fact that he’s trying to change the subject. She begins to consider her options for her next move. "Fine, don't answer if you don't want to. I'm just a little surprised by your interest, that’s all. Why would someone like you have any concern for someone like me. It’s—"

  "You are my concern,” he snarls, his deadly voice rumbling in her ears. “You always have been and you always fucking will be." His eyes rage with fire and they blaze through hers. “You made me your damn concern the night you saved me.”

  Belle stiffens, and she feels a wild kick in her heart as she stares at him dumbstruck.

  What the hell...? Is that why you didn’t...? Is that why you never carried out Mr. Kulich’s orders...? Because I... saved you?

  But how can Judas say he has ‘concern’ for her, and look like it’s torturing him to do so, when he’s the one treating her with so much callousness? It belies the cold, dark-hearted man he’s been since she came here.

  Her mind wanders back to their time in the attic, and all that had been said and done. The blood drains from her face, remembering their first kiss. It makes her heart flutter...

  Their conversation has turned dark, and she realizes that she’s in no way ready to handle the truth. Regardless of the answer. It seems like a good time to back down.

  His eyes are still locked onto hers. Waiting. She hesitates, finally turning her attention to the game as she mumbles, "Let's just drop it."

  He doesn’t say or do anything for a minute before standing up and walking over to the mantle. "I need a drink,” he sighs. “Want one? Some... wine or whatever."

  She looks over to see him pouring a bottle of brown liquor into a rocks glass. Forgetting her move for a moment, she notes, "That's not wine."

  Judas raises the glass. "Scotch." He takes a sip and adds, "You’re not tough enough to handle this, babe. Thought I'd offer you wine instead… Was trying to be nice."

  Belle peers down at the chessboard realizing that Judas’ attack position is better than she had originally thought. She looks back at him. "Then I'll take the scotch."

  She waits for his laugh or some witty remark, but all he does is cock his eyebrow and say, "Brave."

  Belle glances again at the board seeing an opportunity that she’d previously missed. Maybe she can beat him after all. She can’t fight back her smile when she warns playfully, "That's nothing. Have a seat and I'll show you just how ‘brave’ I can be."

  Judas returns her smile. It seems genuine. He sits down and offers the glass of scotch to her. "This will add some fire to your veins. Not that you need any more." His smile turns cocky, wolfish, and his eyes shimmer. That damn seductiveness is always a part of him.

  She looks over her glass at him for a moment, then finally, she takes a sip. The whiskey burns her mouth and scolds her throat, but she manages to stifle the cough that itches at the back of her throat. This is all part of her plan. Judas may be beautiful, and she may not be able to stop herself from desiring him, but she isn’t going to just sit back and let him win. If he thinks she’s just another woman to join his harem, another brainless girl that flocks to his feet—he has another thing coming.

  Okay, Judas, I’ll play your game...

  Belle lets her eyes stray over his perfect body. It may not be the first time she’s done it, but it’s the first time she’s done it without trying to hide it. Her eyes meet his as she nurses her drink, and there’s the slightest hint of a demure smirk as the glass touches her lips.

  It’s all in the tease...

  She sets her drink down with purpose, and smiles coquettishly. Picking up her knight, she suddenly slams it down into its new position. Only then, does he bother to look at the board. His usual cool, controlled mask, finally cracks. She’s managed to put his Queen in jeopardy. If he doesn’t move it, she will take it with no risk to herself; but by moving his Queen, he leaves his rook unprotected.

  "Got you," she purrs, her eyes twinkling.

  Judas has no choice but to move his Queen, forced to sacrifice his rook. Belle has control over his actions f
or once. And God, it feels good. Belle takes the black rook, a smug smile playing on her lips as she gladly gives up her pawn. He downs his drink in one shot. “Don’t underestimate me, Judas. I’m nothing like the women you’re used to.”

  Belle has the upper hand for a good part of the game. It’s been utterly priceless to take piece after piece from Judas, but she’s not in the clear. She’s matched Judas in her alcohol consumption. He probably planned this all along. The liquor affects her judgment and her defenses suffer as a result. Eventually, Judas catches up with her, and before long, Belle finds herself staring at a chessboard devoid of all pieces—save, one black king, and one white king.

  Belle squints at the board as she slurs, "Shit... What the?"

  "Look at that,” he chuckles, “Stalemate. We both get what we want. Happy now?"

  "Oh... I'm just thrilled! Can't you tell? I'm friggin' ecstatic."

  Batting the pieces off the board, she downs the rest of her drink. "How the hell did that happen?” she mumbles. “I so had you!"

  Shaking his head, his dimples tease her. "You’re drunk."

  Belle lowers her eyes. "No, I’m—I’m not." She starts to rise from her seat. "Well, yep, it's a draw all right. And you didn’t even have to cheat—"she hiccups“—How about that? You’re growing as a person." He keeps grinning, amused by the effect the scotch is having on her. She leans forward over the table and slurs, "Well, Judas, it's been fun. But I need sleep.”

  He looks at her intently before his eyes drop.

  What are you looking at?

  Immediately she straightens, realizing his eyes are roaming south of her neckline, even as he gets up. "Right,” she says, ignoring his blatant appraisal, “see you tomorrow for your morning wake up call." His laugh makes her realize how that sounded. “I didn’t mean that... God.”

  "You gonna be okay getting back to your room by yourself?"

  Belle may be drunk, but she isn’t so wasted that she doesn’t see right through that line.

  "I’m—”she hiccups, again“—fine." She swings herself around, starting for the door. But the floor seems to be spinning and she nearly loses her balance. Judas is at her side before she even knows what’s going on. Without so much as a word, he scoops her up, lifting her into his arms, with one arm under her knees, and the other supporting her shoulders. He starts walking, carrying her.

  "What... what are you doing? Judas! Put me down!" she squeals, struggling to get out of his strong hold. But his strides are long, and soon he’s taking her down a long darkened corridor.

  She struggles harder, and his voice interrupts the perfect darkness, "Relax, Belle. I won't have you falling down the stairs." She stills, losing herself at how safe his voice makes her suddenly feel. His face is so close to hers that his warm breath caresses her cheek. She feels the warm touch of his large hands on her skin where he’s supporting her under her knees. She glances down and a shiver runs through her. Her chemise only comes up to her knees, and it doesn’t come between his hand and her skin. Swallowing, she begins to tremble in between her thighs.

  Oh no...

  She peers up, barely making out his face in the darkness, and asks in a shaky voice that hardly sounds like her own, "Where are you taking me?"

  He looks down at her, and her heart begins to pound as his lips come mere inches from hers. In a voice richer than velvet, he purrs, "To your bed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  SHE DOESN’T STRUGGLE.

  Belle likes being this close to him. And even though alarm bells are ringing in her head, she never wants him to let go. She feels the movement of his thick, solid thighs, as he strides down the hall. She can’t see him clearly through the dark lighting, but she’s very aware of his warmth. Again, she catches his scent like some unidentified exotic spice mingling with the scent of scotch. It’s intoxicating; she lets herself drown in it as he carries her effortlessly.

  She’s only aware of where they are when the door to her bedroom seems to swing open on its hinges by itself. He carries her inside, walking purposefully toward her bed. His smell is all about her, and her skin tingles everywhere his body touches hers as he settles her onto the floor. Just an inch in front of him. Just an inch in front of her bed.

  “Close your eyes.” His whisper is deadly and comes from just behind her, his breath stirring the hair around her ears. It seems to awaken every cell in her body.

  “Why?” she asks, breathless.

  His voice grows softer, tired yet gentle, as he implores her, “Belle... just... close your eyes.” Something in her yields. She can’t resist, not when he speaks to her like that. She sighs, closing her eyes, giving in to him, holding her breath.

  He’s so close.

  His voice comes again, soft and chilling, and it lingers on her skin, “You make me forget, Belle. The loneliness.... it just goes away with you.” He sounds almost like he’s speaking to just himself. And she isn’t sure if he really said it, or if it’s the alcohol inside her, blurring her reality.

  “Judas...” She fights to keep her breath from hitching in her throat and her heart from hammering away, his words so deep. So revealing.

  This time his voice is but a seductive whisper, and she doesn’t need to open her eyes to know that his mouth is just behind her ear. "Trust me. Can you do that, Belle? Can you trust me for just a little while?"

  Two sides battle within her for dominance. One side preaches caution, the other yearning to let go. The side advocating caution warns that as an unpredictable man, he’s not to be trusted. But the other side reminds Belle that no harm has come to her here. Her family should be dead. He was supposed to kill them. But he didn’t. And Judas seems to be the reason they’re still alive, to this day. Maybe she should at least open her eyes to the possibility that, whatever reason is behind him locking her up, he’s more friend than foe.

  She can’t deny that she feels something, something strong, and if those feelings already exist, then isn’t the harm already done? Whatever happens from this point onward, there is no erasing the feelings she already harbors. She’s intensely attracted to Judas, and despite her attempts to despise him, she’s come to care for him. His ability to infuriate her only seems an inseparable component of his charm.

  Nemesis or not, she longs for him, every inch of him, from that arrogant smirk of his, along with his breathtaking eyes, right down to the blessed agony his attention causes. His demeanor, even now, only seems to pull her further along the path-of-no-return. She’s already started to fall... What’s the sense in fighting?

  Breathless words tumble in a rush from her lips, "Yes... I can."

  Very slowly, his hands slip over Belle's wrists and slide down to cover the back of her trembling hands. The simple gesture is harmless, but the implications of even such a simple intimate touch, no matter how innocent, from Judas, is enough to send her reeling. Strong fingers, with the promise of pleasure, slither down, becoming interlaced with her own. Her heart beats so hard, she can hear it in her ears, and for a moment she can’t breathe at all.

  His voice comes as a ragged whisper in her ear, "You're shaking. Are you afraid of me that much?"

  Panic has her body stiffening with fear. She barely manages to answer in a breathless rush, "N-No... I..."

  Judas lowers his mouth closer, his hands releasing hers, traveling slowly but steadily up her arms to wrap over her tense shoulders. Goose-bumps rise all over her flesh, and she experiences that peculiar trance-like sensation, a giddy sort of euphoria.

  Just when she thinks the torture can’t get any worse, his strong yet gentle hands begin to knead the tight muscles of her shoulders. He’s done this before, and though it seems like a distant memory, Belle can sharply remember how incredible his hands had felt then. But this time, it’s heart-stopping. Maybe it’s because her longing is so much more acute now. Or maybe it’s because of the way he had just spoken to her. Or perhaps it’s the knowledge that he’s standing so close behind her, and that all she has to do is lean
back, and she will be lost in him forever.

  His strong fingers massage the tension from her shoulders with such perfect pressure that she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out at the exquisite feeling. She’s surrendering; she doesn’t have the willpower to even attempt to stop him.

  “Do you know how beautiful you are when you blush?"

  Belle’s eyes shut tighter as his ministrations cause wave after wave of pleasure to thrash against her. She winces at the breathlessness of her own voice as she replies, "No..."

  He leans in closer, his lips grazing her ear as he purrs, "The only thing more beautiful... is you when you’re angry... Maybe that's why I antagonize you." The shock of his mouth on her ear, and the heat of his words drifting over her skin, makes her knees go weak.

  "‘Sometimes’ doesn't even cover it," she replies, thickly.

  His fingers splay out to cover her collarbone. "You’re the only person in my life to go against me, Belle." She swallows, realizing her body is swaying and only encouraging him more. His hands feather over her shoulders again, brushing her hair away from her neck. Then his mouth lowers to where her neck meets her shoulder, his lips mere centimeters from her throat as he gruffly whispers against her skin, "I hate it." His hands roughly squeeze her shoulders and Belle liquefies in response to the sumptuous sensation his touch seems to wring from her body. “I hate how you make me feel.” His whisper is now almost a restrained growl.

  Belle tremors at the acute recognition of her arousal. The ache is so deep, she’s not even sure if she wants to escape its pull. A dark and guilty pleasure comes with the feeling, making her head swim with ecstasy.

  Why does being bad have to feel so good?

  Somewhere in the furthest recesses of her mind, a voice warns that she shouldn't be letting this happen. That maybe this is his ploy to seduce her... but it feels too damn good to stop.

  Abruptly, he turns Belle a little roughly to face him. She opens her eyes to find herself face to face with her Prince of Darkness.

  Belle recognizes the primal look in his eyes. It’s the same way he had looked at her in the attic—at the motel. And it’s the same emotion she doesn’t doubt is written across her face. It is pure unadulterated and overwhelming desire, the dizzying kind that makes your face flush and your chest heave with shallow breaths.