The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy: A Gorgeous Villain Prequel Novella

by Saffron A Kent

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Other Books by Saffron

  Blurb

  Author's Note

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Before you go

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely

  coincidental.

  The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy © 2021 by Saffron A. Kent

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Najla Qamber Designs

  Editing by Olivia Kalb and Leanne Rabesa

  Proofreading by Virginia Tesi Carey

  April 2021 Edition

  Published in the United States of America

  My Darling Arrow

  (Forbidden Sports Romance)

  Medicine Man

  (Doctor-patient forbidden romance)

  Bad Boy Blues

  (Forbidden bully romance)

  Dreams of 18

  (Best friend’s dad; Age-gap romance)

  A War like Ours

  (Dark enemies to lovers romance)

  Gods & Monsters

  (Unconventional coming of age romance)

  Calliope Thorne is a good girl. A straight-A student, a rule follower, and an aspiring ballerina.

  But most of all, she’s a good sister to her four older brothers.

  Brothers whom she loves and adores to pieces. Brothers who love and adore her to pieces in return.

  And who hate just one and one thing only–Reed Jackson.

  Rich, arrogant, and the most popular guy at Bardstown High, Reed is Callie’s brothers’ enemy and she has sworn to stay away from him.

  Until one night when she wanders into the woods and finds herself in his clutches. A villain with pretty gray eyes and a seductive smirk.

  Until he asks her to dance for him with a look in those eyes that makes her forget why falling for her brothers’ enemy is a bad idea.

  High school soccer season runs from August to October. But for the sake of the story, the timeline has been changed.

  He has beautiful gray eyes, gunmetal gray that sometimes glow in the night.

  So much so that people call them wolf eyes.

  His jaw is sharp and angled, a true V, and his skin looks like priceless marble. Again, so much so that people say he’s got wintry, vampire skin.

  They say he’s got magic, dark magic, running through his veins.

  If a girl so much as looks into his pretty wolf eyes, no one can save her from falling for him.

  No one can save her from getting her heart broken either.

  Because he never falls. He is mighty. Everyone knows that.

  He’s a heartbreaker. A player.

  People say he doesn’t even have a heart, or if he does, it’s pitch black.

  But he knows how to toy with yours.

  He knows how to play with it. How to toss it up in the air just for fun and how to tie it up with strings and play with it like a puppet. And when he gets bored, he knows how to let it slip through his fingers and drop on the ground, breaking it into tiny little pieces.

  Yet girls can’t help but come back for more. Over and over and over again.

  They can’t help but come back to the Wild Mustang.

  Or the Mustang for short.

  That’s what people call him. That’s his soccer nickname.

  He plays soccer, yeah.

  Soccer is quite popular in our town. In fact, he’s the soccer legend of Bardstown High. And he’s as majestic and magical as an untamed mustang. As reckless and edgy and completely mesmerizing.

  Although I don’t call him that.

  The name that I get to call him is something completely different, something that I’ve come up with after a lot of deliberation and thought: a villain.

  That’s what I call him.

  A Gorgeous Villain, actually. Because well, he is gorgeous, but he’s a villain, and I have good reason to believe that.

  Four good reasons.

  Four overprotective, overbearing, older reasons. My brothers. Who hate him with all the fire in their hearts.

  Well, not all of them hate him with all the fire in their hearts. Only one of my brothers does, Ledger. The other three just hate him a normal amount.

  Why does Ledger hate him the most though?

  Because the Gorgeous Villain is Ledger’s soccer rival.

  My brother plays soccer too and he’s a legend in himself. They call him the Angry Thorn, because my brother is a hothead and our last name is Thorne.

  Anyway, they both play for the same team. And should potentially be friends and have the same agenda.

  However, they aren’t–friends, I mean. And they don’t have the same agenda, at all.

  Probably because they’re both forwards for Bardstown High. One is left wing and the other is right and basically, they’re supposed to help each other.

  But they don’t because they have this ongoing, age-old contest, where whoever scores the most goals in the season wins.

  It’s a matter of pride and honor and a whole lot of testosterone.

  I don’t know how it got started, this contest, rivalry, whatever you want to call it, but they both take it very seriously. Their whole team, which is divided into my brother’s camp, the Thorn camp, and his camp, the Mustang camp, takes it seriously as well.

  So does the whole town.

  Whoever wins this unofficial contest becomes the reigning champion. This year it’s my brother – he won by one measly goal last season – who also happens to be the captain of the team.

  The whole town treats him like a king.

  Which means free drinks, free food at local restaurants, posters on park benches and light poles. Back pats from people on the street and of course, all the attention from girls.

  Trust me when I say that these two will go to any lengths to be the winner.

  They’ll do anything to mess with each other, ruin each other’s game on and off the field just so they have a better chance of scoring goals.

  And for years I’ve heard about it, about their rivalry, about him.

  I’ve heard how corrupt he is, how evil and twisted. How he’d do anything to win at soccer. How much of an asshole, douchebag, bastard, motherfucker, and all those things he is.

  But of course, I can’t call him that. I can’t call him all those names.

  I’m a good girl.

  I don’t curse.

  Besides, my brothers curse enough for all of us.

  Hence the name: A Gorgeous Villain.

  Anyway, it’s game day and I’m at the soccer field right now.

  A little personal confession: I don’t like soccer. Not at all.

  I think it’s boring and I’d rather be home right now, either baking cookies or cupcakes, or knitting in my favorite armchair by the fire. Two of my favorite things to do.

  Another personal confession: I don’t understand this rivalry either. I don’t
understand this whole need to win and be the best at any cost. I mean, they play for the same team, don’t they? If the team wins, they win, correct?

  But as I said, I’m a good girl and so a good sister.

  I’ll always support my brothers. No matter what.

  They’re my whole wide world. I love them to pieces, and I know they love me to pieces too.

  So here I am, sitting on the bleachers, watching a game I don’t really care for, just so I can support Ledger and cheer for him.

  And also Conrad, my oldest brother, who happens to be the coach of our high school soccer team.

  So soccer is not only this town’s sport, it’s also our family sport; my other two brothers, who are away at college right now, played for Bardstown High as well.

  This kind of makes me soccer royalty by extension.

  But anyway, good. That’s what I am. A good girl. A good sister.

  Good. Good. Good.

  Are you, Callie? Are you?

  Are you really a good sister? Are you really cheering for your brother, Ledger, or are you also cheering for him?

  Oh my God.

  Blasphemy.

  I’m not cheering for him. I would never ever cheer for him.

  He’s the enemy.

  Yes, he is.

  He is. He is. He is.

  My agitated thoughts come to a halt when someone – a frazzled-looking girl – stumbles and almost falls on me. My arms automatically shoot up and clutch her shoulders to help keep her balance.

  Even though I manage to save her from falling, the tub of popcorn in her arms tips and a flurry of kernels falls on my lap and my feet.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” she asks as she manages to straighten up.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her, brushing popcorn off my dress. “Are you okay though?”

  “Yeah. No,” she replies, and clutching the huge tub of popcorn to her chest, she raises her finger in a gesture for me to wait. Looking back, she shouts at someone, “Asshole.” Then she sighs and plops down on the empty seat beside me. “Ugh. I hate this. He wouldn’t move his leg. Idiot.” She rolls her eyes before fixing her gaze on the field. “And I was so excited for the game tonight. Am I late? I’m late, aren’t I?”

  “Maybe a little.” I shrug. “But nothing’s happened yet. It’s 0-0. It’s the day of the defenders. So, you’re good.”

  She smiles. “Thanks.” Then she thrusts the tub of popcorn toward me. “Want some? I already spilled on you, so.”

  “Sure, yeah. Thanks.” I pluck out a few and pop them in my mouth. “I’m Callie, by the way.”

  “I’m Tempest. Nice to meet you.” Her smile is bright and friendly. “So I’m assuming you go to school here?”

  “Yup.” I nod. “And I’m assuming you don’t?”

  There’s something familiar about her. I can’t put my finger on exactly what though. But I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen her before.

  She shakes her head at my question. “Nope, I’m just crashing the party. I go to school in New York.”

  “New York? That’s exciting.”

  “Meh. I completely hate it there. I miss home too much.” She shrugs. “But anyway, I wanted to be here for the game. I’m supporting someone. He’s gonna completely freak when he sees me. He has no idea that I’m here. You? Are you supporting someone too?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m…”

  My words get swallowed up when she bends to set down the container of popcorn.

  Because I understand who she’s talking about. Who’s going to completely freak when he sees her.

  It’s written in the back of the t-shirt, or rather soccer jersey – in school colors, green and white – that she has on. The name and the number.

  In bold black letters, Jackson, 11.

  She’s here for him.

  The Gorgeous Villain, my brother’s rival.

  Reed Jackson.

  Actually, Reed Roman Jackson.

  That’s his full name. And all us freshmen call him by his full name.

  Well, except for me. I already call him something else, but yeah.

  To freshmen, he’s a celebrity. A shiny star to admire from a distance. An awe-worthy creature.

  And she’s here for him.

  “You’re here for R-Reed?” I blurt out instead of answering her question.

  I not only blurt it out, but I stumble on his name too.

  Like it’s a roadblock in the dark. A jagged rock on an otherwise smooth trail in the woods.

  Something that trips you. Makes you fall.

  Something that you don’t see coming, not until you’ve already fallen.

  “Yeah.” Tempest gives me a quizzical look. “Why?”

  Avoiding her eyes, I clear my throat, feeling embarrassed. It doesn’t matter that she’s here for him. Lots of girls are here for him.

  He’s a playboy, remember?

  “Nothing. I just noticed, uh, his name on your t-shirt.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Not at all,” I say quickly. A little too quickly and it only increases her suspicion. So I immediately follow it with, “I-I mean, except for the fact that he plays for the team. My brother plays too.”

  That seems to distract her. “Your brother?”

  Okay, good.

  I don’t want to talk about him. I don’t even know why I got so jarred at the fact that this girl, Tempest, has specifically come down from New York to visit him.

  It’s none of my business.

  “Yes,” I say proudly. “Actually, my other brother is the coach.”

  “Other brother?”

  “Yes. I have four.”

  “Holy shit. I can’t handle one.”

  I chuckle. “I know, right? Brothers can be…”

  “A pain in the ass with all their protective shit?”

  “Yes.” My chuckle turns into a laugh. “Exactly. They can be a little overprotective.”

  “A little? My brother is the very definition of overprotective. He is insane.” She rolls her eyes. “If he had his way, he’d lock me up somewhere and wouldn’t let me out until I was thirty or something. A thirty-year-old virgin. Imagine that.”

  She fake shudders, making me laugh. “Your brother sounds like my brothers.”

  Which is the truth.

  My brothers are overprotective and it can be annoying sometimes.

  But I don’t begrudge them that. I don’t begrudge them their overprotectiveness and all their rules and curfews, their genuine worry about me.

  Mostly because we don’t have parents.

  Our father took off just after I was born and our mother died of cancer when I was four.

  So they’ve brought me up, you see.

  Together, they’ve taken care of me, loved me and protected me more as my parent figures than my brothers.

  Especially Conrad.

  “But I guess they do it out of love,” I continue, “since we’re all we’ve got. I don’t have parents, so we take care of each other.”

  That makes Tempest smile. A sad sort of smile but a smile nonetheless as she says, “Me too.” Then, “Well, I do have parents but they’re as good as nonexistent so my brother takes care of me and I try to take care of him.”

  I smile then too.

  I’ve never met anyone who has understood this, understood what it feels like to have no parents and only siblings.

  But I guess this new girl gets it.

  What a fun coincidence.

  “So your brother,” I chirp, wanting to know more about her. “Does he go to school in New York too?”

  Oh and does he know Reed as well?

  How do you know Reed?

  Why are you here for him? Do you like him? Are you…

  God.

  I need to stop.

  It’s none of my business.

  She isn’t the first girl to be in love with him and she won’t be the last. If
anything, I should probably warn her about him.

  I should tell her that he’s never ever going to reciprocate her feelings.

  Because all he does is break hearts and makes girls cry.

  “Nope. He goes to school here. He’s a senior,” Tempest replies.

  “Oh! Who is he?” I ask. “Maybe my brother knows him. He’s a senior too.”

  Before Tempest can answer though, there’s a roar around us and we both get distracted. The crowd is cheering and the reason for it is apparent as soon my eyes land on the field.

  It’s him.

  He’s the reason, the Wild Mustang.

  He has the ball in his possession and he’s not giving it up. The players from the opposite team are chasing him. They’re almost crowding him in from all directions, all their defenders against one Reed Roman Jackson.

  And for a second it looks like they might be successful.

  They might take the ball away from him.

  The whole stadium is expecting it. All the people who are watching, they expect Reed to lose the ball. It’s in the way that they’ve all gone silent and the way the announcers are talking with a rapid-fire speed and a louder tone.

  But they’re all wrong. Every single one of them.

  Like the way they’re wrong about the fact that Reed is a mere athlete.

  He’s more than that.

  He’s not only an athlete, he’s also a dancer.

  Look at his footwork. It’s exquisite. It’s impeccable. It’s graceful. It’s the envy of every dancer, especially a ballet dancer. And I’d know because I’m a ballerina. Have been since I was five.

  Reed Roman Jackson has the kind of footwork that would make any ballerina fall in love with him.

  It would make any ballerina go down on her knees and weep at his feet.

  Not me though.

  I can’t.

  What kind of a sister would I be if I did?

  Therefore, I can’t widen my eyes at the rapid swipes and the swings of his legs as he zigzags through the closing-in crowd, still somehow keeping possession of the ball. I can’t wring my hands in my lap when he nearly crashes into a guy from the opposite team. I can’t lose my breath when he almost loses the ball but at the last minute, with a fake pass to throw them off his scent, he saves it.