The Wild Mustang & The Dancing Fairy: A Gorgeous Villain Prequel Novella Saffron Kent (books to read as a couple TXT) 📖

attention. Although I’m not sure that I’m walking in the right direction or the direction that I came from.

But it’s okay.

I’ll find my way out.

So I keep walking, my feet crunching the leaves, until I leave the party behind and get deeper into the trees.

It should be kinda scary to be walking around the woods in the dark. But I grew up here, in this town. Even though I’ve never really ventured into these woods, I know I’ll be safe.

Well, I know that until I hear a noise.

A series of noises actually.

They’re not loud or anything. It’s just that the woods are quiet and so they seem loud. They seem urgent and needy.

And oh my God I come to a halt.

My heart is banging inside my chest. The hairs on the back of my neck are standing up because what the heck is going on?

What…

A twig snaps next. Then a moan comes, followed by heavy breathing.

A second later though when I hear a grunt — a manly grunt — everything becomes clear.

Oh my God.

Someone — a guy — is doing something to a girl.

Isn’t he?

This is what’s happening. A stupid drunk guy is doing something to an innocent girl and I need to go help her.

That’s why my brothers are always worried. Because this is what happens at high school parties. Guys drink and go crazy and think they can do whatever they want to a girl.

Well, not on my watch.

He doesn’t know what’s coming for him.

Me.

I’m coming for him and I know how to punch.

Yeah, that’s right. I know how to throw a mean, mean punch – four brothers, remember? – and he’s getting it.

Right in his face.

Swallowing down my fear, I start to walk toward the noises.

I’m trying to be as quiet as possible.

I don’t want that animal to know that I’m coming for him. I’m gonna take him by surprise. That’s the best way to do the most damage. That’s what my brothers taught me.

But as it turns out, I don’t think I’ll be using any of the punching skills that I learned from my brothers.

Because there is no drunk guy and no innocent girl.

I mean, he could be drunk and she could be innocent but he’s not doing anything to her that she doesn’t want. In fact, she seems pretty into it, what he’s doing to her. Which is kissing.

He’s kissing her and she’s kissing him back.

They’re standing under a tree and there are a couple of candles around them. A blanket, beers.

Oops.

I think I crashed a date. Which is completely escalating right now.

Now that I’m close and thankfully hiding behind a tree of my own, I can hear more noises. Chuckles, rustling of their clothes, a few murmurs.

And gosh, I can see stuff too.

Their hands and legs and their mouths. It’s like they’re attacking each other — happily but attacking nonetheless with their lips and limbs.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.

What I mean is that I have seen people kiss before even though I’ve never been kissed myself. But this is something… else.

This is passion and lust and rawness and holy God, I can’t stop looking and I know…

My thoughts break when I hear another noise.

Or rather a voice.

I hear a voice.

A voice saying, “You like that, huh?”

It’s rich and smooth. Deep.

God, so deep.

It makes me think of taking a dive off a skyscraper. It’s strange that a voice can invoke such imagery and such a reckless, dangerous image at that. But I swear I feel the rush of air on my body, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as if I’m really flying.

Just because I heard a voice. His voice.

It’s his. I know.

Even though it has never been directed at me, I’ve heard it before, and without volition, memorized it. And now it’s here.

The voice. Him.

And before I can think anything else, assess the situation or even absorb it, I spin around.

As if a string is looped around my body, and he holds the other end. And he’s tugging it viciously, making me spin like the ballerina that I am.

And there he is again.

A lot closer to me than he’s ever been.

Reed Roman Jackson.

The first time I saw him, off the soccer field I mean – I’d seen him play plenty of times before that – was my first day at Bardstown High.

It was during my lunch period.

I was trying to find the administration office without having to bother either Ledger or Conrad for every little thing, and despite being given very explicit directions leading to it, I think I took a wrong turn somewhere.

I ended up in a deserted sort of hallway with only a few lingering students in it.

I was trying to find my way back when I stumbled upon an empty classroom.

Well, empty except for two people.

One of which was him.

That was the first time I’d seen him out of his green and white soccer uniform, without sweat dripping from his brows and without a vicious flush covering his features from running across the field.

In fact, it was the first time I’d seen his features clearly and not from a distance.

The first time I’d seen how breathtakingly beautiful he was. How his features, sharp and angled, were designed to make your heart ache as soon as you looked at him.

Heartbreakingly beautiful. That’s what I thought in that moment.

Also, tall.

It was something I’d never realized before, his towering frame.

I remember thinking that Reed Roman Jackson was the tallest guy I’d ever seen. Taller than even my brothers, and my brothers are some of the tallest people I know.

In his white hoodie, something else that I saw for the first time, Reed stood leaning against the wall by the whiteboard and God, the top of his head almost reached up to the edge of it. His head was slightly thrown back, exposing the masculine bulge of his Adam’s apple and the strained veins running down the side of his neck.

Oh, and his eyes were closed and