And So it Begins...

My first stab at serialized fiction. Please enjoy this initial offering from the novella, Who's Afraid of the Sexy Villain, which includes the Blurb, Prologue & Chapter One.

Blurb:

Angel waited and waited for her power as a magickal to make itself evident. When she reached adulthood and it never did, she gave up hope. The legacy of her family would die with her. All she’s ever wanted was for a way to prove herself useful to the witches, warlocks and other magickals that hold evil at bay to present itself. Will a run in with the infamous Big Bad Wolf on Halloween night help her find it?

Trigger warnings: 

Gropy-ness upon first meeting, fair amount of pushy-shovy-ness from alpha male type in the beginning, tragic past, fear topics, and facing fears.

Key Words:

Reimagined fairytale characters, cyber fantasy, witches, sexy villain, enemies to lovers

Copyright © 2023 Amanda V. Shane, First published in the Booktober 2022 Halloween Charity Anthology. All rights reserved.

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Black Forest Kingdom, 1792

The path darkened, day’s light waning in the forest as evening approached. Dried leaves and pins crunched beneath their feet as they walked, his companion’s falling much lighter than his own.

“Thank you for your escort, Lord Warvorecht. It’s very kind of you.”

“My pleasure, miss,” it was only then he realized the raven-haired beauty hadn’t offered him her name. “These woods are known to grow dangerous after dark.”

She smiled over her shoulder at him, the long black fringe of her lashes shading her eyes.

“Mm, I suppose,” she mused, the humor in her tone admitting she didn’t quite believe him. Of course she didn’t. The humans in the villages surrounding his lands didn’t realize the war that raged involving those beyond their understanding. They had no idea the battle he waged with other magickals, even his own kind. “I’m normally not out so late. My pursuits made me forgetful of the hour, I’m afraid.”

She lifted the covered metal pail she held. Warvorecht lifted a brow, the barest hint of a smile crossing his lips. She was a pretty thing, and alone in an area where ill forces, both human and otherwise, prowled, especially on full moons.

“Your efforts were fruitful then I hope.”

She dipped her head; her smile flashing as she did.

“Indeed, my lord, very. There is a great bounty to be found in an elderberry patch just over the rise at the edge of the forest. They have medicinal properties, I am told. I’m taking them to my ailing grande mere, to brew a tea for her.”

When she spoke, her plump red lips had the most mesmerizing effect.

“Elderberries.” He heard his voice repeating the word. Her smile brightened.

“Are you fond, my lord?”

He blinked. What was he doing? He had dire matters to attend to. A meeting with the leaders of his own kind was set to take place as soon as night fell. His decision for them and their brethren was sure to be ill met. And yet here he stood, allowing himself a moment’s beguilement at the hand of a mere maid.

“Ah, I can’t say that I’ve ever had the pleasure.”

“Never? Why…” she stopped walking and faced him. She lifted the pail again, her hand dipping under the lid only to reemerge with a plump, round, black-purple berry. She stepped closer to him, stretching her arm out as she went. When she stopped, the tips of her fingers were a breath away from his lips. “Try it.” She coaxed.

She stood so close that all he saw was her face, her shapely lips forming the words she spoke. Her eyes entreating and alluring at the same time. Ranulf opened his mouth, and she rolled the fruit onto his tongue. The berry popped as soon as he bit down, its juices sweet and tart with an underlying bitterness all at the same time. The liquid trailed a distinct burn down his throat. He allowed his keen senses to dismiss the sensation as his eyes lit on the maiden’s blush when his lips brushed her flesh. She pulled her hand down.

 He watched her move past him, a shy smile on her face. Her eyes held his until, finally, she tilted her head toward the path.

“My grandmother’s cottage is just here, my lord.”

Ranulf glanced down the lane, through some trees. Out of nowhere, it seemed, a small stone house with a thatched roof upon it appeared. How had he missed it? It stood not twenty paces away. As soon as he saw it, his vision blurred. A tightness seized his throat and chest, bitterness burned in his mouth so sharp he gasped for breath.

“My lord, are you well?” The girl’s mottled figure stood at the cottage door. “Come inside, sir.” She pushed the door open, stepping inside.

Ranulf stumbled forward, his limbs leaden. The sounds of his own wheezing breath met his ears as he trudged a drunkard’s path forward to the house.

“Wha…” he rasped, his voice grating out of his throat as he stumbled through the doorway after the girl for an accounting of what she’d done to him. The blurry flicker of flames in a hearth deep within the tiny abode seared his vision, but he didn’t catch sight of the maid. When he swung his head to search for her, it shook his already precarious balance and sent him crumbling to the floor. A shadow fell over him.

Bringing his head up, he found a new, hazy figure hovering over him.

“At last, dread wolf, you’ve met your end.”