Page 9 of Tryst or Treat (Season’s Readings #3)
B elladonna stood before her bed with her arms crossed over her chest. She’d returned to her room after dinner to find her mattress covered with clothes. Brand new designer clothes, all in her size. She’d started practicing casting magicless spells every morning until she was sweating and sore. Then she would shower, apply her makeup, and proceed to torture her husband. As the weather grew steadily colder, her outfits grew steadily smaller, and even though she was ignoring him, she spent most of her time with Vlad. September was flying by, and as she punished her husband with increasingly sexy ensembles and outrageous feats of avoiding him while in his presence, she found herself enjoying his company. Maybe it was because, as angry as she made him sometimes, he never once threatened or harmed her. She was genuinely safe in this mansion, even if she missed her friends and family. Not only was she safe, but she was worshipped. There was no other way to describe the way Vlad gazed at her as she sauntered around his house, taunting him… and oh, how sh e taunted him. Some days, she feared he might explode at her antics, which only fueled her need to tease him. What began as a punishment had somehow become exhilarating, and the clothes on her bed made that change abundantly clear.
There were new sets of everything she’d tormented him with in every shade of the rainbow. Dozens of barely-there bikinis, tiny shorts, and even smaller tank tops. But Vlad’s gifts weren’t composed of only sexy outfits. He’d gifted her piles of the fuzzy socks she liked, a handful of designer dresses she would kill to wear on a night out, jeans that would fit her like a glove, panties and bras that were almost too risqué, and an oversized tee shirt that said ‘Which Witch is Which?’ on the front in bold letters. Every article of clothing was exactly her size and style, from the seductive to the chic to the comfy. Her husband had been clearly paying attention, and while the combative part of her brain told her to gather the thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes and chuck them out the window, she couldn’t bring herself to part with them. She’d been ignoring him, taunting him, punishing him, and he’d responded with gifts. It made her unreasonably angry that Vlad was trying to be kind after his appalling behavior at the church, and it enraged her that she loved it. She loved how this new wardrobe had been carefully selected for her enjoyment with no strings attached. Her husband simply wanted her to have a fresh set of outfits to torture him with, and she smiled, stripping off her clothes to slip into the giant witch shirt. It hung all the way to her thighs. The fuzzy socks came to her knees, and she wondered how he would react if she paraded around the house like this instead. She’d already had dinner, but the TV was bigger in the main living room downstairs. She could always make popcorn and apple cider and watch a Halloween movie. It was a little early still, the holiday a month away, but she enjoyed the thought of blasting a witchy tale loud and late.
She turned to leave her bedroom but then twisted back toward the bed and snatched a lacy orange thong off the mattress. She removed her more practical panties and slipped on the new pair. If she was going to cause a raucous, she liked the idea of wearing a pair that Vlad had personally selected for her under her pajamas.
Belladonna raced down the stairs, grabbed the popcorn out of the pantry, and yelped as she turned toward the window. Yellow eyes stared at her through the glass, and she almost slipped on her fuzzy socks before she realized the eyes didn’t belong to a monster come to kill her. They belonged to a kitten. She placed the popcorn on the counter and opened the window. The small black cat took that as an invitation and jumped inside.
“Hi, sweet baby.” She scooped up the cat, and the animal burrowed deep into her arms. She’d never seen this kitten on the property before. She didn’t take the angel of death as a cat owner, which meant this tiny creature had arrived for her. Cats and witches had a bond that extended throughout history, and if a cat had followed her here, it was a sign it sensed her magic.
“You’re so pretty.” Belladonna hugged the kitty before setting her on the floor. “Are you hungry? Would you like a snack?” The cat curled around her ankles, purring enthusiastically, and Belladonna returned to the pantry to dig out a can of tuna. She pried off the top and dumped it on a plate while she made herself some popcorn, and the kitten ate half of the meal before drinking some water. The animal then sat by her feet while she heated the cider, and Belladonna knew she’d found a friend in this mansion.
“You need a name,” Belladonna said as she walked to the living room, kitty in tow. “What about Broomstick? Witches don’t actually fly on them, but I think it’s cute.” She turned on the TV and settled into the couch, the cat leaping into her lap. “Broomstick it is, sweet girl. We’re going to be best friends. I can already tell.”
“Since when do we have a cat?” a deep voice asked.
“Since ten minutes ago,” Belladonna answered, completely forgetting to ignore Vlad. “She was outside the kitchen window, and I let her in. Cats often flock to where witches live.”
“She looks small.” Vlad settled behind the couch, his eyes slipping good-naturedly to her outfit choice. “Is she sick?”
“Don’t think so,” Belladonna said. “Broomstick is still a baby.”
“Broomstick?” he repeated, a deep chuckle rumbling through his chest, and the sound wrapped Belladonna in warmth. She decided against her will that she liked it.
“What? It’s an excellent name for a witch’s cat.”
“It is.” Vlad leaned over her shoulders and stroked the kitten’s soft head with his tattooed hand, and it was strange to see the skull-inked skin that had caused so much pain and death scratch a baby animal behind the ears. “She’s pretty,” he said in a tone that told her he wasn’t talking about the cat, and as he straightened back to a stand, his palm brushed her shoulder. “What are you watching?”
“A Halloween movie.”
“Already?”
“Yes, already. It’s fall. The leaves are turning. The weather is cooler. It’s time to fill this house with witches.”
“What? No vampire movies?” he teased.
“Absolutely not. It would frighten Broomstick.”
“Okay then,” Vlad chuckled, and for a second, Belladonna considered asking him to watch the movie with her. She was married to this vampire. Gabriel wasn’t the man she hoped he was, and the longer she remained in this house, the more she realized her marriage was permanent. Vlad would never let her go. Not only because he’d forced her to wed him for some unexplainable reason, but a divorce would be a clear sign of breaking the peace. Vlad discarding her would be akin to him tearing up the treaty he’d signed with her mother, and while an annulment might have been feasible in the days following the wedding, she’d been married to the vampire leader for almost two months. This was her life now. He was her future, and she wondered if she should offer a truce to the husband she would spend eternity with. Could she forgive his sins? Could she sit on this couch with him and share her popcorn? Her thoughts? Her kisses? What would it be like to kiss Vlad? Would he?—?
She shut down that thought. She couldn’t think like that. Not when the man was pure beauty and strength in the flesh. Not when he was the kind of man who would ruin your life if you let him between your thighs. Not when he’d forced her to wed him. No, she wouldn’t ask him to stay and watch the movie with her. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“Have a good night, little witch,” Vlad said, clearly picking up on her internal argument. “Goodnight, Broomstick.”
“Goodnight, Vlad.”
Goodnight, Vlad. She’d spoken to him, and what’s more, she’d said his name. His name on her tongue was magic he would sell his soul for, and that she had on the witch tee shirt he bought her made his un-beating heart race. She hadn’t ignored him, and he didn’t know if that was progress or a side effect of the sudden cat, but if that kitten softened his young wife toward him, Vlad would gladly tolerate the animal. Hell, he’d buy it fresh tuna steaks and organic milk if it encouraged Belladonna’s warmth. He didn’t understand himself around the witch. He lost all rational thought, lost all control, and all he could focus on was the overwhelming desire to have her in his life, in his house, in his bed. He didn’t care that they’d been married for two months and hadn’t even kissed. As long as she was close by, filling the mansion with the scent of pumpkin spice and her fragrant skin, he was content. He realized she was mad at him for forcing the marriage, but his restraint crumbled in her presence. She was everything he wanted, all he thought about. He hated witches. Despised them his entire existence, and now all he craved was a witch. He coveted her smiles, her voice, her touch. He didn’t recognize his own mind, and while he should purge himself of this obsession, he knew he wouldn’t. Vlad couldn’t bear the prospect of anything taking that beautiful young witch from him.
So, he left the living room, but he remained close by. He grabbed his laptop and moved into the adjacent room. He worked while she laughed. He listened to her converse with the cat, but by the time the second film ended, her voice had fallen silent.
Unable to resist any longer, Vlad slipped into the living room. The movie’s credits were playing, but Belladonna was fast asleep on the couch; the kitten curled up against her belly. She lay on her side, one leg straight and the other bent beneath her, and Vlad froze at the sight. The funny witch shirt he’d bought her had bunched up around her hips, and he realized the top wasn’t the only new item she’d sampled. One of the lacy orange thongs he’d purchased clung to her skin, leaving her ass on display, and his cock twitched in his pants. She was so beautiful; it was almost painful. It took all his self-control not to trail his tattooed hand over the back of her thighs, not to take hold of those perfectly round cheeks. He’d been alive for a long time, some might say too long, and he’d seen a lot of women. He’d been with a lot of women, but none could compare to his wife. She called to him as if she’d cast a spell, and he might believe his obsession was because of magic if he hadn’t double-checked that the wards were blocking her abilities. His desire for her, that deep-rooted need in his chest, came from something else. Something he was terrified to admit because if it was true, if his craving for her was more than lust, it would change everything. It would explain why his son was livid about his wedding, but not because he loved her. Gabriel couldn’t love her, not if Vlad’s suspicions were correct. He still didn’t know why his son wanted to marry the woman, and he didn’t understand how anyone could resist her beauty, but that nagging theory might point to why.
Vlad exhaled and grabbed the remote, forcing himself to stop fantasizing about slipping onto the couch and wrapping his arms around her bare body. He clicked off the television and then draped a blanket over her, covering those glorious legs he kept picturing wrapped around his waist.
“Good night, little witch,” he said, allowing himself one moment of weakness to brush her hair off her face. “Sweet dreams.”